by Keri Hudson
“Hey, did you see that?”
“What?”
“I… I dunno. I’m sure it was nothing.”
Quinton stayed low, head down as he prowled the rest of the way to the end of town and finally jumped into the snowy plane on the edge of Anchorage, the mountains rising up to the east. He crept low and fast until he was far enough to look like nothing more than a wolf. His naturally white hide would give him even more camouflage. But he could sense their hatred and confusion, bad news passing quickly around the isolated, close-knit community. He had to head into the hills. He was a pariah in either form, and people would make assumptions. Instead of some huge bear, they’d blame him, the best hunter in the territory.
He wouldn’t survive long in the hills in his human form without any weapons or any clothes. And he had no idea at all where Jessica was, and she had no way of telling him. Disaster had struck their love, fate had denied him again.
No, Quinton silently resolved as he ran for the shelter of the hills, nnnooooo!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Quinton ran fast into the mountains. He’d worried that they would come after him, but it was a lucky break that he hadn’t been seen and only reasonable that anybody who knew or cared or suspected Quinton as the killer at large would be looking for a person in Anchorage, not a shifter in the mountains.
As wound up as Quinton was, as worried about Jessica and the ursine, he felt good to be back in his shifter form, out of Anchorage where he never felt he belonged. But the mountains had always brought out the best in him. They’d had a lifelong relationship; she gave him life and he kept her clean of the ursines. The time had come to do his job.
He climbed higher, the sights and smells much keener to his lupine senses. He could see further, hear more sharply, small things even a dog or wolf couldn’t smell. Even in his powerful form, he’d been beguiled by the exhaust of the cars, all the different body odors back in Anchorage. But in the mountains of the Chugach, he could tell one scent from another, the pine from the salmonberry.
And he had time to reason it out. Taken by a human being, she’d have to have been. No ursine or lupine could or would use chloroform. But if it wasn’t Deliah, and it clearly wasn’t the sheriff or Red… could it be Red, working with somebody else in town?
Ursines are big and dexterous, not so much as any lupe, but they can lay a human across their back and walk them into those hills, and for any number of reasons. Or an ursine shifter could have had a car waiting! He wouldn’t need to be a shifter to get out of Anchorage, and there would be a lot of good reasons not to.
Quinton climbed on, smelling the breeze, keeping a sharp eye out for anything against the jagged, snowy-caked dark rock around him, deep crags that could hide a hostage, an ambush.
But… why cart her off? Without her connection, isn’t she just another normalo? She could possibly be a shifter, but then she’d never have let herself be taken. And that chloroformed rag tells me that’s what happened.
It was a puzzle he could hardly solve, scanning a series of familiar faces for some semblance of an answer.
Why take her at all? To breed, which means the ursine would go back to his lair. And he’ll know I’ll be on their trail.
The breeze shifted, pushing Quinton’s white fur back. But it carried a new scent, pungent and very vaguely familiar. It wasn’t human, not a polar bear, and Quinton knew exactly what it was.
The ursine wasn’t far off. But by the subtle nature of the scent, Quinton knew he had time for a calculated approach. He’d need one. Quinton followed the direction the breeze was blowing from, knowing it was carrying the smell from its terrible source. A ring-billed gull cried as it flew overhead, Quinton almost thinking it might be a sentry, warning the ursine that he was on the way.
The wind was shifting, and Quinton knew that he could catch scent of an approaching lupe, but he also knew that hardly mattered. His adversary was expecting him, Quinton was certain. That meant he was ready, and that he’d be all the more dangerous.
Quinton crept closer, the smell heavy in his long snout. He could almost take in the size of it, the strength. It was young, healthy, powerful. As Quinton crept closer, peeking around a crag, he caught sight of something else, not the ursine at all.
