Winter of the Wolf (Hunt 2)

by Cherise Sinclair

  Somehow, Evan led her up the stairs, but she didn’t notice much, never getting past the feel of his hands—one teasing her fingers, the other on her waist. He steered her into a tiny room. In wall scones, candles flickered with yellow light. Pillows were scattered across a cushioned floor.

  Her legs buckled as she realized what the room was for. As she landed up on her hands and knees, a quiver of fear ran through her.

  Evan dropped down beside her. “It’s okay, pretty one. The cahirs said this is new to you. We’ll just sit for a bit, eh?”

  His smile was the nicest thing about him, she thought, until he took her hand. Why did the abrasion of his palm make her lower half melt—and flame at the same time.

  Watching her with blue-green eyes, he licked her fingers, one, then the next and the next. His tongue was hot and soft but with a little roughness, so different from his mouth.

  His mouth. Her gaze fixed on it, how smooth it looked under that silky brown mustache. His lips curved into a satisfied smile.

  “C’mere, and you can see if the mustache tickles,” he invited, tugging her closer. As she leaned into him, he kissed her gently. The brush of his lips and mustache sent heat streaking through her and tightened her nipples. “Oh, yes,” he murmured. “You’re a sweet one. We won’t hurry.”

  He kissed her, over and over, nibbling on her lips, sliding his tongue across her mouth until she opened to his demand. He tasted of apples and cinnamon, and when his tongue plunged deep, she needed him so badly that she took his hands and slid them onto her breasts.

  As he plucked at her nipples, she whimpered. He cupped her breasts and kissed her more deeply, and the mixture of sensations made her head whirl. Laughing, he rose to his feet to unbutton his shirt and pull it off. As he stepped closer, he loomed over her, a huge shadow backlit by the candles. “I’ll—”

  “No!” Choking on fear, she scrambled away from him. No, no, no.

  “Bree. Wait.” He stopped, motionless as a predator, shirt still in one hand. His nostrils flared. “By the God, you’re terrified.”

  Trapped in the corner, she panted and tried to draw in enough air to speak, to scream, to fight. Instead, her chest tightened until she couldn’t breathe.

  He took a step back. “Relax, pretty female. Nothing happens if you’re not into it—and, right now, you really aren’t.”

  When he pulled his shirt on, she managed to get a full breath. She stared at him, stomach in knots.

  After studying her for a second, he backed farther, all the way to the door.

  Evan wasn’t going to do anything. He’d only been nice. Shame made her want to hang her head, courage kept it up. “I’m sorry.”

  “I am too. You’re very sweet.” His grin was still nice, especially from a distance. “Let me take you back downstairs.”

  Face all those men. Again? “Can I stay here for a minute? Settle down a bit?”

  He nodded. “I’ll wait outside and escort you down.”

  Have him lurking in the hall? A tremor ran up her spine. “I’ll do better alone. I really am sorry.”

  He looked as if he wanted to come forward and reassure her, but he stayed there. “No worries, Bree. I’ll be back in the States next fall. If you want, we’ll try again, eh?”

  He stepped out into the shadowy hallway. As the door closed, she heard someone speak to him.

  She was alone. Resting her forehead on her knees, she shuddered. How had she gone from desire to panic so quickly? What was she going to do? She rubbed sweaty hands on her jeans. As her heart rate dropped to normal, the heat inside her grew. Her skin started to tingle, her breasts—

  The door opened and she looked up. “Evan?”

  Not Evan. Klaus. A blade of fear stabbed into her chest.

  He closed the door behind him. “Well, if it isn’t the rabbit. Having problems?”

  “Go away.” Her voice sounded thin and weak. As she pushed to her feet, the cushioned floor sank under her weight, and she staggered sideways.

  “Nah, I don’t think so. Got something to finish.” His smile distorted his meaty features into evil. “Not fucking you. But no bitch busts my nose and lives to boast of it.”

  Her brain froze with the memory of her nightmarish fall, his threats, his fists. She instinctively stepped back. Her lips trembled in spite of her attempt to firm them.

  He saw and then slowly inhaled. “Oh, you’re scared now.” Satisfaction thickened his voice, and his heavy-lidded eyes gleamed with cruelty as he moved toward her.

