Winter of the Wolf (Hunt 2)

by Cherise Sinclair

  * * *

  When Bree woke again, bright sunlight streamed in the window. She must have slept like a rock. Yawning, she looked up.

  Propped on one elbow, Zeb stared at her. His jaw was tight, his eyes flat and cold.

  Her body went rigid. “What?”

  He ran his fingers over her shoulder, her arm, her leg, his gentleness a disconcerting contrast to the granite hardness of his face.

  He’s touching my scars.

  His gaze returned to hers, and he ran a finger down her cheek. “You did nothing wrong, little female. But I would know what has done this to you. This time you will answer me fully.”

  “I told you, it was an animal.” She started to sit up.

  One big hand pinned her like a bug to the bed. “Because of your human modesty, Shay and I turn our eyes from your nakedness. But when you and Shay mated, he saw more closely and asked me to look.”

  Oh-oh.

  “A grizzly bear might have a jaw this size,” he mused, looking at her shoulder. His black gaze rested on her much like his hand, trapping her. “Did a grizzly bear attack you?”

  She licked her dry lips. “No.”

  “What sort of animal was it?” he asked ever so softly.

  “A hellhound.” She stared at the wall as shame enveloped her. She felt ugly, filthy. It had pushed inside her, had… “In Seattle, in my apartment.”

  He curved his hand under her jaw, turning her face toward him. His palm was warm and as unyielding as his voice. “Tell me.”

  The need to hide was strong, but he wouldn’t let her turn away. “It came through the glass door. I couldn’t stop it. My friend”—she pulled in a ragged breath—“Ashley was there, and I tried to keep it from her, but the monster heard her opening the locks and it…”

  Zeb made a noise, and the lines around his eyes deepened.

  “She screamed and screamed, and it killed her. T-tore her… There was blood. Her blood all over.” It licked the blood. Ashley lay so still, her gray eyes unblinking. Wrong. Zeb’s face blurred as tears filled Bree’s eyes. The creature turning into a man. Laughing. “Th-that’s all.”

  Zeb’s warm hand curved around her nape, and he pulled her against his chest. “Tell me the rest, Bree.” His voice was controlled. No shock. No horror.

  “I kicked it. Knifed it. Nothing worked. It bit me, dragged me back to the living room. I couldn’t get away.” Its teeth ripping into her—the pain. “I screamed and nobody c-came.”

  With a growl of sympathy, Zeb wrapped his arm around her waist.

  She burrowed closer, a glacier of coldness inside her. His bare chest was slick with her tears. But tears didn’t clean her. She felt filth coating her and could smell the monster’s foulness on her skin. Her lips pressed tightly closed.

  “There’s more,” Zeb said.

  He knew—he knew, and he’d still make her say it? Anger flared, fragmenting the ice inside her. A bubble of pain rose, spilling into words. “It changed into a man. It was a man and…it r-raped me. It l-liked my blood.” She gagged, remembering. “Said it would be back.”

  Silence. A sigh. “You had only enough magic in your blood to confuse it. If you’d been fully human or shifter, you’d have died right then.” Zeb’s muscles around her were like the iron bars over the windows. His embrace was safe, but no longer comforting, no longer gentle, and the loss hurt her inside.

  She was ruined and now he knew. She pushed at him. “Let me up. I need to go—” Somewhere. Anywhere but here.

  He didn’t release her. After a slow breath, he pulled her even closer, smoothing her against him until not an inch of space remained between them. “I would give my life to have saved you that,” he murmured against her hair.

  He wasn’t going to let her run, and she closed her eyes, feeling his breath against her temple. His hard hand stroked down her back. When he finally pulled away to look at her, she couldn’t meet his gaze. His fingers tilted her chin up.

  “I’m dirty,” she whispered, finally confessing the worst of it. “He made me filthy. I smell like him, and I can’t get clean.”

  “Bree.” He closed his eyes for an interminable minute. When he looked at her again, darkness swirled in his gaze. “My uncle and littermates were killed by a hellhound.” His voice sounded strained, like hers after that night of screams. “My littermates and I had raided the refrigerator, so my uncle confined us to the cabin as punishment. But we were thirteen and just learned to shift. I sneaked out to practice in the starlight by a lake. When I came back, they’d been torn apart.”

