by KH LeMoyne
Yet it was. And because her mother had also taught her to be practical, there was no point in arguing with the obvious. It was better to save one’s energy for the true trials in life.
“Afterward, we’ll send you information.” Gillian forced the words out, and her mother gave a brief, unsteady nod.
Callum kicked off his fancy dress shoes, stuffing them into one of the satchels. Then he crouched a bit, offering his back to her before he glanced back. “What do you say, sweetheart? Ready for an adventure?”
“I’d like some say in the adventure.”
“Once we’re clear of Gauthier’s men, you can have all the say.”
She’d had enough experience with him to recognize that the tightness in his face and his eyes darkening to almost black signified his terror. For her because of the baby? Because they could both be killed? Hard to say. His square locked jaw and refusal to blow the lock of his tousled hair out of his face said he was also determined.
“I must be crazy,” she said. As crazy as she’d been when she’d tempted, cajoled, and seduced him into finally making love to her.
She didn’t regret it for one minute. She just hoped he didn’t. She ran to her mother for a tight hug and a kiss. Then she returned to Callum. Gripping his shoulders, she hopped onto his back and accepted the satchels when he handed them to her.
“Crazy for me, I hope,” he whispered.
Yep. Crazy enough to leap from the top of a forty-foot tree and know he’d be at the bottom every time to catch her kind of crazy.
2
Callum gripped Gillian’s legs tighter about his waist and plodded through the creek. She clung to his back like a monkey, weighing no more than a feather, but he kept her feet clear of the swift currents, thigh-high from recent rains. He carefully scrutinized each foot placement on the slick stones beneath the surface. Their shifter handled extreme chills and heat better than humans, but he didn’t dare risk dropping her. Especially in her condition.
“I enjoy a piggyback ride as much as the next girl, but where are we headed?”
“Doc’s farm.”
As they crossed the property line, she asked, “Why there?”
“The sheep will hide your scent while I get our provisions.”
“Wolves eat sheep,” she snapped. “I’m sure the alpha’s men are ill-bred enough to be drawn here and do the same.”
“Let’s hope not.” Yep, she was still annoyed with him for running roughshod over her. He didn’t blame her. “The sheep are on three borders of the farm, and I’ll sacrifice any and all of them to save you.”
“But Doc—”
“I’ll reimburse him.” As her heels kicked into him, he amended his response. “We’ll reimburse him.”
The hair over his ear tickled as she released an exaggerated sigh. He hadn’t appeased her, but she was holding steady. It took a lot to rattle her.
“Callum,” Gillian whispered in his ear. Her warm breath and the tease of her lips on his skin startled him back to reality. “Are all these changes to the old plan really necessary?”
“Absolutely.” He glanced over his shoulder before he leapt onto the creek bank.
They’d practiced this exercise of him taking her to safety enough in the past. Always heading north to the familiar pathways of the mountains and caves—to hide, not to run. They’d grown up treating hiding from the alpha as if it were a game. One Callum always took with dead seriousness, even if he hadn’t laid eyes on the alpha and his enforcer guard since his own forced oath. Now with the enforcers in town, he’d have to wait until he and Gillian were far away from here to claim her. He should have anticipated making love to her would alter the Indian spells. He should’ve taken the complexity of spells, their grounding in some physical condition, into consideration. Because if the spells no longer considered her a sheltered innocent, her risk was now the same as if she’d shifted. Except worse.
“I can hear you worrying, Callum Mann. If you don’t talk to me instead of just planning it out in your head, I’m going to refuse to go with you.”
“Just give me a little time, Gillian. Enough for me to get everything together. Then I’ll explain it all. I promise.” He jogged toward the barn beside Doc’s house and peeked through the windows, scanning for any intruders before he pulled back the bar holding the main doors closed.
Gillian leaned back from him and sniffed, letting her cat check as well. “Nothing unusual here. It’s as musty as it was when I looked around this morning. All the exits sealed tight from the outside, just as Doc left them.”
