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This Endris Night
Copyright © 2011 by D.L. Jackson
ISBN: 978-1-61333-047-0
Cover art by Dara England
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC
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This Endris Night
D.L. Jackson
A 1Night Stand Holiday Story
~DEDICATION~
To Mom. You’ve read them all. You inspire me. Always have—always will.
Chapter One
The cold kissed Shiya’s cheeks as the sled raced through the night, gliding across the snow in the Alaskan wilderness. Yeah, she could have arrived like the other guests, by bush plane, but the siren’s call of the icy world had been great, and she needed access to the wilds to put her plan in motion.
It had been too long since she’d last come home. Northern lights danced across the horizon, playing off icicles that gleamed on bent pine boughs—nature’s Christmas trees. Overhead the stars glittered, something she’d rarely seen because of the city lights.
Something she’d missed.
The fur-lined hood of her red parka hid her long black hair and high cheekbones, her Inuit signature features. But not all of her appearance was Yupik. A fling her great-great grandmother had with a white man during the Yukon gold rush in the 1800s resulted in a freakish height of five foot eleven and green eyes that brought summer to the frozen tundra.
Though four generations had passed since her grandmother’s affair, the genetics hadn’t disappeared from her family line, making her a child of two worlds, not quite fitting into either.
Her mother had died giving birth, leaving her not only her name, an Inuit tradition, but her unusual attributes. Shiya was the only one in her tribe still alive who looked the way she did—a blessing and a curse.
Her family didn’t want her here. Shiya had wanted to go to school—move to the city—live like a normal person, be someone other than she’d been raised to be. She’d rejected an arranged marriage, thrown tradition back in her family’s face, and shamed them when she’d left for the city, found a modeling job, and made money off the heritage she’d walked away from.
The Eskimo Supermodel, a term that ostracized her from her people further. She cringed every time she heard it, but chose to ignore her internal reaction to the insult, knowing if she were to survive, she had to fit in.
Fitting in—that went well. Sought out for her appearance, Shiya no longer knew if it were possible to find someone who didn’t want her because of her looks or money. Men hit on her everywhere she went. Overwhelmed by her sudden celebrity status, she’d stopped going out and secluded herself in her apartment, effectively cutting herself off from the real world. She spent her downtime online in chat rooms, flirting with people who couldn’t see her, gaining some sense of security in her anonymity.
Until she’d picked up a stalker. She’d packed to run when she heard he was out on bail, not sure where she’d go or hide, as she wasn’t welcome in her father’s house. Her stalker owned a profitable corporation, with homes all over the world. He could follow her around the globe. And had. When running didn’t work, Shiya changed tactics. She planned to make a stand—on soil she was familiar with, seizing the high ground in a risky maneuver.
She’d contacted an exclusive internet dating site, 1Night Stand, and arranged for an interlude, knowing she’d didn’t plan to attend the party. The trip to Alaska had nothing to do with finding the perfect man, but luring a dangerous one to where she had a tactical advantage. Lucas wouldn’t be able to resist the carrot she’d dangled.
The running would stop on her turf. She’d been careful to drop clues online, but also not be too obvious she’d set a trap. In the wilds of the Great North, safety came from the people who watched the sacred land. They took their calling seriously. When Lucas arrived, which would be soon, the nightmare would end.
His flight into Anchorage would land at midnight, followed by a trip by bush plane. Shiya calculated she had at least three days to prepare for his arrival.
Ahead, the starlight caught a dark patch in the snow. “Whoa,” she yelled. The dogs responded by slowing to a stop. A pool of what appeared to be fresh blood and splatters of crimson spots stained the pristine white surface. The metallic smell of copper clung to the chilled air, calling to memory the scent of a fresh kill, when her people butchered a seal or whale. Alongside, winding in and out of the blood were deep impressions, the familiar soles of boots. Overlaying and crossing the manmade treads were more chilling images, the wide, splayed tracks with a dish-sized, split, central pad and five toes. One animal in Alaska made that track. She pulled a high powered rifle from a sleeve and stepped onto the frozen snowpack. Her lead dog turned toward her and whined.
“Stay here.” She pounded a stake into the frozen ground and secured their lead to it, tethering them to prevent the team from leaving her to die. Five miles could be like a hundred out in the hostile wilderness—people who forgot that lost their lives.
Shiya squatted down, removed a glove to dip her fingers into the puddle. Still warm—not good. She lifted her eyes from the mess and scanned the darkness. No movement, but it didn’t mean the bear wasn’t there. There was a minute chance that whatever man found his way into the beast’s teeth might still be alive.
She glanced at the stained snow again. Gelled red filled the imprints left by the man’s boot—a big man from the size of the boot, and the depth in which the track sank into the snow. Big or not, it was doubtful he’d survive a bear attack. But since there was a chance, she couldn’t leave without investigating. Shiya began to follow the trail.