  “Oh God, Zeb. I’m sor—”

  “My sister had been raped.”

  Bree’s eyes filled with tears. Littermates—the girl would have been thirteen. So young. And Zeb had seen. Known.

  “If you met her now, would you tell her she was filthy?”

  “No! Of course not.”

  “Then neither are you, little female,” Zeb whispered, cuddling her like a kitten. “Neither are you.”

  The sobs took her by surprise, shaking her chest, spilling from her in horrible ugly sounds that she couldn’t stop. His sister. Ashley. Me… So much pain. Her body shook under the onslaught, anger and grief mingling together. She fought his embrace, needing to get away, to hide, and he wrapped her closer until she could only lean against him and cry and cry and cry.

  When she’d exhausted herself, reduced to little gasping breaths, he still held her. Solid, warm, safe.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered into his chest. Her head felt heavy as she looked up.

  His mouth curved with tenderness, and his eyes were warm with approval. “I am not.” He used his fingers to wipe the wetness from her cheeks. “Did you cry for my sister too?”

  She nodded, knowing that had started her tears, opened her to her own misery.

  “Thank you, cariad.” He shifted so she nestled against his side, her head cradled on his shoulder. “Sleep again. It’s early, and I have a need to hold you for a time.”

  She settled, the rise and fall of his chest infinitely comforting, and discovered she still had a need to be held.

  * * *

  When they finally roused, he dragged her to the bathroom for a badly needed shower. She didn’t have a chance to over-scrub, since he insisted on washing her himself—so thoroughly that they were both aroused. This time, he set her hands on the wall and took her from behind, hard and fast, an arm across her pelvis holding her hips in place, his fingers on her clit demanding a response. She came, shuddering and crying out, fingernails clawing at the tile wall.

  When he finished, he pushed her under the water again.

  This time she slapped his hands away, earning herself a low chuckle and agreement.

  She followed him down the stairs, her hair still wet, and the air in the cabin cold against her over-heated body.

  Shay was in the kitchen when they entered. He ran a finger over her swollen lips and smiled. “You look well taken.”

  She felt a flush run all the way to her forehead, and both men grinned.

  Then Shay’s smile disappeared. His brows drew together as he tilted her head to the light. “Your eyelids are as red and puffy as your mouth. By the God, Zeb.” Fury hardened his face.

  Bree stepped in front of Zeb. “No, Shay. Zeb didn’t—”

  “The scars are from a hellhound,” Zeb said bluntly.

  Shay stilled. “A hellhound?”

  “Yes.” Zeb brushed his knuckles over her cheek and pushed her toward his brother. “She needs to be held. I’ll start a fire. It’s too cold in here for her.”

  As he walked out, Bree stared after him. The abandoned feeling shook her.

  Shay’s arms came around her, holding her tightly against his body. He whispered into her hair the explanation that made her world right again, “He knows I need to hold you, a leannan, and my bràthair is not a selfish male.”

  * * *

  After holding Breanne as long as she’d permit, Shay left her in the kitchen concocting something
sweet for Angie’s Diner.

  Once he’d had the entire story from Zeb, his anger was so deep, his urge to kill so strong that the living room turned red.

  With his own fury simmering, Zeb was no help.

  “I need to leave,” Shay said. In this mood, he’d be no help to the little wolf.

  Zeb jerked his head toward the door, and Shay accepted.

  As he stalked past the more distant cabins, he spotted a pile of wood, the axe buried in the stump. Something to kill. He set a chunk on the stump, swung, and the wood split, pieces flying in opposite directions. Another. Split it in half. And continued…

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The next morning, lured by the scent of bacon, Bree wandered down the stairs and toward the kitchen, pulling a heavy sweater on over her undershirt as she went. The morning air was chilly, although someone had started a fire in the fireplace. Her stomach growled, and she smiled. Her appetite was returning. Good. She’d spent most of yesterday on the edge of nausea and close to tears.