  Terror grew, until she gasped for air, unable to scream. She’d barely fought off one panic attack and had no reserves to handle another. Her fingers went cold. Numb. As her heart ricocheted painfully in her chest, she struggled against the darkness edging her vision. No, Bree. Must fight.

  He swung, and she ducked, then blocked his follow-up punch. Her return blow to his belly was weak.

  His fist hit her cheekbone with an explosion of pain, knocking her back. Her shoulders crashed into the wall, and her senses spun. Leaning on the boards for balance, she front-kicked right into his stomach.

  He grunted, hunching over.

  Yes! She swung at his temple, but he slapped her fist aside and backhanded her to the floor. Her jaw felt broken. She struggled to sit up. Blood dripped onto her shirt.

  As he stood over her, a monster, her head reverberated with shrill screams—hers, Ashley’s. The walls turned red as if drenched in gore. Whimpering, she fought her terror, trying to regain her feet. The brutal stench of his anger and pleasure filled the room.

  Over the shrieking in her head, she heard his gloating laugh. He kicked her in the stomach.

  Pain. Oh God. Nausea filled her world and she dry-heaved. Yet it broke her free of the panic attack. Her body took over, responding to years of karate drills. She rolled to her feet. Still unsteady, she staggered back. She glanced at the door. Too far.

  He stalked toward her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Zeb trotted up the stairs, ignoring curious looks at his unaccompanied state.

  With obvious concern, Evan had reported to him and Shay what had happened with Bree. Zeb scowled. If a short shifter didn’t work for her, who would? Maybe he or Shay should try, leaving the other for backup in case she panicked. The thought of mating with Bree filled him with warmth. He’d never wanted to be with a female so much.

  And yet, if he scared her…her…it would gut him completely.

  At the top of the stairs, Zeb slowed. First room to the right, Evan had said, and by the God’s balls, Zeb didn’t want to open the wrong door. Hand on the knob, he sniffed and caught Bree’s scent as well as Evan’s…and another male’s? Even as he smelled aggression and fear, Zeb heard the smack of a blow—so different from the sound of sex. A muffled cry of pain.

  His shoulder rammed against the wood. The door crashed against the wall.

  Trapped in a corner like prey, Bree faced the alpha’s brother. His jaw bore a red mark the size of a small fist, and Zeb’s pride flared. The little female was terrified but on her feet and fighting.

  Zeb took a step into the room. “What is going—”

  She turned and he saw her bloody face. More red was spattered down her shirt. As rage whipped into an uncontrollable storm, he roared and charged.

  Klaus jumped back. “It’s not what—”

  Zeb hit him so hard that at least three ribs cracked, and the male’s body dented the wall. Grabbing the scat-head by the neck, Zeb threw him out of the room.

  Threw him down the stairs.

  Trying to scramble away on hands and knees, the gibbering coward wet himself when Zeb leaped to the bottom of the staircase. With a grip on his collar, Zeb dragged him into the center of the tavern.

  A female screamed, shrill and annoying. Shouts. Males closed in. Warily.

  “Zeb!” Shay shoved two people aside.

  “Bree’s upstairs. She needs you. Now.”

  Shay ran for the stairs.

  Zeb fought his instincts, his
need to rip apart the male who’d hurt Bree—my Bree. His fists opened and closed. Where’s the fucking Cosantir?

  Klaus managed to regain his feet, blabbering at the growing crowd of shifters. “She deserved it. She—”

  The memory of Bree’s terrified face splintered Zeb’s control like an axe against rotten wood. His fist lashed out.

  The crunch and breaking of bone was satisfying, Klaus’s gut-wrenching scream of agony less so. The asshole sprawled on the floor. He’d never hurt another woman with that arm again.

  Anger pulsed in Zeb’s head; each beat providing a picture of Bree’s face. Blood so red against her whitened face. Terror and courage. Zeb moved forward. Hit him, over and over. Be sure the male could never—

  “Zebulon.” Calum’s voice was a winter mist, damping the fire. “Step back. Now.”

  Zeb hauled in a breath. Finding a space of calm and momentary quiet, he moved back an inch. One more. The red streaking his vision faded, and he received horror-struck stares from the people surrounding him. When he looked at the broken man at his feet, he knew he was doomed.

