“No,” she said, despite the warmth filling her. The relief. Please come with me. “This isn’t your job. I can defend myself.”
“Breanne. I’ll see what I can arrange to get your apartment packed,” Calum said softly.
Someone else could do it? The rush of relief made her dizzy. She’d not even thought of it because, face it, she could barely afford a rental truck. Hiring expensive movers? Hah. But would her apartment manager let a moving crew in? “I—I probably need to be there.”
“No.” His eyes were almost black, and when his gaze met hers, her throat closed as if a hand had clamped around it. “You may not leave this territory—not for several months—not until there is no chance of you shifting by accident.”
His gaze turned to the men. “Cahirs do not fight in human lands. Your gifts from Herne will not be there for you, not in a city of metal, so far from His forests. You are forbidden, cahirs.”
Both Zeb and Shay scowled at him.
Bree’s hands closed into fists. God, she was tired of being told what to do. “And if I go anyway?”
When his attention swung back to her, her heart stuttered. “The penalty for bringing attention to the Daonain is death, sentenced by Cosantir’s judgment, dealt by a cahir’s hand. Do not force your lovers to kill you, Breanne,” Calum said very softly. His black gaze swept around the table like the hot wind before a forest fire.
She didn’t take a breath until he walked out of the diner.
* * *
As he and Shay silently left town, Zeb needed to pound on something. Unfortunately, Shay had already split all the firewood. Fucking mongrel.
“Well, that went well,” Shay muttered.
“Why the hell did you tell him we wanted to go in her stead?”
Shay gave him an are-you-that-stupid? look. “We’re supposed to be guarding Cold Creek. Calum might want to know if we weren’t.”
Yeah, he was that stupid. “Fuck.”
“Exactly.” Shay scowled. “She doesn’t really want to go back. I could see it. I think it’ll be okay, don’t you?”
Anger had smoldered inside him since he’d realized why she’d bought a fucking pistol—the one he’d taught her to shoot. “You’re so smart. You figure it out.”
Shay growled and shot a fist into Zeb’s mouth, knocking him backward.
Pain blasted through Zeb’s jaw. He wiped the blood off, lowered his head, and charged. His skull impacted Shay’s gut, sending them both to the ground.
The next few minutes were a tangle of blows and grunts and snarls until Shay threw Zeb off. He landed hard and rolled, expecting to get flattened.
Shay hadn’t moved. He sat a couple of yards away, sucking in air. Blood dripped down his chin; his jaw had a long graze. As his mouth curved in a rueful grin, he winced and fingered his lower lip. “I feel better. You?”
“Yeah.” Zeb stood with a groan—Shay’d gotten in a sneaky kick to his ribs—and pulled his brother to his feet. “Guess we’ll just have to keep an eye on her.”
* * *
That went well, didn’t it? Bree thought sarcastically as she walked into the grocery store. Picking up a few items for the barbecue tomorrow had been her excuse to stay in town. Otherwise, she’d have been lectured all the way back by two overprotective, women-can’t-do-anything cahirs. She shook her head as fuzzy warmth mingled with frustration. They wanted to protect her. It felt odd…and wonderful.
She nodded at Mr. Baty, who was stocking the soup section. At least Calum had forbidden the men to go to Seattle. Because Zeb was right. Even cahirs could die. The thought of them being hurt made her stomach twist. One friend—one friend was all that creature was going to take.
The Cosantir wouldn’t let her go to Seattle either. Overbearing bum. She touched her throat, remembering how she’d choked. Fine, she understood his concern that she’d change into a wolf. But he was used to the new shifters being teenagers. She hadn’t had an accident—and didn’t that sound as if she’d wet her pants?—a shifting accident for at least a couple of days.
She pulled in a slow breath and admitted, I don’t want to go back. Not for anything. She hadn’t even been protesting—not really—when he’d come down on her with his Cosantir crap. She glared at the shelf, then picked up a bottle of almond extract.
Honestly, if he arranged a moving company, and somehow got past her anal-retentive apartment manager, she’d be delighted.