  Zeb’s questions had brought back all the memories she’d thought conquered, and Shay’s fury had topped off the emotional volcano. After Shay had returned, the men had dragged her into the forest to play tag as wolves, wrestling and bouncing and acting like puppies. It had helped. Animals didn’t feel dirty.

  She’d taken a shower this morning without needing to use up all the hot water. She wasn’t completely healed, she knew, but…better.

  And she’d slept great. Last night, Shay had curled around her in his big bed. Sometime later, Zeb had joined them. Sandwiched between two cahirs, who could have nightmares?

  As she entered the kitchen, Zeb was dishing up bacon and scrambled eggs. I should sleep late more often. “You cooked?”

  “Only breakfast.” He studied her for a moment, and then obviously satisfied, ran his knuckles down her cheek. “One course, no side dishes, no vegetables. Very little to go wrong.”

  Shay pulled out a chair for her and stroked her hair gently as she took her seat.

  They were always careful with her, she’d noticed, but today they acted as if she was something fragile. Okay, yes, their behavior gave her the warm ‘n’ fuzzies, but good grief, she wasn’t going to break. Bree helped herself to the food. “I’m starving.”

  Zeb’s lips quirked. “Considering how little you ate yesterday, I’m not surprised.”

  “I didn’t eat anything.”

  Shay snorted. “Yes, you did, a leannan.”

  No, I didn’t. After the morning started off with Shay being so angry, she’d never gone back into the kitchen. How could the men think…oh. In the forest, she’d gotten hungry, and the big jerks had made her catch her own lunch. She’d only managed to nab a scrawny mouse. One bite—raw. Ew. She frowned at them. “I don’t like rodent take-out.”

  Zeb’s quick grin flashed.

  “You’ll have to improve your hunting skills if you want a higher class of dining,” Shay said.

  As they ate, they discussed the day’s projects, reservations for the cabins, new items they’d found that needed repair. The next barbecue was approaching, and they talked over the menu. Zeb, the oh-so-terrifying-cahir, wanted to construct a fenced-off play area for the smaller children. With a handmade jungle gym.

  Bree finished her food slowly, unwilling to break the peaceful mood. How odd to be planning the day with two men. Ashley would have been thrilled. The familiar grief washed through her, but it had eased to a dull ache.

  After Shay refilled her coffee, he rested his elbows on the table. His gunmetal blue gaze fastened on her in a way that made her insides quiver.

  “What?” she asked, wanting to add, I didn’t do it, whatever it was

  “I’ve been thinking. You aren’t afraid of animals, but you bought a pistol and told me you ‘needed’ to practice.” His brows drew together. “What are you planning to kill with that revolver, little wolf?”

  Her stomach sank. Telling the truth would be like throwing water into a deep fryer; the men’s anger would splatter everywhere.

  Zeb’s eyes narrowed with comprehension. His coffee cup hit the table hard enough to slosh liquid over the sides. “That’s why you quizzed me about killing a hellhound with a pistol.”

  Their intense stares were a heavy weight.

  “Well, Breanne?” Shay asked softly.

  This isn’t their decision, darn them. She raised her chin. “You figured it out. My lease is up, and I have to pack up my apartment. I’m not going to be defenseless.” Not this time.

  “You’d go alone?” Shay’s voice hadn’t risen, but his hand fisted so tight that his knuckles cracked with ominous pops. “And expect to stay alive if it comes for you?”

  “Even with two experienced cahirs, a hellhound sometimes wins. Against one little female—alone?” Zeb’s expression was deadly.

  “Hey, I’m not stupid. I won’t go during the dark of the moon.” She breathed out, slow and even. If they saw how scared she was, they’d lock her in her room.

  “You will not do this,” Zeb said flatly.

  “It’s not your decision to make.”

  Shay shoved away from the table and paced across the kitchen. And back. He set his hand on her shoulder, deliberately looming over her, the brute. “Zeb and I are meeting with the Cosantir this morning. You’ll accompany us.”

  “I don’t think so.” Her mouth was dry, but her hands shook too hard to risk lifting her glass.

