Winter of the Wolf (Hunt 2)

by Cherise Sinclair

  * * *

  The hellhound whipped its head, flinging Zeb across the room. He skidded into a chair. Mind fuzzing, he staggered to his feet. What the fuck was wrong with him?

  The demon-dog took a step, ran its tongue over its bloody muzzle, and stopped dead. Its rust-colored eyes focused on Zeb with new interest.

  Yeah, I got magic in my blood. And oh fuck, the magic was why he was fucking weak. “Your Gifts from Herne will not be there for you, not in a city of metal, so far from His forests.” Damn the Cosantir for being right.

  He kicked a chair into the hellhound’s path and pulled his knife, feeling the weakness in his torn muscles. He might not have the strength to shove the blade through its leathery belly. Could he use his other hand quickly enough?

  He was slower too. Hell, he’d probably be slaughtered trying to reach the creature, especially with no diversion. Where the fuck was Shay?

  In this piled-upon place, a yell wouldn’t be heard upstairs. But… He yanked his pistol from his left-hand-holster and aimed at the hellhound. Wouldn’t work, but the noise might.

  * * *

  The sound of a handgun sent fear ripping through Shay. Zeb or Breanne. He shoved Jim to one side and ran down the hallway. He took the stairs, jumping down them four at a time. On the ground floor, he checked doors as he ran. Number one-sixteen had a fist-sized hole in it.

  “Zeb!” he roared. Couldn’t strip fast enough to trawsfur. He drew his knife. As he charged into the room, he caught the scent of blood and pain, and the foul stench of demonkin.

  Small place. Too small. Cornered by a hellhound, Zeb had a knife in one hand, a chair in the other. As Shay charged across the room, the beast started to turn, ruining his chance at the belly. Shay lunged in to slash at its hind leg. The knife scraped off, not getting between the plates. Fangs worked better, dammit.

  The hellhound snarled and snapped at Shay.

  Shay dodged and slashed toward its eye, but it was old enough, smart enough, to turn its head so the blade stabbed only the facial armor. Its jaws almost caught his arm, and Shay evaded, banging into furniture.

  It kept coming.

  He desperately dove over the coffee table and landed on his side, knowing he’d not get out of this one. The room was too crowded.

  “Fuck, no!” Zeb hit the hellhound from the rear as Shay staggered to his feet.

  The hellhound spun, and Zeb jumped away, hitting an end table. He fell in front of the door. The hellhound went for him.

  No! Shay ran forward—too late, too late.

  * * *

  The sharp retort of bullets had turned Bree around as she reached the second floor. Now on the first, she burst out of the stairwell to the sound of thuds and snarling. Her place. Someone was in her apartment. Being hurt.

  The hellhound must be there. Her pulse increased, roaring in her head loud enough to drown out every other noise. A voice inside her screamed, Get away. Run! Pulling her pistol from her purse, she forced her legs to keep moving. Toward her apartment.

  The door was open, red splatters on the carpet. And…the monster.

  Its stench hit her, and she froze. Ash’s screams, blood, teeth ripping into her. Pain, pain, pain. Her world narrowed, turned gray. Sounds receded. Paralysis gripped her until she couldn’t move.

  “Breanne, no!” Shay’s voice came from far, far away. “Run!”

  Blood covered the monster’s muzzle. Pink frothy saliva ran down its jaw and dripped off, drop by slow drop. Her gaze followed the liquid as it seemed to float in the air, descending and landing on a person. A man. Zeb.

  It stood over Zeb.

  The world snapped into focus. Sounds blasted into her ears: shouts, snarls, growls.

  As the monster turned toward Bree, her hand came up, her form exactly correct. She pulled the trigger gently—just like stroking a man’s balls.

  The red-brown eye splattered.

  The hellhound dropped onto Zeb, knocking the air out of his lungs. Again. With a groan, Zeb tried to shove it off. Got nowhere. “Fuck,” he gasped. “Why am I always on the bottom?”

  “Because I’m the alpha?” Shay asked in a strained voice. He grabbed an armored leg, and then Bree was there, pushing from the other side. As the demon-dog changed to human and Shay tossed it aside, Bree fell to her knees.