He nudged open the barn door with his boot and strode toward the workbench at the rear of the barn, where Doc stored his tools for the sheep and his horse. He spun around and gently set Gillian on the workbench before turning back to her. As much as he needed to leave, he also needed to wipe the uncertainty from her eyes, which had darkened from emerald to evergreen with concern.
Gently cupping beneath her jaw, he moved close enough they were nose to nose. “I wouldn’t ask you to do this if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.” She nodded, but he still wasn’t certain if he had her full support. He could kick himself for waiting so long to integrate her into his plans.
“It’s obvious you’ve thought a lot about every scenario,” she said, her expression still guarded.
With a grunt, he nodded. “It’s our future. We can’t just run with the clothes on our back, or we’ll be victims of other monsters. I needed things in place for us.”
One of her brows arched. “I’m capable of contributing, and I’m not a delicate flower.”
Hell, he was making it worse. “Gather together anything you think we can use. I’ll collect the few things I have prepared and meet you back here within the hour.”
Unable to restrain himself, he took her mouth in a rush, his tongue sweeping over the seam of her lips for entry. She opened without resistance, allowing him to taste her the way he wanted to when he’d jumped off the train. She moaned against him, responding with her own heat. In that instant, his world righted itself. He pulled away, his forehead against hers. “You taste even better than I remember. I nearly died without you.”
“Good.” Her lips twitched, humor lighting her eyes again. “I’m not happy about leaving my mother or my job here. Doc has treated me well. He’s bent over backward to give me opportunities—”
He stroked her cheek. “If he knew the risks for you staying, he’d choose your safety over anything he owns.”
“All right, we’re doing this,” she said. “So just what we can carry, then?”
“I have clothes for you. A disguise,” he added as a scowl formed on her face. “Food would be good.”
“Cold meats, cheese, bread. Got it.” She grabbed him by his jacket and wrenched him back for a fast, tight kiss. One that told him she wasn’t as calm as she let on, but she’d forgiven him.
He waited until she let him go and then raced out of the barn. Focus on the plan. Retrieve the duffel bag. Borrow one of Doc’s horses. What was the train schedule? A southbound freight train should be passing through around six thirty. Even better than a passenger train, with less likelihood they’d be noticed by anyone.
Bank account? He ran through the list of numbers and identification in his mind. One for each of six different states and two accounts in Vancouver he’d prepared. He repeated the numbers several times as he dodged tree limbs and jumped fallen tree trunks. He’d never written them down. Memory was the only thing he trusted. Gauthier’s men might be stupid, but even they could read and decipher a paper trail.
Yet even twenty run-throughs of the accounts didn’t wipe away his biggest mistake of the day from pressing in on him. Like an idiot, he hadn’t told Gillian how overjoyed he was at the prospect of becoming a father. And terrified he now had two parts of his heart to save from Karndottir’s clutches.
He leaped over the ramshackle wooden fencing erected to discourage Doc’s sheep from grazing on Callum’s property. A five-minute dash had him skidd
ing to a stop in front of the woodshed beside his parents’ old cabin. He walked behind the shed and crouched, prying away several loose slats on the rear wall. He shoved aside a few logs of firewood and removed the floorboard planks hiding a hollow beneath the rock foundation and the shed floor.
The planks came free easily enough, and he thrust a hand into the darkness. After feeling around, he grasped a thick oilskin tarp and dragged it out onto the ground next to him.
The contents remained untouched, just as he’d left them on his last trip home. He moved aside one stuffed duffel bag and opened the top. Then he wedged several leather sheaths fitted with wicked edged blades to make even the alpha’s guard wary into the duffel’s side pockets. A quick search inside the duffel revealed another small leather pouch of travel papers with false identifications for both himself and Gillian. The rest consisted of bundles of clothes wrapped in tissue paper and covered in oilskin cloth.
Not bothering to set the back of the shed aright, he slung the duffel over his shoulder. He should be well under the hour mark he’d given Gillian.