Jessica lay in the center of a wide gully amid the crags. She was unconscious, no doubt from the effects of the drug on the handkerchief. Quinton sniffed, but the breeze had shifted again, and he had no way of knowing if she was still alive. There were big ursine tracks leading to one of the mountainous edges, but they weren’t fresh. Quinton was almost certain the ursine had intended the tracks to misdirect his attention. He could still be almost anywhere in a complete circle around that lovely and completely prone damsel in distress.
If she was still alive, and Quinton was about to find out. Living or dead, she’d been set out as bait to lure him into an ambush. She would be visible from almost anywhere, and so would a certain foolish lupine that charged in to her rescue. The crags around the wide gully gave shelter to even a creature as big as a full-grown ursine shifter. And in her state, in that barren place, she wasn’t going anywhere, nor would she be a problem to the ursine in his upcoming battle.
It would be a battle to the death.
The wind swirled around that crag, making triangulating the ursine’s exact location impossible. But the best way was to find the ursine and attack it unaware instead of the other way around. If Quinton was going to have the advantage he was looking for, he’d have to find the ursine within his line of sight, and not be seen doing it.
The best way was to find the highest point of the lowest ridge, but the rocks reached out into the gully, and it pushed Quinton high up above where Jessica lay, her head seeming to move just a bit.
Quinton walked carefully just behind the lowest ridge he could find for as long as he could. But the mountain had turned against him, trying to expose him at every turn. The smell of the ursine came and went, hard to tell where he was. But Quinton had the notion he was on the same side of the gully, and that could be the lucky break he was hoping for.
It could also turn against him if the ursine was close and hidden and ready to strike at any moment. Every step took Quinton closer to his destiny, and he knew what was at stake. His loss would be Jessica’s loss, and a terrible one. She’d become the unwilling breeder of a ruthless creature, or she would be raped and killed and perhaps even eaten.
Much of Anchorage could follow.
From his own nightmarish experience with his father, Quinton was all too aware of the perils of fighting an ursine. Even as cunning, powerful, and experienced as Quinton’s father had been, he could not defeat a raging ursine alone. Each had advantages in battle, the lupine speed and greater agility, the ursine greater power and endurance. A single lupe had never brought down an ursine alone, as far as he knew.
Quinton also had the disadvantage of having a beloved’s life at stake. It would be a distraction, a weakness. He’d always been afraid of that, and that their love would consume her, and despite the highs of their whirlwind romance, the worst was still very likely to happen, right there and then.
But his love for her could yet give him the inspiration and strength he’d need to prevail. Quinton would still need the advantage of surprise, and he was running out of time with every step.
Quinton knew he needed a different tack. He realized the advantages of being in the open, where he’d have time to prepare for a charge and meet it head-on. But those swirling winds were still helping to hide his nearby mortal enemy. Quinton ducked low through two long crags reaching like rocky fingers into the snowy gully. It was wide, two hundred feet or so long, half as wide.
Quinton knew the danger. Lying low would keep him out of sight, but if the ursine got the drop on him between those two crags, he could jump on him from behind and crush him in a quick death strike. Quinton could almost feel those fangs digging into his neck, pulling his throat out as one of its kind had his own father.
&nbs
p; Perhaps it was destined to be this way, Quinton couldn’t help but think. Maybe I should have died ten years ago.
Maybe I did.
But a glance at Jessica, prone and alone in the center of the gully, reminded him what he was fighting for, what he still had to live for.
No, he told himself, no, never!
Quinton made it to the flat gully and slowly approached Jessica in the center. He looked around, sensing the presence of his foe but unable to find him. Jessica moaned a bit, a good sign. And no ambush came bursting out of the crags at any side. Quinton’s big paws crunched down on the snow as he approached, knowing what had to happen.
The hunter had become the hunted, and he was taking the bait.
Quinton arrived at Jessica’s side. He looked around before returning his attention to her. He sniffed her over, little traces of the ursine’s scent upon her, to his eternal gratitude. Jessica’s eyes fluttered open and she turned to focus on Quinton. But even in his huge, lupine form, she smiled that cute little smile, the true love they shared radiant in her first reaction. She reached out and touched his cheek, stroking his white fur.