So, yeah, she wouldn’t be able to tell people goodbye, except in a letter. She needed to send in her resignation too. She’d stalled long enough.
But… Her shoulders straightened. Although the guys thought they’d won, they weren’t going to get everything their way. She sniffed. Her target practice would continue. With any luck, she’d never see a hellhound again in her whole life. But if she ever did, she’d have something in her hand a little more effective than a pot of spaghetti.
* * *
The last few days had gone well, Zeb decided, as he set out the 2x4s he’d cut for the cabin’s stoop.
Last Saturday, after being huffy as a wet bobcat for a couple of hours, Bree had returned to her normal sunny self.
On Sunday, the barbecue had drawn even more people, human as well as shifter. The pack had behaved politely, although Gerhard had avoided any interaction—and Bree had avoided Calum in much the same way.
As Zeb attached the first piece of wood, he smiled, remembering how the tiny cubs had tumbled around the trial play area he’d created. Every evening since then, he’d worked on building a small slide. By the time he and Shay moved on, perhaps he’d have finished the playground he’d conceived. It would be something tangible he could leave behind. There probably wouldn’t be much else to show he’d been alive. Cahirs who fought hellhounds rarely lived out their lifespan.
And he would be fighting the demon-dogs until he died.
The wavery old glass of the cabin showed his face. Almost hidden by his dark tan was the new mark he’d discovered yesterday—the blue antlers of the oathbound. Brothers share, he thought with a wry smile.
A familiar snapping noise split the quiet afternoon and echoed through the mountains. A pistol.
Zeb’s hand tightened on the hammer. By Herne’s big balls, Bree was shooting again, even though the Cosantir had refused her permission to leave.
If she were planning to obey, why would she need to practice?
He struck the nail so hard that the board split in half. “Fuck.”
A few minutes later, he stepped into the target-shooting area behind the little female. Her fluffy pink sweater made her look feminine and helpless, but the Smith & Wesson counteracted the impression.
She held the pistol with perfect form, squeezing the trigger as gently as he’d taught her. The memory of the example he’d used, stroking a man’s balls, made him tighten. He still hadn’t had time to teach her all the ways two people could pleasure each other.
As he got closer, fury cut so deeply through him he could hardly speak. No round bulls-eye anymore—she’d created a hellhound-sized creation with eyes as the target. “You. You’re…” His voice failed him.
She whirled and took two hasty steps back. “Zeb, I’m—”
“No. No, you will not.” You will not go to Seattle. You will not face a hellhound. You will not let it rip you to pieces. Growling uncontrollably, he gripped her forearm and peeled the revolver from her grip. “No.”
As he left her, cursing him in words no female should use, he knew he’d never get a chance to teach her about loving…but at least she’d be alive to hate him.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Most of the pack had already disappeared into the forest. Idly scratching his back on a cold tree trunk, Shay waited outside the cave entrance for his brother. Since he’d been stuck dealing with deliveries, and Zeb had been working on the cabins, they hadn’t talked all day.
Finally Zeb appeared, still in human form.
The sun had set not long before, and the lower foothills were sti
ll silhouetted in pink-gold. To the east, the silvery glow around the white-topped peaks heralded the moon’s rising and gave enough light to see the hollows in Zeb’s face and the pain in his dark gaze.
“She still not speaking to you?” Shay asked before Zeb could trawsfur.
Zeb shook his head. “Now ask me if I care.”
“Hell, I know you care, or you’d give her pistol back.” The lodge had been an unhappy place since the blowup. Breanne had spent the last couple of days with Angie in town. Zeb was acting as if he had a foxtail in his paw, snapping at anything Shay said.
Breanne was too sweet to stay angry very long, but time was running out. “Gather’s tomorrow.”
Zeb gave him an irritated look.
“You think she’ll do all right? Are you going to be there?”
The grating sound was Zeb clenching his jaw. “I’ll be there.”
* * *
Bree walked across the parking lot to the Wild Hunt as the moon rose above the mountains. In the quiet night air, she heard the pack heading up the mountain: an occasional howl or bark from a younger wolf, a whine or yip when a more aggressive one chastised another. Wolfy socializing. She sighed. The one pack run she’d experienced had been so wonderful. Surrounded by the other wolves, she’d felt for a moment as if she really belonged. And now, her instincts clamored for her to forget everything and join them.