As he spun to head back, he caught a scent that wiped the satisfaction from his face.
Smoke. Fire.
Coming from the direction of Doc’s farm.
Sometimes the smarter the man, the harder it was to reason with him. Gillian tapped her fingers on her lips, still feeling Callum’s kiss as she surveyed the barn. Her man lived inside his own head more than she did, and now he’d left her again.
She didn’t fault his reasoning. She couldn’t shift without risking her baby. It did make more sense for her to stay here instead of leaving a trail of her scent all over the place. Still, it didn’t feel like a partnership. Especially since he hadn’t made her privy to his plans.
Refusing to mope, she left their satchels by the bench and headed toward Doc’s cold cellar at the back of the barn. There was plenty of food there.
She tossed her braid over her shoulder as she yanked open the cellar door. Creaking on its hinges, the door swung wide, exposing the gloomy underground storage. Her cougar’s eyesight was exceptional in the dark, but she avoided claustrophobic spaces. Striking a match against the stone foundation, she lit the oil lantern Doc kept there and descended the stairs to examine the cellar’s contents.
Shelves stocked with salted pork, baskets of early apples, and a few crocks of pickled vegetables represented the wide array of barter some of the townspeople used in exchange for Doc’s medical help. He didn’t eat this much in a year. From her years working with him, she knew he’d give the majority away to others in need, but helping herself felt like stealing.
From medical training to theft, her dreams fell farther away by the minute. Worse, running from the alpha targeted her and Callum as rogues. According to the letter of the shifter laws, she was exonerated since she’d never pledged to the dastardly man. But Karndottir didn’t care about anyone’s laws but his own.
Absently, she rubbed her tummy. “You, little one, are just a surprise—one your daddy will appreciate once we’re beyond this mess.” Because no matter how derailed their plans were, she loved Callum and he loved her. Making a home and a family with him was something she’d always considered an absolute. Just a matter of when, not if.
She stuffed some smaller food items into a burlap sack, the size practical for fitting inside either her satchel or Callum’s. The sack clasped in one hand and the lantern in the other, she trudged back up the stairs. Her shoulders barely cleared the cellar doorway when an icy chill crept up her spine and she froze.
“Well, well. I don’t remember you from the list of shifted females.”
Gillian stared in horror at the thickly muscled shifter leaning against one of the support beams in the barn.
Wolf, if she read his stench right. Doc’s horse must have gotten a scent of the man too, for Bravo beat his front hooves against the door of his stall. Gillian couldn’t blame the poor creature. The overwhelming stink of matted wolf fur, whiskey, and urine nearly made her drop to her knees and retch.
Six feet tall and with enough bulk to stretch the seams of his flannel shirt and britches, he didn’t bother to hide his lewd interest. After a deep and noisy sniff, his eyes glinted and his fangs lengthened in the lantern light. “Breeding, no less. An unmated breeder. Gauthier will be pleased, even if you are a damn cougar.”
“I’m not getting anywhere near the alpha,” she snapped, gripping her sack tighter. She doubted the several pounds of ham and apples would make a dent in the man’s thick skull, but perhaps she could distract him long enough for her to make it to the horse- shoeing tools at the far edge of the workbench.
As if he’d read her mind, his eyes flickered toward the bench. “Go ahead. Try it. I’ll be happy to beat the idea out of you.”
Fine. Next plan. Callum wasn’t the only one with strategies.
He pushed away from the beam and headed toward her. “Alpha might let you keep the brat if it’s a female. We can always use more breeders. But already damaged goods means I can give you a try first.”
Like hell. Gillian spun the food sack at the shifter’s head as her cougar snarled. She might be a female, but shifter strength wasn’t limited to males.
It was enough of a distraction. The enforcer staggered to the side to avoid the hit but moved between her and the open barn door.