Master predators, the bears could smell the blood from miles away. If she found one—there would be more and not just that, it would draw other predators. Packs of wolves frequented this area and had been known to travel in massive groups.
What the hell was the guy doing by the glacier? The tracks appeared to stagger, leading off into a thick stand of trees.
So caught up in the reason a stranger might have traveled there, she failed to hear the monster behind her until he was on top of her. A rough chuff, followed by a hiss, and the impact spun Shiya around on the ice and sent her flying, where she slammed shoulders first into an icy bank. Her rifle flew from her hands, discharging when it hit the ground. She crab-crawled backward. The bear opened its mouth and roared, the sound shaking her to her soul.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. Massive, twice the size of any bear she’d ever seen in the area, the Herculean monster closed in, stalking forward on gigantic paws that looked like velvet-flocked snowshoes. Red stained his white coat, matting down the thick fur on his leg, and hot breath steamed from his mouth and nose like an iron train.
He grabbed her boot in his enormous jaws an
d dragged her back until he straddled her body, his face now inches from hers. Shiya threw her arms up, keeping them vertical. A Nanuk wouldn’t turn his head to bite, or that’s what her father had told her. Make yourself bigger than the bear can bite, he’d said time and time again. But there was no way to be bigger than this bear could bite.
Nanuk didn’t have to turn his head to take her arms into his mouth. Her entire head could fit in those jaws lined with teeth at least four inches long and more like daggers than fangs.
Even stranger than his freakish size, his teeth hadn’t punctured her boot or crushed her ankle when he’d grabbed her. Her mind let that thought slip as he leaned in and sniffed her. Another chuff ruffled her hair. Not gentle or friendly—a well honed killing machine.
A cloud of warm breath puffed from the carnivore’s open jaws, washing across her face. The smell of minty toothpaste filled her nostrils. Shiya cringed. He’d already eaten the man, and from the smell of it, the toiletries the tourist had carried with him. Ah, shit.
The bear opened his jaws and roared again. His nose touched hers and he nudged her face with his muzzle, pushing her head back and exposing her throat. The sniffing, the huffing. Shiya couldn’t move and didn’t dare to breathe.
Here’s the part where he’ll tear my head off. Shiya closed her eyes, unable to look at death. She had many regrets, the biggest that she never had the chance to make amends with her family. It wouldn’t matter. They’d never find her body—never know she’d come home. The monster wouldn’t leave a scrap of her behind.
A coarse tongue licked her from chin to forehead. Her eyes opened and fixed on the beast before her. Shiya’s chest tightened and her heart pounded, making it impossible to draw a breath. The bear roared again. Its great maw gaped open before her, displaying rows of lethal teeth. More steam rolled over her face and then darkness.
Gunnar stared at the unconscious woman. Her hood had dropped away and her long hair pooled around her shoulders like inky silk. A beauty. Her lips were slightly parted, and her breathing had slowed. She looked peaceful, much calmer than when she’d been awake.
He rummaged through her parka, looking for some form of identification to confirm his suspicions, but given her appearance, she might not have any on her. Mushers didn’t exactly need driver’s licenses for their dog sleds. His hands closed over a card and he pulled it free. Gunnar stared. She was who he thought.
His date.
He stroked his hand over her cheek and closed his eyes to inhale her scent. Nick, a local resort owner had paid him a visit earlier in the week at his work site, insisting he attend some fancy ball, and that his date was on her way. He’d agreed to get rid of him, and the next thing he knew, a Madame Eve from a company called 1NightStand, contacted him, attaching a folder to the email that disclosed anything he could possibly want to know about his date. He’d gotten as far as her name, didn’t bother with the rest. Had been way too busy.
He’d planned to back out at the last minute, but now he had another idea. Perhaps he should attend this dance, claim he found her out here, unconscious? He could both play the hero and search the area near the lodge—which had been a challenge, as his bullet wound testified.
The wreckage needed to be excavated—all of it, before the people of this planet found any more. The ship had crashed hundreds of years before, and until the glacier began to melt, its discovery hadn’t been an issue.
When a local Inuit boy came home with a relic, a chunk from the hull with glyphs across its surface and sold it to a local, who’d sent it to a professor at a university, it had triggered an article in a gossip rag. The only thing in their favor had been that the magazine the article was in wasn’t taken seriously by the Terrans, but it didn’t mean next time they’d be as lucky. Gunnar’s people deployed a team to Earth to extract the evidence of their visit. The relic had been recovered, the professor, the boy and his tribe’s minds wiped of the event. No small task, as the tribe tended to move around.
A lot.
