Winter of the Wolf (Hunt 2) Read online

  Zeb sniffed and turned. “Hey.”

  Breanne spun around, pointing the pistol at Shay’s chest.

  He hastily stepped behind the tree next to him.

  Zeb pushed her arm down and tugged the revolver from her hand. “Don’t point unless you’re going to kill. Kill the bad guys, not your landlord.”

  She bit her lip and nodded, then gave Shay a tentative smile. “I’m sorry. What are you doing up here?”

  “Heard the gunfire.” He came forward. “Nice shooting, Zeb.”

  Zeb shrugged off the compliment and returned to instructing. “Sight with both eyes. Breathe out. Squeeze gently, like you’d stroke a male’s balls.” His lips quirked.

  “Oh well, sure,” Breanne muttered. Her pale skin pinkened.

  Was anything more attractive than a blushing female? Shay barked a laugh.

  She heard. Her finger yanked on the trigger viciously, snapping a shot out, before she looked straight at Shay. “Stroke it like that?”

  Zeb glanced over, amusement in his eyes.

  “Hell, a leannan.” Shay shook his head. “You’d have me walking bow-legged for a week.”

  Even though her flush increased to a deep red, she laughed. Low and melodic, the sound ran up his spine with a gentle caress.

  Obviously affected the same way, Zeb cleared his throat. “Keep shooting.”

  Too intrigued to leave, Shay grabbed some earplugs from the packet on the ground. Shoulder against a tree trunk, he put them in, blotting out the irritated chatter of a wood pixie above him.

  That was a very focused female. Each suggestion Zeb made was implemented immediately with fierce determination. Her aim continued to improve until she hit the target more times than not.

  After about fifteen minutes, Zeb checked the sun. “Time’s up. I promised Alec I’d pa”—he glanced at Breanne and amended— “buy him a beer. Shay can watch you.”

  “No.”

  “I have time.” Shay couldn’t think of anything more fun, in fact.

  “Little female, mind what Shay says.” Zeb tapped one finger against her chin and got a frown. After grabbing his jacket, he jogged down the trail toward the lodge.

  Lower lip between her teeth, Breanne looked forlorn for a second, then straightened her shoulders. Shay could almost hear her saying, I’m not scared. Ignoring him completely, she reloaded and fired until her revolver emptied.

  He moved closer once her weapon was empty. He wasn’t about to frighten a skittish female with a loaded gun, especially considering the way she reacted to Zeb’s stroking balls joke. He laughed silently. When he was playing Elvis, he’d discovered she had a wry sense of humor. One he liked. But sometimes he forgot she didn’t know him in human form. “Hold for a moment.”

  She looked at him.

  “Focus on the target, a leannan. The front tip of your gun should be fuzzy.”

  As she raised the pistol, her gaze changed from the barrel to the target. “Got it.” Her next shots were all on the paper, although scattered.

  “Better.”

  Her grin lit her face. After setting the pistol down, she pulled off her jean jacket. Her bright red sweater hugged high, firm breasts, and Shay’s mouth went dry.

  He yanked his gaze away. What the hell was wrong with him? She was human. Only a desperate male shifter—one who couldn’t win a Daonain female—would mate with a human.

  She pushed her sweater sleeves up and raised the revolver again.

  Keeping his attention off her softer assets, Shay studied her arms. She had some good muscle tone, except… He walked around to her right side and scowled at the pink-red marks above her wrist. “What happened?”

  Breanne grimaced. “Um. Something bigger and faster than me. I’m healing though.”

  Outraged to think something would attack a female, Shay moved closer. “That must have hurt.” Without thinking, he took her arm and turned it to expose the underside. Serrated markings, dimpling of the skin where a human doctor had stitched the tissue together. Pink and fragile. Probably less than a month old. “What bit you?”

  She pulled her elbow out of his grasp. “I’m not exactly sure. It happened too fast.” She aimed the pistol and fired savagely. Again and again until the hammer clicked on an empty cartridge.

  “Not bad,” Shay said absently, trying to think of all the animals with jaws that large. Not a hellhound—it wouldn’t leave a victim alive. A dog? A bear? “Did your biter also take a chunk out of your leg? Is that why you limp?”