  Gerhard shoved forward, bellowing more like a bull than a wolf. Standing over Klaus, he saw the damage. “He maimed my brother. During a Gathering!” His hand shook as he pointed at Klaus’s shattered arm where bones poked whitely out of the skin. “I demand Cosantir’s Judgment. I demand—”

  “Silence.” The Cosantir’s command stilled the room, leaving only the clink of a glass and Klaus’s sobbing breaths. Calum’s gray eyes slowly darkened to the black of the God. “Zebulon. I require an explanation.”

  Zeb gritted his teeth, fighting the compulsion to answer. He’d broken the Law of the Fight, and he’d be cast out, no matter what he said. Any explanation he gave would reveal why Bree was so terrified—that she’d been abused as no female shifter ever had. She’d shown how shamed it made her. Others, like Thyra, would use it to hurt her.

  With no other explanation, the crowd would simply think a mating fight had gotten out of hand. Leave it at that. Klaus couldn’t harm her anymore. Zeb shook his head. “Just banish me and have this done.”

  His refusal brought a murmur of shock from the shifters surrounding them.

  The Cosantir’s unreadable gaze rested on him, then shifted to Klaus. “Explain.”

  “She wanted me, and she pulled me into the room,” Klaus rushed out in gasping breaths. “I was interested, but she started yelling curses against Gerhard. And she hit me. I only slapped her to settle her down; to get her away from me so I could leave.”

  Zeb shut his eyes, unable to look at the lying scat-head. If only he could block his ears as well. He was the stranger here, always the outsider. No one would believe him over the alpha’s brother.

  A scent drifted to him, sweet female and vanilla and cinnamon. Bree’s hands closed around his arm. Her fingers trembled and yet, she stood beside him. Beside him against everyone. The shock stole his breath, as if he’d fallen from a cliff and landed hard.

  Shay stepped up on his other side, his shoulder rubbing Zeb’s. Brother to brother. “Cosantir, there’s more to this.”

  Power seethed in Calum, more than could be contained in his body, enough to create waves in the air around him. He didn’t speak, merely tilted his head toward the little female.

  She took an audible breath. “I… I—”

  “No.” Zeb put his palm over against her soft lips. “It won’t help. The Judgment won’t change. Don’t do this to yourself.”

  A huff of almost human exasperation came from Calum, and the black gaze pinned Zeb with the bite of a panther’s claws. “Kneel.”

  Zeb’s knees gave way, dropping him to the floor.

  Bree gasped and gripped his shoulder with tiny cold fingers.

  The Cosantir studied her. “He has bought you the right to remain silent.”

  “I don’t want it. Darn it, Zeb, I won’t hide behind you like some—some mouse.” She sounded defiant, but her hand trembled without cease. “He…” She pointed at Klaus. “I was in that upstairs room alone, and he came in and shut the door and said h-he wouldn’t f-fuck me.”

  Zeb needed to hold her—protect her—only his legs wouldn’t move. Damn the fucking Cosantir anyway. He looked up at Shay and jerked his head toward Bree.

  Shay slapped his shoulder and stepped over to wrap an arm around her. “Go on, lass. I’ve got your back,” Shay murmured.

  Zeb could only watch, helpless. Of no use to her.

  She took in a shuddering breath. “He said we had something to finish. He meant from the pack meeting when he’d knocked me off the trail, and I’d hit him to get him away from me.”

  Fury raged up in Zeb. Shay growled. She hadn’t fallen—Klaus had hit her.

  She touched her face and a purpling jaw. “Upstairs, h-he punched me. Kicked me. I fought back—I did!—only I was so shaky and—and that’s when Zeb came in. He saved me.” The soft astonishment in her words was there for everyone to hear.

  The Cosantir’s gaze didn’t waver. “Why was a female in a mating room alone?”

  “By the God, you—” Zeb started.

  “Silence.” As Zeb’s throat closed, Calum turned his attention back to Bree.

  She swallowed audibly. “I—I’d gone upstairs with E-Evan and I tried to, only I got scared.” Her voice faded to a whisper. “I panicked and he was nice and left, but I wanted to—to get it together before I went back downstairs.”

  Calum nodded and spoke without turning his head. “Owen, please check the room upstairs.”

  “Aye, Cosantir.” The cahir trotted away. Footsteps thudded up the stairs.

