“Helhounds are more of a mixture. First, an insane Fae-shifter in reptile form mated with a demon.” He snorted. Talk about disgusting sex. “The offspring raped a human female creating the first helhound—a mix of demon, Fae, and human.”
Many in the crowd looked appaled.
“Like us, helhounds have animal and human forms. Unlike us, in human form, they can occasionaly impregnate humans.
The helhounds would die out otherwise, since only males are birthed.”
Murmurs told him some information was new to them.
Being isolated, the Cold Creek residents had been lucky so far. But now civilization encroached, and where humans went, demonkin folowed. “In both forms, the helhounds smel like rotting meat—”
“And moldy oranges,” Zeb added.
“Tel us about their forms,” urged the older female who owned the diner.
Shay set a foot on an empty chair and leaned his forearms on his thigh. “The light-hating demon heritage means a helhound only trawsfurs to animal on new moon. It wil always shift at least once that night.
The room went silent. An old guy with as many scars as Zeb growled, “They don’t attack if it’s not the dark of the moon?”
“In helhound form. In human form, they’l rape, assault, or murder at any time at night.” His mouth tightened as he remembered one sickening night when he’d been too late to save a smal boy. “Demonkin feed off violent emotions. In animal form, it craves flesh. Although humans are good fodder, a shifter is like heroin, and the magic in our blood incites them to madness.” He stopped, his wel-worn grief a incites them to madness.” He stopped, his wel-worn grief a dul ache as he remembered how his brothers had been torn apart. “It won’t bother to attack a human if it scents a shifter.”
“That means they could be living in our town. Could be anyone.” A middle-aged female’s shril voice escalated to hysteria. The scent of fear rose. Shay saw Calum straighten.
“No.” Zeb’s flat, hard response silenced the room. “Use the brains the Mother gifted you. We can scent them in both their forms.”
Several shifters eased back in their chairs.
Surprisingly, Zeb continued. “They need the anonymity of cities. A helhound is born from rape. Around twenty, it first shifts and demon instincts take over. Since they don’t associate with each other, they don’t know their own history.” He frowned at Shay, obviously annoyed he’d been sucked into speaking.
“And you were doing so wel,” Shay said, earning himself a dark look. “Once a helhound discovers a tasty shifter community, it wil return each new moon. Other nights of the month, one might show up in human.” He stopped, unable to think of anything to add.
“Good background, cahirs.” Calum’s gaze pinned Zeb like a cat’s unsheathed claws. “Zebulon, what should our people do to protect themselves?”
For a moment, Shay thought Zeb would refuse.
For a moment, Shay thought Zeb would refuse.
But as Calum stood, waiting with the patience of a feline at a birdfeeder, Zeb gave in…and wasn’t that fun to see?
“Heavy iron bars on your windows with the fastenings deep into the frame. Reinforce the doors. As human, a helhound is as powerful as a cahir. It’s far stronger in demon form.” He glanced at Shay.
Shay said, “We’ve been refitting the cabins. Visit the Wildwood if you want examples.” He smiled sweetly at Zeb, forcing him to continue.
“Check strangers in town. Get close enough to smel them,” Zeb bit out.
Heads nodded.
“One-on-one, you can’t win a fight.” Zeb rubbed his face, unconsciously drawing attention to the scars. “Dark of the moon is the most dangerous time. Just stay the fuck home.” Limit reached, Zeb crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at Calum.
To his credit, Calum didn’t laugh, but announced, “Official meeting’s over. You can stay and ask questions.” When Zeb growled like a caged wolf, Shay slapped his arm. “Not bad, a mhac. Let’s mingle.” That earned him another growl.
Unlike the jaded citizens of Rainier Territory, the shifters here were embarrassingly grateful for both the information and the presence of Zeb and Shay. They were thanked so and the presence of Zeb and Shay. They were thanked so many times that Zeb’s dark face acquired a reddish hue.
One lanky woman carrying the scent of furniture polish shouldered through the crowd to ask, “What about children?
Sometimes they’re out after dark, visiting friends and such.” Zeb raised his voice. “Listen up.”
Silence.
“A helhound’s demon form has bulet-proof plating. The only vulnerable areas are its eyes or a narrow patch on its gut. You can’t win a fight with one.”
Shay’s bely tightened. Children were so fragile. “Never let them outside on the dark moon. Otherwise, make sure they’re escorted by several wel-armed adults.” Shay inclined his head at Zeb as conversations started again. “Damned if you’re not good at this. You take point for speaking engagements from now on.”
“Fuck you.” His black gaze promised Shay a fist in the face.
Grinning, Shay glanced around for more questions.
Instead, he saw three men stalk across the room preceded by a wave of testosterone. Pretty obvious who they were.