His team had posed as members of an organization called The Wildlife Federation, stating they were on the glacier studying the declining population of polar bears. But hiding the ship and what they were doing had been tricky. They had to deal with both the locals who were but five miles from the site and the wildlife that wandered in unannounced and often hungry. With the lodge and tourists nearby it quickly turned into a nightmare scenario. But a solution presented itself when least expected. After an incident with one of the white bears, Gunnar’s team quickly learned they could be used to keep the Terrans away.
Doppelgangers by birth, his people could take any form to blend with a planet’s indigenous population. Sometimes they would assume the form of beasts. In this case, one of the most fearsome of Alaska’s wildlife, one not just the city people and tourists kept their distance from, but one the local tribes revered, respected, and gave plenty of space.
When the woman wandered onto their site by following Gunnar’s blood trail, he knew he needed to scare her away immediately. The electromagnetic shields on the ship had failed and she’d been footsteps away from seeing it. He’d only meant to drive her away—not scare her into unconsciousness.
The wound ached where the bullet had gone through his shoulder. Clean, which made it easier to repair, but if he hadn’t gotten so close to the local village looking for bits of the wreckage that peppered the area, he wouldn’t have been shot. He arrived back in time to see his shields overheat and his whole operation come into view. No time to treat the wound, he’d bled around the site as he worked to restore their invisibility. Gunnar had just slapped a nanite-infused patch on the injury when she appeared.
He scanned her body, memorizing every curve and dip. Tall for a female of this land, and her eyes had been green like soft grasses. So different from the indigenous peoples. When he’d caught her scent, he knew why. She wasn’t Terran. The pheromones she gave off were unique. She was a descendant of someone who’d crashed here years before—making attending the ball an even more enticing situation.
He sat back and rubbed the bullet wound on his shoulder. He needed to keep a low profile until they’d recovered the wreckage and secured it in the hold of their ship. What better place than the lodge while he wined and dined the perfect woman.
The woman was also evidence. She hadn’t come into the shift yet, but from the smell of the pheromones she kicked off, she would soon. And when she did, her inability to control changing her shape would draw attention—attention they didn’t need. He’d have to question her about her family, make sure there were no others and unfortunately, they were coming with them when they left the planet. The alternative was death. The date would be the perfect means to inquire about her past and prevent unnecessary measures. Gods help her if his government called in a hunter to take care of her. Better he do it quietly and less violently.
He scooped her up and carried her to the dog sled, securing her with her bags and tucking her under several furs. Gunnar pulled a med-dart from his pack he’d left nearby, and gave her a shot in the neck, enough to keep her unconscious until they arrived at the lodge. He yanked up the stake and took his place at the back of the sled.
“Hike!”
The dogs took off, headed for the resort and what could be a most interesting date.
Chapter Two
Shiya groaned, pulled the covers up, and cracked an eye. How did I get into a bed? The last thing she recalled was that yawning mouth full of nasty teeth—a coarse stroke of Nanuk’s tongue on her face—the smell of his minty-fresh breath. The memory seemed too real to be a product of her imagination, and her shoulder certainly wasn’t subject to delusion. The pain couldn’t be more real.
Unless she’d slept on it wrong.
“Good, you’re awake.”
Both eyes flew open to the sound of a masculine voice. She turned her head and spotted a tall drink of Viking, who stared at her from the corner of the room where he’d draped his body into a chair with predatory grace, mak
ing the otherwise substantial seat look like a piece of doll furniture.
“Who are you and where am I?” She didn’t need to know his name to know a sexual encounter was imminent. It hung between them, vibrating in the air like a taut string ready to snap. Shiya shifted on the mattress as a ball of heat rolled through her.
“Not why am I alive?” He quirked a brow. The deep timbre of his voice moved through her, drawing the tension between them tighter.
“That too.” He must be the reason she wasn’t inside the guts of a beast.
“My name is Gunnar,” he said. The clipped accent suggested Icelandic heritage.
Her gaze traveled up, taking in the mountain before her. Being almost six foot tall, she’d rarely met a man that made her feel petite. This one did—and good God, he was gorgeous. “Shiya,” she mumbled, unable to take her eyes off him.
His gray thermal shirt stretched over a muscular chest, defined pecs, defined shoulders, defined everything. Her gaze traveled to hands big enough to circle her waist—working hands—a warrior’s hands.
“A beautiful name.” He sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees, studying her back. His eyes were a pale blue—mimicking the glacial ice, but not holding the chill. Warmth crept up the back of her neck at the intensity of his gaze.
“I’m named after my mother. She’s dead,” she stuttered.
His brow shot up again. Okay—maybe that had been a little too much detail. “Tradition,” she stuttered, knowing outsiders just didn’t understand and it wasn’t worth trying to explain.
He nodded as though it were perfectly normal to tell a stranger your mother was dead, and something in that look told her he would’ve understood if she’d tried to explain. “I found you by the glacier—unconscious.”
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