  Her face whitened, but her fingers were steady as she reloaded the pistol. “That’s why.”

  Shay stepped back and let her work. In all his years, he’d never seen a female like this. Enough fear to fill a lake and a mountain of determination to match it. “You’ve started pulling to the left,” he remarked. “Take your stance.”

  She assumed the posture she’d been taught—perfectly. But her aim was getting worse. Not because of her arm injury, he decided. But her alignment was off. He closed his hands over her shoulders.

  She yelped and jerked away, but too late. He’d felt the gouges in the muscle.

  “It got your shoulder too?” he said gently. Rage swept through him with the need to tear apart whatever had done such damage to a female. This female.

  “Yeah.”

  “Give me the pistol.” He held out his hand and, after a second, she complied. He unloaded, ignoring the protest in her eyes. “You’re done for today, lass. Any more and you’ll damage those muscles.”

  “But…I need to practice. I need to. They’re my muscles, anyway.”

  She had the biggest blue eyes he’d ever seen, and by Herne’s hooves, it was hard to say no. “You can shoot every day. But not this long.”

  “I don’t even know how long this was.”

  “Look.” He tucked his arm around her waist and turned her to face the target. After an initial startle, she allowed the contact. No scent of fear, just female fragrance with a hint of vanilla. He’d enjoyed holding her the morning after the Gathering, and her lips had been sweet.

  What the hell was wrong with him? Human, remember? He let her go—bad wolf—and pointed to the target. “See the holes where you started shooting and where you started improving. But this last round? Your aim slid off to the left as you started to hurt.”

  She huffed out a breath. “You’re right.”

  “Of course I am.” He grinned at her and caught a responding smile. “When your aim starts to veer, then quit. You’ll be able to go longer each day.”

  She sighed. “Okay. That sounds okay.”

  With his free hand, he pushed her silky hair behind her ear and let his fingers trail down her neck. Silky skin, warm and damp with a female’s compelling fragrance. The tiny freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks cried out to be licked.

  Human. She’s human. He stepped away. Then took another step for good measure. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  At midnight, Zeb headed back to the cave. He’d patrolled the eastern half of town, Shay the west. He’d found nothing new, but they wouldn’t relax. With the moon in the last quarter, they had only a week before the deadly dark night.

  Under the Wild Hunt, he shifted and dressed, grumbling about the Cosantir’s latest order—to report in after each patrol.

  “How else will I know if you get yourself killed?” Calum had asked and then amended, “I’d prefer to know if one of you is missing before I check my territory after closing.” A chilling reminder that—how a Cosantir’s tie to Herne let him locate any shifter within his domain.

  Scowling, Zeb climbed the steps to the closet, through the locked room, and into the hallway. He liked this competent Cosantir—one who gave a damn about his people and his cahirs—but sometimes he felt as if he was on a leash.

  Living in an overcrowded den didn’t help. If he’d been dumped into a house with anyone but Shay, he’d have torn his fucking throat out by now. If Shay gave him any more crap, he’d do it anyway. Messy, bossy, tal
kative mutt.

  The babble of the people as Zeb entered the bar room made him flinch. The country music was loud, the place jam-packed. Saturday. He’d forgotten it was the weekend. Fucking Cosantir’s orders.

  He growled, and people melted from his path like sheep from a mountain lion. That only pissed him off more.

  A college-aged brat had taken Zeb’s preferred spot at the end of the bar—the one where his back wasn’t turned to the door. The kid glanced over, paled, and backed away. Zeb didn’t quite sneer.

  Calum worked his way down, filling orders as he came. Seemed strange to have a Cosantir doing something so menial, but running a bar would be a fine way of keeping track of everything in town. Sneaky werecat.

  Calum handed him a dark beer and raised his voice to be heard over the noise. “Problems?”

  “All quiet.”

  “In that case, refrain from terrifying my customers.”

  Zeb snorted. “I scare everybody. What—”

  “No, Zebulon.” Calum gave him a level look. “Cahirs can be intimidating, yes. However, when you stalk in here as if you’d enjoy gutting someone, then you frighten people. Control that.”