  “Jeez, Zeb!” She wrapped her arms around his neck, trying to fracture his spine.

  He pulled her closer. Warm, soft female, leaking tears all over his chest, smelling of fear and vanilla. Sweet, sweet Bree. Her heart was pounding so hard, his ribs would probably have bruises. As he buried his face in her silky hair, for a second, his world was just right.

  “Mo chridhe, you’re going to strangle him.” The amused tone said Shay wasn’t seriously injured, not that the mongrel would let anyone know.

  After a gentle touch of her lips to Zeb’s forehead, she jumped up and did her best to choke Shay instead. Shay wrapped his arms around her, set his cheek on the top of her head, and looked at Zeb. His mouth formed one word. “Ours.”

  Oh yeah. Pain flared like wildfire in his arm as he sat up, but Zeb still managed to smile. “Ours.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Rain bulleted the smeary windshield of Zeb’s truck. As he wrenched the steering wheel to the left to enter a motel parking lot, his arm flared with pain. It felt as if the fucking hellhound’s teeth were still embedded in his flesh. He pulled up beside Shay’s truck, letting the engine run as his brother disappeared inside the office.

  In the passenger seat, Bree stirred. “Where are we?”

  “Motel.” Not his choice of places to stay, but at least they’d driven long enough to get away from all the metal and concrete. He wasn’t sure what Shay had in mind though—Cold Creek was to the east, not south.

  “Oh. Good. We need to patch you up.” Bree frowned at the blood-soaked dishtowel he’d wrapped around his arm. “You should have let me drive.”

  “Uh-huh. Hold your hands out.”

  She gave him a dirty look, not even attempting to prove she wasn’t shaking like an aspen in a high wind.

  In the apartment, when she’d seen what her bullet had done to the hellhound’s face, she’d turned green and dashed for the bathroom. But she’d returned on her own two feet and, hearing sirens, had led them out of the building. By the God, she was a strong female.

  Shay appeared, carrying a sack, and jumped in his truck. Zeb followed to the rear of the motel and parked, nodding approval. The line of small cottage-like buildings was much better than the huge building in front.

  Their cottage was at the end. After slinging an arm around Bree, Zeb went inside. The room was clean and decorated in pleasant green and white colors. One side held a token kitchen area containing a round table and chairs. A microwave, tiny refrigerator, and coffee pot sat on a counter. The center had a small couch and television.

  Near the far wall was a bed only slightly smaller than the one at their lodge. No—not their lodge any more. At the best, they were now exiled from Cold Creek; possibly, they’d be outcast completely.

  He took a slow breath, pushing away the ache of loss. The sweet female cuddling against his side was enough recompense for any male. “What you got there, brawd?” he asked as Shay set the sack on the counter.

  His brother pulled out several microwavable soups and hot chocolate packets, plus some white T-shirts boasting pictures of the Space Needle.

  “You wanted souvenirs?” Bree asked in disbelief.

  Shay laughed. “After Zeb takes a shower, I’ll wrap his arm up with special Seattle bandages.” He patted the T-shirts.

  “Good plan.” Zeb frowned at the guilt on Bree’s face and kissed the top of her head. “Make me some soup, little female?”

  She gave him a wavery smile and nodded.

  * * *

  The guys had taken quick showers, and Bree had been grateful to go last so she could take her time. Finally feeling clean again, she donned one of the oversized Seattle T-shirts and stepped out.


  At the table, Shay was ripping up shirts while Zeb drank a cup of soup. Both men were shirtless, wearing only their jeans.

  Shay smiled at her. “C’mere. I need to hold you before I yell at you.”

  As his arms closed around her, she breathed in his masculine scent of snowy mountains—the fragrance of safety, comfort, and love.

  “I understand why you thought you had to come back here.” His voice turned to a low growl. “But if you ever do something so dangerous again, you’ll find that Gerhard’s discipline was nothing.”

  She rubbed her face against the crisp hair on his chest. “Uh-huh. And you’ll do what?”

  He nipped the top of her ear in a stinging reprimand. “I’ll bare your ass and pound on it.”

