by Eve Langlais
“Where am I?” Instead of asking Who are you?, she stuck to a safer question.
He chuckled. “Safe, Cynthia.”
So he knew her name. “‘Safe’ isn’t a good enough answer.”
“You’ve been sleeping for nearly twenty–four hours after your chemotherapy treatment in Vancouver. If you were in danger, you’d be dead already, hunter.”
“Where is Zach?” She tried to keep the quiver out of her voice.
The man didn’t reply.
Her eyes had finally adjusted to the darkness. A single window with heavy drapes and the door were the only exit points. Each required at least five footsteps. She wore a thin T–shirt and a pair of shorts. Depending on the wintry conditions outside, she wouldn’t last long unless she took him out and found adequate clothing.
Her fingers twitched. A year ago, before her cancer diagnosis, she would’ve used the gun strapped to her thigh to turn him and every thug werewolf into Swiss cheese. At least two silver bullets to his chest would do the job.
“Did you kill him?” she asked slowly.
“No.”
Cyn could faintly make out the man who leaned against the wall. He stood tall, with broad shoulders and a lean waist. She couldn’t make out the color of his hair–matter of fact, the only thing she could discern were his eyes. In the dark, they reflected like a feline’s. Like a predator’s. She tried to hold his gaze, but the intensity in his eyes forced her to blink. Stay sharp, Cyn.
“You’re after a ransom, aren’t you?” she managed. “Bring down the weakened hunter and use her to cushion your bank account?”
He folded his arms. “Not even close.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want you to calm down first. Your heartbeat is too elevated.”
As if he cared. She made a rude noise. His kind lived to conquer and dominate. Ever since the world had discovered that werewolves roamed the cities, the hunters had had to step up their game to clean up the carnage from the rogues who trailed after trouble.
“I don’t have any drugs for arrhythmia if your heart goes out, so you need to chill,” he added.
Cyn turned his way. Was he a doctor? As much as she wanted to leap out of the bed, he was right. After practically living in the hospital a few times, she wasn’t eager to go back.
Silence crept between them. The nagging need to ask questions didn’t stop. How did she get here? Where the hell was here? What had happened from the point where she got her treatment to now?
“Where is my brother?” she said with clenched teeth.
“He’s not here.” The man left the wall. With a sweep of his hand, he opened the curtains to reveal the night sky. Instead of the Vancouver skyline, there was nothing but mountains and endless trees dotting an expansive valley. Not a single sign of civilization.
“Your brother returned to Vancouver,” the man said. “He left you with me in Prince George, and from there I brought you to my cabin in the mountains.”
***
The dark–haired woman who lay in his bed stared out the window. A rainbow of emotions crossed her ruddy features. Indifference. Anger. Fear. Doubt.
Her mouth formed a straight line, yet her brow furrowed as if her sickness was beating at her. To the wolf in him, her body was weak. Before Kaden had healed her, her scent had been bitter and strong, almost like black licorice. Every time she’d exhaled, her body had recited a list of problems. The list led to one obvious conclusion: she was dying.
And yet, the fierce resolve in her voice said otherwise.
“My brother would never abandon me with you people.” She spat out the word ‘people’ as if it were a curse.
“Why were you lying next to me?” She didn’t look at him when she asked.
“I had to heal you.”
“You’re not that good. I still feel like shit.” Her chin tilted upward, and he caught amusement in her light gray eyes.
“You don’t believe me.”
“Alpha werewolf healing is bullshit.” The rumor was something she heard every so often from werewolves as an attempt to garner sympathy or justify a place for them among humans. She dared him to deny his claim with her hardened gaze.
He took a step toward her, a growl forming in his chest. She froze. Her hands clenched the blanket and the muscles in her legs tensed as if she really planned to attack him. This determined streak of hers was entertaining only for so long.
Minutes passed. Her body trembled, but she wouldn’t stand down and look away.
He advanced on her faster than she could blink. One moment he was across the room, and in the next, he had her pinned to the bed with his body over hers. Not to hurt her, but to make a point.
“Don’t make me regret my decision to help you, hunter,” he growled.
This time he had her attention. Her hands were splayed across his chest. Her feeble push was nothing. Even compared to a man. She turned her head to the side, baring her neck like a pup as if she’d been taught such. When he had lain next to her during the night, at first he’d gotten close enough to touch, but not much more. But as the night grew deeper and the cold seeped through the cracks, he sensed the chill along her skin and couldn’t help but draw her to him. He surmised that she’d lost weight, but she still had womanly curves. His arm had rested along the gentle slope between her waist and hip. A perfect fit.
“And what do you get for helping me?” she finally asked him.
Was that all she cared about? Answering her wouldn’t make any difference; she’d already judged him the moment she’d figured out that he was a werewolf.
When he didn’t answer her, she remained silent. He took that as defiance. Especially after her stomach growled. Even though anger floated off her in waves, she wouldn’t be much of a threat. For now. He rose off her and left his bedroom for the kitchen in the adjoining room. Time to fetch what she needed. He returned to the bedroom to find she hadn’t moved. She remained still as he got close.