But the cockles rose on the back of his neck, and Quinton turned to stand in front of Jessica.
The big ursine lumbered toward them. Its fur was black, striking against the snow but perfect camouflage for the rocky, increasingly exposed terrain. It walked toward them with an easy gait, seeming to know just what Quinton knew. There was no escape, but neither would seek that. And there was no rush to engage. The ursine didn’t need the advantage of surprise or a quick assault. It could take its time and it seemed to know it.
Quinton readied himself, stepping a few feet ahead to clear room for battle away from where Jessica lay, still weakened. It was too easy to remember what had happened to his mother, and he could not allow it to be a herald of his present, of the future.
And Quinton knew the ursine was focused on him, not Jessica, at least not yet. First there would be a battle, then to the victor would belong the spoils.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Quinton and the ursine circled one another. He was big, and though lacking the heft of an older ursine, he was more than formidable to a lone lupe. Something about his eyes seemed familiar, but Quinton couldn’t quite place him.
But all shifters, of either species, and some said there were others, could converse mentally, hearing the voice of the other in the back of their brains.
Quinton asked, Who are you?
The ursine kept circling, and Quinton knew his adversary was looking for a quick attack. You don’t know me, even after all these years?
Quinton flashed on a certain face, a young man he knew, though not well. You’re… you’re Walt, from the Gold Dust hotel bar?
And they keep talking about how smart you are. So dumb you didn’t see what was going on right under your nose, you fool! Walt growled, brows low over his big, black-haired face. His fangs were young and strong and white, his broad shoulders and heaving chest nothing like his human form.
Seems like you never liked me, Quinton thought/spoke.
Of course not! You and me, we’re enemies to the blood and bone. But even in your human form, you go around like a big deal, the best hunter around Anchorage.
When did I treat you unfairly?
Walt sneered and growled, lurching forward in a tiny promise of what was to come. What about Deliah? When did you treat her fairly?
It just happened the way it did, Walt.
That’s so typical of your type, you lupes! Then imagine having to sit around and hear people talk about this great man out on the mountain, when I knew I could tear your head off with a single swipe.
Quinton couldn’t help but think of how he’d kill the big brute, his arms ending in long, black claws, torso and hind legs equally brawny.
But Quinton’s answer came back promptly. Then why haven’t you yet? How long have you known about me?
The two shifters kept circling each other, each round drawing the tension between them tighter. When it was finally released, the results could be fatal for both.
As long as it wasn’t all three, something Quinton didn’t even dare think.
Well, Walt silently admitted, I was only suspicious. But this normalo girl mentioned it in the restaurant. I knew then what I had to do.
That’s why you killed those hunters, to draw me out of hiding.
Walt roared and snapped his jaws, another display of strength. It was noteworthy to Quinton that he felt he had to make that assertion of his skills. It meant he might not have had the skills he wanted others to think, like normalo hunter Red Fellows—just a big bully not ready for a real fight.
Not bad, boomer, came Walt’s answer, not bad. And now that I’m strong enough to take you, and her, well, this is my time. This is my territory now. And so is she. Don’t tell me you don’t understand that.
I won’t tell you a thing, you overgrown cub!
You won’t live long enough to answer for your crimes.
Quinton had to give that some thought, faces and connections and tragedies streaming in front of his face. Crimes? What…? You don’t mean… that ursine, ten years ago…
My father, you damned dirty lupe! I saw the orca tear up his dead body myself!
No, Walt, no, he attacked us. And he killed my father before… before… Quinton had to wrestle with the memories even in his lupine form, especially so. He flung me onto the ice, breaking it. Then he charged me in a rage and fell through. It was his own fault. I had to put my own father’s body in too. You know the normalos can’t know about us.