  “Sounds like fun.” Zeb leaned forward and swatted her lightly. “Can we practice first?”

  “There’s a thought.” Shay’s big hands massaged her bottom, lighting a warmth inside her. “Maybe after I rest a bit.”

  “You too? Guess the Cosantir was right about being weaker in a city. And slower, dammit.” Zeb turned his arm over, examining the bite.

  She stared at the torn flesh. “There’s no healer here.”

  “Not the first time.” Not looking up, he poked at a spot, trying to shove the skin together. More blood trickled down his forearm.

  He’d been hurt because of her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, blinking as tears welled in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  “What are a few more marks?” He picked up a strip of T-shirt.

  She couldn’t stand to look, to see what she’d done to him. He’d been hurt so many times before. She turned her back, and a sob escaped despite her efforts.

  Zeb made a low noise of pain, and his chair scraped on the linoleum. Stepping in front of her, he set a finger under her chin and lifted her face. His eyes were dark and intent. “Do the scars bother you, little female?”

  “Of course not,” she choked out.

  “Then why the tears?” With his thumb, he wiped them from her cheeks and released her.

  Didn’t he understand anything? “It’s my fault. And—” Horror rose inside her as she realized something else, remembered why she hadn’t told them anything. “Are you in trouble because you followed me?” She looked at one man, then the other. Have I ruined their lives? “You can go back, can’t you?”

  “No, mo leannan. You don’t defy a Cosantir and expect to live in his territory.” Shay folded a piece of shirt into a square. “I called while you were in the shower. Rosie will watch over the lodge until we return and make a formal break.”

  The corner of Zeb’s mouth lifted. “We’ll wait a few days to let his temper cool so maybe he won’t drop us dead in our tracks.”

  Bree’s breath caught. “Don’t go back.”

  “That wouldn’t be honorable.” Shay shook his head. “No, I think he’ll just kick us out of his territory. Zeb was mostly joking about him killing us.”

  “Mostly?” She shuddered, remembering the life draining from Klaus’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want either of you dragged into this.”

  “Looks like you’d have done all right without us. You killed yourself a hellhound.” Shay gave her a thoughtful look. “Knowing you, you had a plan.”

  “Yeah, I was going to stack up furniture so when it broke through the patio door, it would have been funneled toward me in a straight direction. I figured that way I’d get a clear shot at its eyes.”

  Zeb brushed his knuckles over her damp cheek. “Good plan. Fair chance of working.”

  “Only I wouldn’t have had time to set up, not after the pickup broke down. So I’m glad you were here, but now the Cosantir will—”

  “Eric’s a cute kid,” Shay said, interrupting her. “And he might have been the next victim. Or you. We were where we needed to be.”

  Zeb nodded agreement and handed her a cup of soup. “Drink that while Shay wraps my arm.”

  Trying not to cry, she forced herself to sip, as the men argued amiably over ways to tie the bandage. She’d totally destroyed their lives. The pack would lose Shay as the alpha. Zeb wouldn’t get to finish the cabins. The little brownies had just moved into their lodge, now they’d have to move out again. Misery enveloped her, compressing her chest until she found it hard to breathe.

  Laughing at one of Shay’s insults, Zeb glanced at her. His brows drew together. “Bree. What?”

  “I’m sorry. So, so sorry.” She sniffled. How could she have hurt the people she loved best in the whole world? “You can’t go back. I’ve ruined everything—the pack and the town and the brownies.”

  “By the God, you’re a mess.” Zeb started to rise and stopped at a gesture from Shay.

  Shay put his foot up on a chair and leaned on his thigh, contemplating her. “You’re not going to forgive yourself, are you?”

  “How can I?” Under his steady gaze, she had to look away. “I should leave. Maybe if I go, then Calum will—”

  A hand hit the table, making her jump. “No,” Zeb said in a deadly voice. “Don’t even consider it.”

  “Look at me, Breanne.” Shay waited until she complied. “It took me years to forgive myself for the mistakes I made as a pack leader. Finally someone asked me how many people I had to save before I thought I’d evened the balance.” Shay rubbed his face. “I would have suffered anything, to escape that guilt.”