  “She panicked?” Still beside his brother, Gerhard sneered. “Like anyone’d believe a bitch in heat would panic. She’s lying, Cosantir.”

  Bree gripped Zeb’s shoulder as if she needed him to hold her up. “I’m not lying. I was r-raped just before I came here and s-sex… I haven’t…” When her fingernails dug into his skin, Zeb risked wrapping an arm around her hip where it pressed against him. Her whole body was shaking.

  “Thank you, Breanne,” Calum said softly. “As your Cosantir, I cherish the bravery you have shown by speaking when you might have remained silent.”

  Owen trotted over and stopped on Zeb’s other side in open alignment. The anger scent coming from him was so strong it overwhelmed any other. “Cosantir.”

  “Tell me, cahir.”

  “The room is scented with the female’s blood. And fear.” Owen jerked his chin toward Klaus. “No scent of arousal from that one. Just aggression.”

  Gerhard turned white.

  As Klaus cringed, the Cosantir stared at him and finally spoke. “You enjoy causing pain to others. Especially females. During our sacred Gathering night, you attacked a terrified female.”

  Klaus whimpered.

  Calum touched white scars on Klaus’s cheek. “You were banished before and forgiven. This time, your banish—”

  The air around the Cosantir pulsed…thickened. His voice deepened into the avalanche of sound that heralded the God of the Hunt. “No banishment. This Daonain is twisted inside. He will not change in this lifetime. Females must be protected.”

  Zeb’s harsh inhale echoed Shay’s. It was a God’s sentence. Dread curled in Zeb’s stomach.

  The black gaze of the Cosantir turned to Gerhard. “Move away.”

  Gerhard opened his mouth, but no sound came forth. Tears filled his eyes as he rose and stepped back.

  Klaus had his arms over his head as if to fend off a blow.

  The Cosantir’s voice was his own when he said gently, “Return to the Mother, Klaus.” As he gripped Klaus’s shoulder, power flowed.

  Life drained from the shifter’s eyes. With a long exhale, his body went limp. He fell sideways, and the thud of his body hitting the floor was a blow to the heart. His eyes stayed open, staring at nothing.

  The stench of fear filled the room, but silence reigned as if time had stopped. Even if Zeb could have moved, his bones, even his spirit
had turned to ice. He would willingly have killed Klaus for what he’d done but this was cold. Fuck, he’d never thought…

  Shoulders slumping, the Cosantir sighed, then straightened his spine as slowly as an old man on a winter morning. “Owen, Ben, please help Gerhard with Klaus’s body.”

  “Aye, Cosantir,” Owen murmured. Ben nodded. As the two men picked up the dead shifter, people began to stir and voices rose.

  The Cosantir pinned Zeb with a long stare. “Rise, cahir.”

  Zeb blinked at him, unable to comprehend. “But…”

  The room went silent again.

  “Shut up, stupid,” Shay hissed. “Get your ass up and say thanks.” He released Bree and jerked Zeb to his feet.

  “I—” I’m not going to be cast out? “I—”

  “Your response was overly aggressive, but understandable. A cahir’s instinct is to protect—and to protect females above all else.” Calum’s eyes were a reassuring gray. He gave Zeb a tired smile. “Perhaps in the future, you will not be so hasty to render judgment upon yourself. It is why they pay me the big bucks, is it not?”

  Finally, Zeb found the words. “Thank you, Cosantir.”

  “Truth requires no gratitude, cahir.”

  Zeb shook his head—he was so wrong—and, at last, turned to Breanne. Wide-eyed as a fleeing horse, shaking like an aspen leaf, tears in her eyes, and totally white-faced. “By the God, little female, you’re a mess.” The shifters had dispersed, excitement changing to noisy chatter as they rehashed what had happened. The scent of females in heat was filling the room again.

  Bree stared at him, pupils dilating, and took a step closer. She jerked back. “No. No no no.” Her nipples tightened even as her shaking increased. “I won’t.” Her face twisted in horror, her voice broke. “I don’t want this.”

  “Fuck.” He pulled her into his arms. “Calum, she can’t take more.”

  Calum studied her, then looked around. “Donal, could you join us?”

  The healer trotted over. “What can—” He scowled at the bruised and bleeding female. “Dammit, again?”

  “Again,” Shay muttered, stroking her hair.