Walt cast an eye in Jessica’s direction without giving Quinton an opening. This one knows.
Leave her out of it!
You didn’t!
Quinton looked at her too, for just a second. She was trying to push herself up, but she was clearly too weak. But she was the picture of vulnerable beauty, the desire of any man, two in particular.
The tension only got thicker, the hairs rising in a ridge along Quinton’s spine, his fighting instincts beginning to rise up and overtake his reasoning intellect. He knew he couldn’t contain himself much longer, any more than he could seem to convince his adversary to back down.
Your father is dead, Walt, so is mine; nothing we can do will bring them back. But you’re not touching that woman. So I’m giving you this chance to walk away and leave us.
Or…?
Or I’ll kill you.
Walt growled and shook his head, snapping his jaws again. You know that’s not possible.
Quinton prepared for the charge, muscles tight along his tawny limbs, all of his instincts and strengths brought to the fore. Do I? Prove it.
Quinton had led Walt far enough away from Jessica, who was weakly pushing herself backward in the other direction. But Quinton could only afford to give her a corner of his eye. His attention had to remain locked on Walt as the young and powerful ursine came roaring at him. The bellow seemed to shake the ground, and his big paws charging certainly did.
The first clash came head-on, a tangle of jaws and paws, fangs and flashing gums under snarling snouts. They barked and roared, each sizing up the other. Walt was powerful and furious, ten years of pent-up rage finally finding its ultimate release. Quinton spun and pulled away, putting a bit more distance between them.
The ursine would be virtually impossible to kill alone.
But Quinton had age and experience and the naturally superior lupine cunning, and they would be his only saving graces. Quinton waited, growling at Walt, knowing he’d charge again. This time, Quinton used his four tawny legs to duck quickly to the side, sending the ursine galloping past. Walt turned, tumbling then regaining his footing before roaring and charging again. As Walt bore down on Quinton, Quinton leapt high and directly over Walt’s head to land on his back. There, Quinton bit down hard on the big beast’s haunches, one of his few vulnerable spots.
Because despite being shifters, they behaved and attacked very much like the normal
o animals they shared some DNA with. Like bears, ursines swiped with their tremendous claws and powerful arms, bit and tore and crunched with their bone-crushing jaws. Like wolves, lupines attacked at the backside, often disemboweling their victims as the killing strike.
Walt spun, but his front paws couldn’t quite reach Quinton’s hind legs. Quinton bit down harder, pulling and then quickly biting again to go even deeper into that fatty hide. But there were nerves there, and a cluster of arteries, any number of ways to slow the ursine down.
Walt roared in pain and rose up on his hind legs. And if there was one thing Quinton couldn’t fight, it was gravity. He fell from Walt’s back, having to let go and hit the snowy ground.
Quinton rolled just as Walt dropped himself backward and onto the place Quinton would have been. But Quinton was faster and he escaped the body-crushing tactic by a second or less. Being more agile, Quinton could regain his footing and launch his own attack while Walt was still on his back.
Quinton lunged at the side of Walt’s neck, biting down and shaking, pulling, listening for the sound of the fibers tearing under the flesh.
It wasn’t a position Quinton could hold for long. He let go and ducked back, just a second too late.
Walt’s forepaw pushed him from underneath, a move to repel him that sent Quinton flying off about thirty feet. He hit the snow and rolled, then pushed against the momentum to take a new stand. He looked over at Jessica, checking her safety. She was watching the fight from a reasonable distance, her attention fixed on him, horror in her expression that was clear even from that far away.
Walt’s roar brought Quinton back into the fight. But when Quinton looked back at Walt, he was looking at Jessica. With another look at Quinton and what seemed like a smile, he bolted for her.
It was a ruse, as Quinton knew Walt wanted her alive as much as he did. It was a way to take control of the fight, to use her as a human shield, perhaps just to kill her out of spite. She was Quinton’s greatest vulnerability, after all, and the big ursine certainly knew it.