  “Breanne,” Shay said in a level voice. “A new shifter must get permission from the Cosantir before leaving the territory.”

  “I’m just going there long enough to pack.” Surely she could rent a truck and have everything loaded in a day or so.

  “Nonetheless.”

  Another freaking rule she’d never heard of. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

  Zeb took a sip of coffee. His hand was rock-steady, she noticed bitterly. “You will also tell the Cosantir what happened to you. If you don’t, I will.”

  “Oh sure, announce it to the world while you’re at it.” She glared at him. “You already shared more than enough with—” She broke the sentence off.

  Frowning, Shay took her hand. “You weren’t going to tell me?”

  “I-I… Maybe.”

  “We’re doing more than living together, Breanne. Zeb and I want…” He glanced at Zeb and amended, “This was something I should know.” He nipped the edge of her hand hard enough to hurt. “Is that clear?”

  Her hand stung. He stood, waiting for her answer. His level eyes held her gaze.

  “Clear.” She glared at him. Fine. Yes, I do live here and yes, we’re having sex. But since he planned to leave the minute his pushy god gave a yell, this wasn’t what she’d call a serious relationship. At least, not on his part. Darn him. “But I don’t live with Calum. He doesn’t have any say—”

  “He does.” Shay said flatly.

  God, this was going to be such a fun meeting, wasn’t it? She scowled, then decided if they could make her so angry, she could do the same. Time to go and kill some branches.

  * * *

  Midmorning, Bree walked into town between the two men. Although they’d scowled at her when she returned from her shooting practice—mission accomplished—she didn’t give a darn.

  It had been a good session, and her bullets were finally going where she aimed them. After moving close enough to Mr. Monster that she couldn’t miss, she’d started backing up a step at a time. True, she was still closer than she liked, but she had about three weeks before her lease ran out. She’d be ready.

  Pistol or not, the thought of spending hours in her apartment sent a chill through her.

  Zeb tugged her hair. “It won’t be that bad.”

  She stared at him in disbelief, then realized he meant the meeting with the Cosantir.

  When they reached the diner, Calum waited at a table with a pot of tea in front of him.

  With Zeb and Shay behind her, Bree walked past the long counter where an elderly man sat on a
blue-topped stool, openly enjoying a piece of the apple pie she’d made yesterday. She’d have enjoyed a second of pride if her stomach hadn’t been so knotted up.

  Courteous as always, Calum rose and held a chair for her. After everyone had seats, he raised an eyebrow at Shay, obviously expecting an explanation of Bree’s presence.

  Before Shay could answer, Angie bustled out from the kitchen, three cups in one hand, and a pot of coffee in the other. “Anyone want to order?”

  She had no takers.

  “I’ll leave you the pot then.” She patted Bree’s shoulder. “Call me if you need anything.”

  “Thank you, Angeline,” Calum said, receiving a pleased smile in return. He turned his attention to Bree. “Can I help you with something, Breanne?”

  I don’t know him. I can’t do this. She tried to push her chair back, but it ran into Zeb’s foot.

  He jerked his head at Calum in a silent, tell him or I will.

  She gave him a pleading gaze. Later. I’ll tell him later.

  His return look was cynical; he knew she’d never bring it up.

  Fine then. “Before I came here from Seattle, I got hurt. The one who—” She couldn’t finish.

  Shay’s hand closed over hers. “Breanne, he needs to know.”

  Calum’s eyes narrowed.

  Gripping Shay’s hand with all her strength, she continued, “I was attacked by a hellhound. It killed my friend, before”—would this ever get easier to say?—“before it turned into a m-man and r-raped me.”

  Calum’s eyes darkened. His mouth set into a tight line. “Continue.”

  “That’s all. Except my lease runs out in three weeks, and I have to return to pack up my apartment.” She added a hasty, “It shouldn’t be more than one night.”

  “You are not going anywhere near that city,” Zeb gritted out.

  Odd how he didn’t scare her anymore. “I’m sorry, Zeb, but I am.”

  Shay’s grip had changed from gentle to nearly crushing her hand. “Even if it’s not the new moon, the hellhound could return for you in human form. Zeb and I will go instead.”