Her human brain knew that would be the stupidest thing she could possibly do. Zeb would be there. Tears pricked her eyes. That arrogant, over-protective know-it-all. She hadn’t been planning to go back to Seattle against the Cosantir’s orders, but would he give her a chance to say that? Nooo. He’d pissed her off so bad she’d have put a bullet in him—if he hadn’t taken her S&W.
She grinned ruefully. Actually, she was awfully close to forgiving him. It’s hard to hate someone who risked his life for me.
But there were other reasons to stay away from the pack run. Three of them: Thyra, Gerhard, and Dieter. Maybe by the next hunt, some of the animosity would have died down.
For now, her appointment with Vicki provided a good excuse to be absent, and Angie would make her apologies to the alpha.
The cozy atmosphere of the tavern wrapped around Bree as she entered. It looked like a typical Saturday night. Waylon Jennings played on the jukebox with a young couple doing a two-step nearby. One pool table in the alcove had baseball-capped men in flannel shirts and work boots, the other was surrounded by clean-cut college boys in Abercrombie and Fitch. Most of the tables in the room were filled, and Bree craned her neck, trying to locate Vicki.
Bearing a tray of drinks, Rosie slowed long enough to nod toward the fireplace. “Over there.”
“Thanks.” Bree made her way over.
“’Bout time, slowpoke. I thought maybe you’d gone with the pack.” Vicki shoved a chair out with her foot. “Bree, this is Heather. She runs a software business down in Rainier territory.”
“Hi.” Bree nodded at the other woman whose lanky frame held more muscles than curves.
“Good to meet you.” Dressed in jeans, a white turtleneck sweater, and a turquoise flannel shirt that matched her eyes, the redhead pushed a mug across the table. “That one’s yours.”
The beer was cold with a nice bite. Bree drank a good third before setting it down with a sigh. “I needed that.”
“The Wild Hunt has the best beer on tap.” Heather smiled. “I’m not sure if I attend Gathers in Cold Creek for the beer or the males.”
“I thought the guys traveled and the women stayed put.” Bree studied the full bar with a quiver of anxiety. How many of the men were shifters that she’d…meet…tomorrow night?
“That’s the norm, not the law. I attend Gathers here, so I can visit my mom up in Elder Village.”
“That’s where I met Heather, right after I’d learned I was a shifter,” Vicki said. “And I was probably as lost as you.”
“If you were a late-blooming shifter like me, why do the guys act as if I’m so unusual?”
“I came to shifterhood a different way. Seems that a dying shifter can gift his magic to a human. At the time, I thought it was a fucking lousy present.” Vicki took a sip of beer. “Poor Heather got recruited to explain the facts of life. Like Gathers.”
Bree snickered. “She probably did a better job than the guys.”
“Males tried to instruct you?” Frowning, Heather turned to Vicki. “You should have—”
“Hey. Not my fault. Calum shipped me off to Elder Village for those damned classes, leaving Zeb and Shay in the fire zone.”
“Zeb and Shay—the cahirs from Rainier?” Heather’s lips twitched, then she roared with laughter. “You poor pup.”
* * *
The wolves followed their alpha to a small lake deep in the mountains. Near the middle of the pack, Zeb loped beside his brother. The dirt was moist under his paws. The snow-crisp air from the heights brought the scent of a mountain goat. Closer was the fragrance of beaver from a nearby dam. He’d always loved twilight, the time when night took over from the day, when Herne’s power pulsed in his veins, and the Mother’s love was as heady as her moon above.
In the meadow, surrounded by black forest, the lake was placid, with mist hovering over the surface in lazy tendrils. The moonlight turned Gerhard’s naked body to silver as he paced back and forth near the shoreline. Slowly, the wolves lay down around him.
Zeb noted how the wolves divided into groups rather than spacing out evenly. Over on the right were the older, wiser heads—Baty and Angie, along with the three who owned the hardware store. Odd. With a pack this size, shouldn’t there be more older ones?