  He moved away, leaving Zeb glaring at his back. Or what? Fucking arrogant bast—

  “What’s the problem?” Shay stepped into the respectful space everyone else had left. “You look like you got a paw stuck in a trap.”

  Every place he went, some asshole was talking at him. “Fuck that. If I want your opinion, I’ll beat it out of you.”

  “By the God’s balls.” Shay thumped his bottle of beer down. “You and what army?”

  That did it. Zeb snarled and punched his fucking roommate right in his loud mouth, knocking him back against the other customers. Satisfaction blasted through him. That’s what the healer ordered. No Herne-aided strength, just fists.

  Shay wiped his lip, glanced at the blood on his hand, and scowled. His hands fisted; his knuckles cracked with hard pops to accompany the country music. “Been a while.”

  “Too fucking long.”

  Shay feinted to Zeb’s head, then delivered a solid punch to his gut. Zeb absorbed the pain with a grunt and nailed Shay across the cheekbone. The crowd scattered with shouts and screams. A chair hit the floor.

  Shay roared, and the battle was on.

  Bree stared at the two men, toe-to-toe, slugging each other. When one of Shay’s punches sent Zeb crashing backwards into a table, she flinched.

  “Oh, hell, are they rehearsing for Battle of the Titans?” Vicki set her tray on an empty table. “Well, let’s break it up.”

  “Us? Are you insane?”

  “Barmaid/bouncer. That’s my job description.”

  “Not mine. I just help out for fun.” Bree heard a deep, raspy roar. Zeb. Customers shouted. A woman screamed. “Vicki, they’re huge. Your husband won’t let you—”

  “You think?” Vicki nodded at the bar. Calum jerked his head at the fighters in a very clear order. Laughing, Vicki strode toward the fighting.

  “Oh heavens. Why can’t they be normal-sized guys?” Bree pressed a hand to her churning stomach. How could she fight men the size of the monster? I don’t want to. Her pistol was in her purse in the kitchen. Could she just shoot the idiots?

  She hurried after Vicki. She couldn’t let her friend do this alone, but if her heart pounded through her ribs, there’d be bones all over the floor, and Vicki’d have to clean them up.

  As she pushed past the crowd, she saw Zeb kick Shay halfway across the room.

  “Perfect. You take Zeb. I got Shay,” Vicki directed.

  Bree winced. Oh thanks. Shay might have been reasonable. Taking on Zeb was sheer suicide. She pushed her fear down into her gut. Okay, fine, she’d fought big guys before—lots of them—and won. Her black belt hadn’t been earned by sitting home knitting.

  As Zeb stalked after his opponent, Bree slid into his path, stance balanced and ready. “No fighting in the bar.” Two points for her—her voice hadn’t squeaked.

  He didn’t answer, just gripped her shoulder to push her aside.

  She slapped his hand away and stayed in front of him.

  “Move, little human,” he growled, wiping the blood from his face.

  Human? What kind of derogatory term was that? “I’m not little,” she growled back, “and I’m not moving.”

  He grabbed her shirtfront faster than she could block. With no apparent effort, he lifted her off her feet like an errant puppy and set her to one side. She brought her fists down on his forearm, broke his hold, and planted herself in his path again.

  “Fuck, you’re stubborn.” He gave her a lethal look. “I could hurt you. Badly.”

  The whiplash of fear made her mad. She glared back. “I’d do my best to hurt you. Badly.”

  He exhaled loudly and glanced over her head at someone behind her. “You got a problem too?”

  Easing sideways, Bree followed his gaze.

  Hands on hips, Vicki blocked Shay who had the same frustrated expression as Zeb. “Are you finished?” Vicki asked Shay.

  “Hell.” Shay looked at Zeb. “Are we done?”

  Zeb cupped Bree’s face with a battered hand. His thumb traced her lips so very gently that a tingle shimmered through her. “Guess we’re done,” he murmured.

  Shay tugged on Vicki’s hair, then limped over to Bree. “Brave little warrior, aren’t you?” He tucked her disheveled hair behind her ear before turning to Zeb. “Most fun I’ve had in weeks. C’mon, I’ll buy you a beer.”