His mouth tightened. He didn’t have the time or interest to dick around with some alpha wolf on a power trip.
The one in the lead was about six-one, over two hundred pounds, and stank of hostility. His receding light brown hair had been buzz cut. From the similarity in beefy facial features had been buzz cut. From the similarity in beefy facial features and builds, the other two were his littermates. The pack alpha didn’t halt until he was wel within Shay’s personal space.
Trying for dominance.
Good luck, alpha-hole. A normal wolf had two choices when meeting an alpha. Drop the gaze to acknowledge him as dominant. Or chalenge.
Shay stepped back. Didn’t drop his gaze.
As the alpha tried to puzzle out what that meant, Shay heard an amused snort from behind him. Zeb had moved up to guard his back. Damned if that didn’t feel good.
The alpha pushed out his chest. “I’m Gerhard Schmidt.
These are my brothers Dieter and Klaus.” The two betas glared at Shay. Probably in their sixties, not that he could tel since shifters didn’t look old until after ninety.
“Good to meet you,” Shay said pleasantly. “When’s the next run?”
Gerhard moved closer, getting up in Shay’s face, his aggression a foul stench.
By Herne’s giant bals, this sucked. His dominant instincts demanded he flatten the pushy cur. But even if he wasn’t oathbound, he didn’t want to be alpha. Never again.
“Gerhard, I’m not interested in games. Don’t push me and I won’t” close my jaws over your throat “push you.” Gerhard slid sideways to circle him.
As the hair on his nape rose, Shay started to turn—never alow an enemy in the rear—then realized he didn’t have to.
The heat from Zeb’s body warmed his shoulders. Back to back.
He heard the pack leader stop in front of Zeb and knew Gerhard got no satisfaction there. Zeb submitted to no one, and very few were wiling to risk the death in his eyes. The Rainier alpha had dealt carefuly with Zeb.
But he’d never stopped trying to dominate Shay.
Shay saw Calum watching, but Cosantirs didn’t interfere in pack politics.
Gerhard finished his stiff-legged circling and faced Shay again. “The pack hunts the day before ful moon.” Gerhard was stupid enough to add, “We’l give you a few lessons in manners next time.”
“I enjoy learning.” And he and his co-instructors—pain and blood—always ended up being the ones teaching etiquette.
With a last scowl, Gerhard stalked away, folowed by his littermates.
As Zeb stepped up beside him, Shay said, “That went wel, don’t you think?”
“You ever met an alpha you didn’t piss off?”
“The olde
r, smarter ones don’t get proddy.” Shay rubbed his face. “But why do they focus on me and not you? You don’t submit any more than I do.”
“I don’t give off alpha vibes, and you were born to lead.”
“I don’t give off alpha vibes, and you were born to lead.” Zeb’s eyes glinted with amusement before he turned serious.
“You should be a—”
“I want a beer.” Shay walked away. He’d been an alpha.
Had a pack…and he’d led it right into death.
Chapter Eight
On Monday, a little over a week after arriving, Bree parked her car downtown. As she slid out, a rip in the ancient plastic seat cover sliced her finger. “Ow!” Just what she needed—another injury. With a grunt of annoyance, she stuck her finger in her mouth. Tracing torn skin with her tongue, she tasted the metalic tang.
The monster had liked her blood. Said it was different.
Why? The lab work from her regular physicals always came back normal. She was O positive. So what was special about her blood? Would her parents know?
The bartender had suggested she visit the bookstore and grocery. She glanced at one unembelished sign, “BOOKS,” and grinned. The owner probably didn’t like fancy French sauces or intricate desserts either.
Inside the store, a gray-haired man was attaching iron bars inside the display window. Were wild animals realy a inside the display window. Were wild animals realy a problem in the downtown area? She started to speak, then smiled at a sudden realization. Zeb would eventualy look like this older man—tough as leather, scarred to heck and gone, stil a little scary.
The man nodded at her. No greeting. Yeah, definitely like Zeb.
Fine, she’d be the polite one. “Helo.”
The sigh was almost, but not quite, inaudible. “Miss, can I help you?”
“Calum at the Wild Hunt suggested I stop in here.” She puled the photo from her denim purse and handed it to him.
“Would you know these people? The picture was taken around twenty-three years ago.”
When he held the photo up, his hands and arms were covered by so many thin white lines it looked as if he’d picked blackberries every day of his life. What would cause such scarring?
He shook his head. “Sorry.”
“Neither one lived in Cold Creek?”
“No, and I’ve been here close to fifty years.” Oh. Her hopes fel like over-yeasted rols, leaving her sagging inside. “Wel, thank you for looking.”
“No problem.”