Near the front, the alpha female reigned over the unmated females. Oddly mentorless, a younger pup hovered on the fringes.
To the left were the young aggressive males. Zeb frowned. Wolves didn’t have cliques, not in a well-run pack. He glanced at Shay. From the half-flattened ears, his brawd saw the divisiveness also.
Good thing that Bree hadn’t come tonight, although Zeb missed her with an ache like a broken rib. He couldn’t remember when he’d been so fucking miserable, but damned if he’d give her weapon back so she could go get herself killed.
“Listen up,” Gerhard snapped, silencing the conversations. “We’re going that way.” He pointed north.
Zeb frowned. He’d visited there a couple of weeks ago. The rugged valley with steep slopes and avalanche debris wouldn’t be an easy hunt.
“There should be deer, and we’ll bring one down,” Gerhard announced. He trawsfurred and leaped forward into a fast run.
Zeb growled his disgust. The moon wasn’t even fully risen. The valley would be dark, the terrain difficult, especially for old ones with less keen eyes. Before Elder Lain died, Zeb had learned how fragile elderly wolves became. A pack run was supposed to be for all the wolves, from the newest shifters to the eldest. Challenging hunts were for young males and females.
Ignoring the compulsion to blindly follow the alpha, Zeb turned to Shay.
Shay flicked his ears forward at the older group and looked at Zeb. Zeb waved his tail in agreement.
Then Shay tilted his head at the new shifter, indicating he’d babysit the pup.
Good plan. Zeb waited for the older wolves to move out and trotted after them.
Baty and Angie ran well, muzzles forward, pleasure in their gait. The other three also kept up well for the first part of the run.
The rocky slopes were too much though, and the three fell farther and farther behind. Planning to risk their pride and suggest they head back, Zeb moved closer.
On the talus-covered trail, one male missed his footing. As the debris slipped out from under him, he landed badly and a bone snapped with a gut-wrenching sound. Scrambling uselessly, he teetered on the edge.
Fuck. Zeb leaped forward and clamped his jaws on the old wolf’s ruff. Bracing his legs, he held, unable to do more. Any movement would send them over, and the bottom was a fucking long way down.
The
other two wolves blurred to human and pulled them both back onto the trail.
As they moved the hurt wolf to a flat spot, tears leaked down the woman’s wrinkled face. “I knew we should stop going on these runs. I knew it.” She knelt beside her injured mate and asked the other, “Can you tell how bad it is, Quentin?”
Quentin ran his hands over the hind leg as the wolf whined in pain. “Busted it good, Walter. You clumsy idiot.”
Zeb padded over. To his shock, the female turned and stroked her hand down his back. “Thank you, cahir, for saving my mate.” She glanced over the edge and shuddered. “He wouldn’t have survived that fall.”
Quentin’s face turned grim. “He might not survive the trip out.” He set his hand on his hurt littermate. “It’s a long way back, brawd.”
And too steep for an old wolf using only three legs. Zeb shifted to human form. “Stay wolf, Walter,” he ordered. “You’ll be easier to carry.”
“But…” Quentin started.
Zeb lifted the injured wolf onto his shoulders. “The trip out will be easier for you two as wolves. Shift back.”
The old wolves stayed close as Zeb turned back, struggling to keep his footing. A rock scraped his bare foot, and another, and he silently cursed the fucking alpha with every painful slip and slide.
* * *
Shay noticed when the older wolves started to fall behind and was grateful his brother was willing to watch over them. As independent a wolf as ever born, Zeb didn’t care if he was alone, or with a few wolves, or in the middle of a pack.
Shay was different. Although, over the years, he’d learned to tolerate solitude, being surrounded by packmates filled his soul in a way nothing else did. Like now, as he greedily absorbed the sounds and scents. To his right, a wolf pounced on a rodent, giving a yip of delight. Two young males quarreled in a dominance spat. Other wolves brushed against Shay as they ran. The scents of the females added delight to the evening. Shay let his mind settle and his instincts come forward.
Winter of the Wolf (Hunt 2) Page 29