  Mouth tight, Zeb nodded in understanding.

  She understood. She’d ruined their lives, and she’d live with the remorse forever. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again.

  “You should be. Because I’m furious.” Shay’s hand closed into a fist, and the knuckles cracked. She felt the pull of an alpha as his anger reverberated through her. “Not for trying to save a child, but that you didn’t trust us to help.”

  What could she say? She couldn’t let them get hurt. But—

  “You feel bad because Zeb was hurt and the Cosantir might banish us, but that’s not why we’re angry. Not even close.” He studied her. “Until you get past the guilt, you won’t understand the rest.”

  What did he mean? “I—”

  “A good parent—or alpha—disciplines to teach,” Shay said. “As a cub, I didn’t understand how punishment could lessen anger and guilt. Or how after a punishment is done, the trail is wiped out. No tracks remain.”

  She remembered the pain of Thyra’s discipline. Would they really attack her? Savage her as wolves? But if it would make them feel better… She pulled in a breath. “Okay. I can take it.”

  Zeb straightened. “Shay, are you insane? You’d bite her?”

  A grim smile flitted over the alpha’s face. “Bite? No. This is going to be difficult though—I’ve never struck a female.” He sat on the bed. “Come here, Breanne.”

  She hesitated. But whatever he wanted to do to her, she’d endure. When she stood beside him, he gripped the front of her T-shirt and pulled her downward over his hard thighs.

  He shoved the hem up to her waist and rubbed her bare bottom. Only then did she realize what he planned. Spank me? Humiliation swept through her. “No!” She struggled.

  He pinned her shoulders down. “Yes. I don’t want to do this, but you’re mired neck-deep in guilt. And not hearing what we’re saying.” His hand hit her lightly.

  She heard Zeb growl.

  “Dùin do bhuel.”

  “Fuck your shut up and—”

  “A bhràthair, she needs this.” Shay brought his hand down. Hard. The slap echoed against the walls, and her butt stung. “I wish someone had beaten the guilt from me back then.” Another slap, this time harder. And another.

  “No!” When she kicked, he ruthlessly trapped her legs with his, then started spanking her in earnest. Blow after blow, one cheek, then the other. The stinging on her skin turned to burning, then to fire. It hurt. “You butthead!”

  As she fought back, she heard his voice, “…this is for not telling me. This is for not sharing the letter. This for lying to me. This is f
or not letting us protect you…” The red-edged pain grew and grew, and she started to cry. “This is for not allowing us to decide what we would risk or what we find to be important.”

  When something jostled the bed, Shay paused.

  Oh, thank God. Choking with sobs, she tried to rise up. The ruthless hand on her back flattened her. She saw Zeb’s legs. He’d joined Shay.

  “I get it now. But if I use my arm, I’ll start to bleed again,” Zeb said.

  “I’ll hold her for you, a bhràthair.”

  Zeb, too? His betrayal made her sob harder.

  “I hate seeing you cry, Bree.” Zeb pushed her hair from her wet face with a gentle hand. “But I’m angry too. And I want you to understand why. Maybe this will take away your guilt, so you can hear what we’re saying.”

  He didn’t wait for her agreement but moved to Shay’s other side.

  He hit her. His palm was fully as hard as Shay’s and more abrasive. Fresh pain firestormed over her skin. Left, right. When he slapped the tops of her thighs, her fingernails dug into Shay’s jeans.

  Slowly, Zeb rasped out what he was mad about: not coming to him with the problem, not calling when his truck broke down. Each blow seared her skin. “We’re together. All of us.” Slap. “Even if we take on the fucking world, we do it together.” Another blow. “We’re family, and you’ll fucking understand that.”

  Family. They weren’t angry because they’d been hurt or would be banished, but because she hadn’t treated them as family. Us against the world. Something inside her cracked, then blasted open, and warmth poured into places that had been cold and empty.

  She could probably do anything to Zeb, and he wouldn’t care as long as she loved him. Calum had told her that Shay had planned to give up the pack for her. Because he loved her. Family.