“Drink.” He tilted up the cup until she was forced to quench her thirst. Then he presented a few pills.
She paused.
He snorted. “It’s Zofran, just in case you want to stop puking. Your choice.”
She eyed the white anti–nausea pills in his hand. Then his face.
Her hand hovered over his open palm. The faint white scars along her knuckles resembled claw marks. When she caught him looking at her hand, she quickly downed the pills.
Noises from outside the cabin piqued his attention. Maybe a deer passing by. If it was one of his friends, now wasn’t the time for them to be nosy. “I’ll be back.”
He checked out the living room window that faced the peak. Beyond the trees, he couldn’t see anyone. Not by sight anyway. If someone was close, whoever it was didn’t want to be spotted. He grinned. If he did have a visitor, he’d contend with them after she rested. He returned to the room to find her lying in bed with her arms crossed and belligerence all over her face.
“Your brother warned me,” Kaden said. “But I didn’t expect you’d be as stubborn as a cross–eyed rabbit getting dragged into a carrot patch.”
“What reason do I have to believe you’re not lying?” Her heartbeat stuttered and her breath caught in response. “That you haven’t kidnapped me from the hospital?”
He needed to heal her again, but he had an inkling she wouldn’t be a willing participant.
“You need to rest now. I’ll answer any questions you have later.”
She rolled her eyes. “If I had a weapon right now–”
“You’d be using it to prop your eyes open,” he supplied.
The woman inhaled sharply, her eyes blinking. The frown she tried to hold in place drooped. “What did you give me?”
“Something to help you relax. ‘Cause any minute now you’re gonna try to take me down.”
“That’s right,” she mumbled. “Just gimme a knife.” Her quickened heartbeat reached a steadier rhythm.
He was tempted to count do
wn to ten, but she faded to slumber long before he reached seven. A few strands of her black hair had fallen into her face. He reminded himself as he moved her hair out of the way that he was being nice to her and that their first night together side–by–side in his bed had been nothing.
Every time he helped her, his attachment to her would grow stronger, but bonding with her wasn’t going to happen. After his ex–girlfriend Hayley had left over a year ago, he’d told himself he didn’t need another distraction. Especially if that distraction could potentially bring his pack’s downfall.
Also, adding a former hunter to his pack wouldn’t go down well with the others and would create dissent. He’d heal her to the best of his abilities, and when the time came, he’d send her on her way. Even if her brother had promised to help his pack in exchange for her life. Anything else was unacceptable.
Chapter Two
When Cyn woke up again, the pain was gone. The familiar aches in the muscles along her arms and legs that greeted her every time she moved weren’t there anymore. The pains could’ve been a distant memory if she hadn’t experienced them not too long ago.
Someone lay in the bed with her. Not someone, but the werewolf.
The back of her head rested against his chest and his thick arms enveloped her. He had splayed his right hand across her stomach. Silky warmth spread from her stomach and extended blissfully into her limbs. Her muscles turned to liquid and her bones to smoke. As much as she wanted to break his arm and run away, she hadn’t felt this relaxed in so long. Month after month of waking up feeling like utter shit. Day after day where it got harder to think about the doctor’s prognosis.
“You have less than a year to live, Miss McGinnis. Maybe only months.”
A familiar ache hit her chest, piercing and deep, every time she remembered that morning. The doctor’s cold room. His messy desk. The way the world slowed down to a frame–by–frame movie.
After she’d learned her fate, she’d been lonely as she adjusted to her new circumstances. How long had it been since she’d gotten this close to a man? The last one had been a year ago, before her diagnosis. Michael. She pushed thoughts of him away. He was too precious for this place. And yet, she missed being held. During chemo her brother often held her hand to comfort her, but that wasn’t the same as having someone wrap their arms around you as you shivered and ached.
The werewolf next to her made her feel protected and that was an unwelcome feeling from the likes of him.
With the patience of a mongoose waiting for a viper to strike, she slid his hand from around her waist. Stealth was a hunter’s lesson from day one. The werewolves had far superior hearing, but with a planned approach, an experienced hunter could outwit them.
She rolled off the bed, each movement done bit by bit. Time stretched along until she was standing. She waited. He lay in the bed on his side, his chest rising and falling in rhythm. Any second now, he’d probably open his eyes and grab her. But he never did.
She backed toward the door, hoping and praying the cold wood under her feet didn’t groan. By the time her fingers brushed against the doorknob, enough time had passed for him to stir, but he continued to slumber. The knob yawned a bit when she turned it. His hand twitched, but that was about it.
As fast as she dared, she opened the door and raced out. The room beyond the bedroom was far larger than she’d expected. A quick scan revealed five exit points. Three windows in the living room, a doorway to what had to be the kitchen, and the front door. Time to run.
As tempted as she might be to go into the kitchen and hunt down a blade, she still wasn’t in any condition to take down a healthy werewolf on his own turf. She had a better chance of tackling the sad guy who wore wolf costumes at Playland in Vancouver.