  Bree stared as the two guys walked to the bar, side by side. Around her, people set tables and chairs in place and picked up spilled drinks. A few muttered about damned cay-heers, whatever that meant. She shook her head. “They try to kill each other and now they’re best friends?”

  “Guys. Assholes. No difference.”

  As Bree followed Vicki to the bar, Calum smiled and set out their working drinks. Diet cola for Bree, water for Vicki. “Efficiently done. Thank you.”

  Even as the compliment sang through her, Bree narrowed her eyes. “Seems like a man would worry about his wife getting hurt.”

  “My mate could take those two with one arm tied behind her back,” he said mildly. “Even without the unfair advantage.” At a hail from a customer, he moved down the bar.

  “What advantage?” Bree asked Vicki.

  “Being female.” Vicki drank some water, glanced over at Zeb and Shay. “Any shif—um, around here, most men would die before they’d hurt a woman. As long as we were obstinate enough to stay in their way, they couldn’t fight. But if Calum had intervened, the guys would have happily turned it into a three-way brawl.” She sighed. “It would’ve been more fun if they’d thrown a punch or two.”

  “Jeez, you’re as crazy as they are.” Bree frowned at the bartender. “I’m not sure whether to be horrified or impressed that he’d risk you.”

  “Calum uses all his resources, even me. It’s one of the reasons I love the overbearing bastard.”

  Calum apparently heard. His eyes turned darker as he gave his wife a look that should have been x-rated. Even weirder, she could swear she heard Vicki purr.

  Bree suppressed a sigh. What she wouldn’t give for some man to look at her as if she was his whole world.

  Chapter Eleven

  Heart pounding, Bree tore out of the house, gagging at the taste of blood. Mr. Harvey had tried to force his thing into her mouth and she’d bit it. Her scalp hurt from where he’d gripped her hair. She reached the end of the block and turned. She couldn’t go back. No one would ever believe a fifteen-year-old over a foster parent.

  Bree startled awake, heart pounding, then felt a brush of fur against her arm and the warmth of a furry body against her side. Elvis was sprawled beside her on the smooth boulder in the forest glade. She relaxed.

  Over the past few days, the amber-eyed dog had joined her on most of her lazy-paced hikes. His limp was almost gone now. And she was healing as well, both mentally and physically. She slept late e
very morning, read books from BOOKS, and quizzed the townspeople about her photo. Unfortunately, no one remembered her parents.

  Afternoons, she practiced her shooting—and was getting better. Even though Shay had cut the target in half, she could still hit it, although she was nowhere near as accurate as the men were. Wasn’t it a shame she couldn’t bring them back to Seattle for protection? Hi, guys. Would you help me pack…and if a nonexistent monster crashes through the door, you please kill it. Oh, and bring your guns. You’ll need them. She rolled her eyes, imagining their reaction.

  No, she’d return to Seattle by herself. But she wasn’t stupid. She’d stay in a hotel while she searched for an apartment. Then maybe she’d give herself a giant moving-out party so she could pack and load her stuff surrounded by people. With luck, the noise would drown out her memories of Ash’s laughing, scolding voice. Of her screams. Of my screams.

  Her shudder attracted Elvis’s attention, and then he was licking her face and neck, washing away her grief, and making her giggle as she tried to fend him off. “Ew, dog spit. That’s just gross.”

  He gave her a canine grin, tongue lolling out, totally unrepentant.

  “It’s late, buddy. We’d better head back.”

  After a final swipe of his tongue over her chin, he jumped off the boulder and started down the trail.

  Following behind him, she grinned. The bossy dog never let her go in front…which might be a good thing. “You know, I’d probably have gotten lost if you hadn’t been with me.”

  His tail wagged with his obvious agreement.

  “But that’s not true anymore.” Stopping for a moment, she looked around. Yes, she recognized this trail. “Not my fault. I never hiked before. Actually, I’d never left Seattle before this trip. Isn’t that weird?”

  The dog tilted its ears back. Best listener she’d ever met.

  “I was scared to leave the city.” Her hiking boots thudded as she crossed the wooden footbridge. Sunlight glinted off the creek and melted the ice along the banks. “I was found in the woods somewhere—at least that’s what the social worker said, and I get nightmares about being lost.”