“Callum, I’m in here,” she screamed and dashed toward the ladder for the hayloft. With the doors locked, she had no choice but up. Catching onto her movement, the brute twisted back around, hot on her heels. His fingernails scraped across the flesh of her arm, drawing long gashes. She hissed at the pain, but vaulted past him.
Anger and panic battled as her fingers flexed on the lantern still in her grasp. She pivoted, slamming it straight into his face.
The glass cracked and the oil splashed, sizzling across his skin. He jerked back with a howl, fingers clawing at his face. Flecks of oil dotted the straw-littered floor, just as quickly igniting into flames.
Gillian didn’t look back. She jumped as high as she could, landing near the top of the ladder but shy of the loft frame. She scrambled into the loft and spun around on her knees, her fingers shaking as she battled to release the ladder. For some reason, Doc had decided to have the ladder done in hinged sections. A peculiarity that just might save her life today. If she could just release the lower— “Yes.”
The clip disengaged, and the bottom half of the ladder crashed to the floor, grazing her intended attacker. A snarl echoed from below, and she grappled with the upper half of the ladder, dragging it up into the loft. He might be able to jump this high, but he’d have to fight his way over the frame to get her. She was ready because she had two great reasons to survive.
She chanced a glance over the side, prepared to ram the wolf shifter with the ladder. Smoke billowed up into the rafters, making visibility difficult. Her cat whined for them to leave this place.
“You bitch. I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.” The enforcer crouched below her, wiping his forearm over the flesh wounds on his face as spittle dripped from his mouth.
A crack echoed above the rising crackle of fire, and suddenly, wood shards exploded behind the shifter. Bravo, driven insane by the scent of wolf and smoke and fire, broke free of his stall in a wild-eyed escape. His hooves slammed into the enforcer, driving him to the floor.
Gillian grasped her momentary reprieve, not worrying about the retired racehorse. With any luck, Bravo might reach Callum in time for him to help her.
Or maybe not. The gleaming red feral gaze of the enforcer latched back onto her as he stood.
Gillian backed away from the edge. The man lunged and grabbed hold of the frame with both hands. His legs still dangled, but he didn’t seem daunted. He snarled again and bunched his muscles, prepared for the final leap. She skittered backward, slipping on the straw. Then her hand closed over a hard wooden handle.
One of his dinner-plate-sized hands snaked out toward her ankle, his fingers scrapin
g down her leg and clamping over her ankle. She swung her arm and slammed the shovel she’d uncovered down hard at an angle, giving him the edge on his wrist with all her strength. It didn’t chop off the offending appendage, but he released her and she smelled blood. Her beast roared in triumph.
She coughed and blinked against the smoke, anticipating a claw latching on and dragging her backward. Clutching the shovel for another swing and waiting on his next lunge, she squinted through the gray plumes. Why wasn’t he moving?
He stared at her, his eyes wide, froth bubbling around his mouth. Then he disappeared from view. She crawled to the edge, risking a glance down into the burning barn. The enforcer lay on his side, his claws and fangs extended, fur sprouting from his neck and face from his midshift—a pitchfork speared through him from back to chest. Callum stood over him, breathing hard, one of his fists clenched around the handle of a long harvest knife. The blood dripping from the end matched the gaping wound nearly severing the enforcer’s neck.
Callum glanced toward her, his eyes flashing a violent deep gold as his snarl reverberated over the crackling of the fire. Then the racing color of his angered beast dimmed from his eyes. He dropped the knife and raised his hands to her.
“Jump to me, pretty kitty. We need to get going before anyone else arrives.”
“I can make it down without your help.” She doubted it was true but shuffled into a sitting position with her feet hanging through the opening. It wasn’t as if this was the first time she’d jumped and he’d caught her, but for some reason, this was the most heart stopping.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
She hopped her bottom over the edge—and plummeted. He caught her with ease and hugged her to him with a growl she felt vibrating against her skin more than heard.
As he lowered her to her feet, she patted his chest. “So, they know we’re here.”
“It would seem.” He motioned her outside.