So, supplies first. With a part of her attention on the bedroom door behind her, she checked around the simple cotton couches until she spotted a familiar bag. Bingo! She snatched up her hospital bag and opened it.
Not a single weapon inside. Even the Swiss army knife in a side pocket had been taken. Clever little wolf.
At least the clothes she’d changed out of at the hospital were there. A pair of jeans and a T–shirt. Her long underwear for when she had the chills. No jacket, though. The tall rack next to the front door only had one thick coat. She checked it out. The coat was far too big for her and smelled like him. Her hand paused, touching the downy material used to the line the inside. His cologne wafted from the folds, smooth and rich like bay rum.
Damn it all to hell, she didn’t want reminders of this guy during her escape, but she’d do what was necessary. As quickly as she could, she threw on the long underwear and then her clothes. She shrugged on the coat and it nearly swallowed her whole. The tips of her hands poked out of the sleeves and the bottom reached her knees. Ehh, she’d need protection from the elements anyway. She grabbed her bag and headed for the door. The werewolf had left her post–hospital snacks inside the bag–they’d last her a while until she reached Prince George. With a soft click, she unlocked the door and made her way outside.
Only to see something bright and blinking in the way. Red and green lights flashed off and on the Christmas tree that blocked the path to the porch steps. Her mouth dropped open. There were four days until Christmas and now she was seeing this?
What was this doing here? Was this some kind of sick joke?
Every ornament was all too familiar from her childhood. The popsicle stick wreath she’d made in first grade. The tiny plastic bells her dad had brought home from a long hunting trip to Florida. Even the crimson ribbons tied at the end of the branches. She glanced from the plastic star at the top, down to the only object underneath. Someone had left a folded piece of paper tied to a rock.
Her name had been written on the outside in Zach’s neat handwriting. She’d recognize it anywhere. The ribbon holding the note to the rock gave way easily. She quickly read the note:
This is the only gift I can give you this Christmas. No matter how much you hate me, you have to live on and protect Ty when you get better.
Zachary
Chapter Three
If Zach had been in front of her right now, she would’ve beat his ass and then shot him dead. Fury pulsed through her, forcing her to clench her fists. How dare he make such a decision for her? Her life was her own and how it ended was her choice.
Just looking at the tree twisted her stomach further into knots. It was the very same plastic tree her parents had used. Not too tall and not too short. As hunters her parents didn’t possess much. Living on the road was often necessary to keep her siblings safe from the inner–city werewolf gangs.
When they moved, Mom and Dad never left the tree behind. It was a tradition that was always kept for normalcy. Thanksgiving was optional. Why not have a turkey sandwich? Labour Day was just an excuse to sleep in. But Christmas was different and Zach had left this tree here to make his point crystal clear: leaving her with that werewolf had been his decision. Damn him to a burning hell with pools full of hemorrhoid–inducing fire.
She sucked in a few breaths and clutched her bag and the note until her fingers went numb. Her vision blurred with tears.
How could you, Z?
The chill in the air turned her exhales into mist. Eventually, she released the note and let it drift away with the breeze. As much as she wanted to leave, many of these ornaments belonged to her and her idiot brother had given them to the enemy. She stuffed what she could into the bag.
Then she walked south and didn’t look back.
***
Cyn’s lungs burned, but she hadn’t run a single mile. Keep going. Don’t stop. The mantra was all too familiar. Especially when running was more advisable than fighting.
She kept going downhill along a snowy path. Patches of dead grass among the slushy snow made it easier for her to traverse. The light from the rising sun guided her to the southwest. She’d find Prince George if she didn’t give up.
As a child she’d visited the city wi
th her family during an endless road trip to Alaska from Seattle. The journey had been long and boring, but she remembered the mountains fondly. To the south was Longworth Peak and Fraser River. The clearest skies could be seen now along with the haze from the Aurora Borealis. This early in the morning, the dancing lights could be seen from miles away. But now wasn’t the time for sightseeing. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, that werewolf had done something to her. Each steady footstep in the snow told her as much. A few days ago she’d had to be wheeled into the hospital. The lucky soul who got to have chemotherapy right before Christmas. A lottery ticket she’d wanted to refuse.
“We could always do your treatment after New Year’s,” her doc had suggested.
“I think that’s the best option, Cyn,” Zach had said.
She snorted as she focused on the treeline ahead. Her brother had been planning her capture the whole time. He’d known damn well she’d take the treatment. For a fighting chance at remission she had to have it. Even if she would’ve returned to her family very sick, forced to spend the holidays resting. Anger pulsed through her again, but she slowed down when a feather–light sensation brushed against the back of her neck. That tingling feeling when someone was trailing after you. Years of running away from her prey forced Cyn to listen to her body. That human instinct to be on alert for danger wasn’t something to be ignored.
Cyn kept her stride casual and her eyes forward. As to how many people were following her or how far they were behind her, she couldn’t tell, but the one thing that was obvious was how difficult walking had become. The snow along the cliffs began to blow to the east. The skies to the west were still dark from the night, but instead of wasting away at the light from the rising sun, the darkened skies to the west grew more ominous.