As tears weled, she hastily turned and ran into a hard body.
body.
Too tal, too big. The monster. His horrible touch, foul odor, the way he ripped—Bree punched out blindly.
The monster caught her arms in a merciless grip.
“No!” She tried to yank away and couldn’t. Oh God. Her gasping brought her a scent like thick mountain forests. So very masculine and clean.
“Easy, little human, easy,” the deep voice said.
Not the creature. She sagged in the ruthless grasp.
The soft little human went limp in his hands like a captured rabbit, and her panic-filed blue eyes filed with relief. “Zeb.” His name on her lips was strangely satisfying. “Little female,” he acknowledged.
As her legs recovered, her chin lifted and her spine turned straight as a young pine. “Sorry. Guess I had too much caffeine.”
Shay’d mentioned her explanation. He bent far enough to murmur in her ear, “Shay didn’t buy that excuse, and neither do I.”
When her face turned pink, he felt a trickle of amusement.
She didn’t look scared of him now.
Stil holding her arms, he nodded to the bookstore owner.
“Thorson.”
“You come to give me a hand instaling this sh—stuff?” The old man’s scowl was belied by the amusement in his The old man’s scowl was belied by the amusement in his eyes.
“Aye.”
“Wel, I’l let you get to work,” Breanne said. She puled away and walked toward the bookshelves.
Mesmerizing little thing. Al golden hair and curves. Zeb watched her a second, then turned toward the preparation Thorson had done. “Good start.” He picked up the dril.
As they finished the first set of bars and started on the second, Zeb’s gaze kept sliding to Breanne. He liked the way her ful breasts stretched her shirt when she reached for a book, the way her jeans cupped her round ass.
A screwdriver smacked his knuckles, and Thorson growled, “She’s pretty, but human. It’s not good to break their hearts.”
Zeb nodded. Al too true, and not usualy a problem.
Humans didn’t attract Daonain any more than bears attracted coyotes. But her scent, although human, was oddly pleasing.
As Zeb worked, a male entered the bookstore with two boys not yet past the bumbling puppy stage. Their red shoes were no longer than his fingers. Cute. They raced through the store toward the back.
Lot of excitement for books. As the man folowed, Zeb stepped away from the window to look. The right corner held short book-laden shelves, a tiny table, and a wooden box of colorful toys.
box of colorful toys.
Zeb glanced at Thorson. “You like kids?”
“Keep the children busy, and the parents have time to purchase books.” The grizzled werecat’s mouth tipped up at their laughter. “Calum’s mate suggested it, probably so she could come in and play with the cubs.”
“Females are sneaky.” He could smel Breanne on his hands: woman, vanila, and strawberry, like a feminine dessert.
A thud came from the back. A child’s high-pitched scream.
Zeb spun. One of the boys lay on the floor, holding his knee.
“Tyler, hey, it’s okay.” The father franticaly patted the boy’s shoulder. The cub kept screaming.
Every instinct in Zeb cried out to help, but with his battered face, he’d scare the boy further. He watched helplessly.
Breanne walked out of the stacks. After setting her books on the floor, she sat beside the pup. “Oh, you got a boo-boo,” she said, her pretty voice almost a croon.
The screaming stopped as Tyler stared at her with big eyes, fat tears spiling down his cheeks.
“Let me see?” She roled up his jeans and frowned at the knee. “Oh look, no nasty blood. Maybe a kiss would make it better?” She arched her brows.
Lower lip poking out, the little boy nodded solemnly, and Breanne bent to place a smacking kiss on the knee. “There you go. Now you’d better sit with me while the magic works.” Winking at the father, she puled the kid into her lap.
As the father eased onto to a tiny chair, Breanne rocked Tyler, murmuring tales of clumsy rabbits and foolish mice. A hiccup or two later, the kid was quiet, leaning against her chest, sucking his thumb.
“Amazing,” Thorson muttered. “Last time that mischief-maker got hurt, Brady had to carry him to his mother before he’d settle down.”
“Likes women.”
Thorson snorted. “What male doesn’t?”
But Breanne’s appeal was more than just being female.
Her smile, her eyes, her whole body projected comfort so strongly Zeb felt it from across the room. When the other boy snuggled up to her side, she wrapped an arm around him also.
“Thank you,” the father said and smiled with an appreciation that had nothing to do with her comforting manner.
Zeb growled under his breath.
“My pleasure.” Breanne didn’t even look at the man, and Zeb felt marginaly better. “I haven’t had a kid-fix for a while now. You have beautiful children.” She kissed the top of each little head before whispering to them, “Did you guys each little head before whispering to them, “Did you guys look in the box? I saw a realy scary dinosaur in there. I almost screamed.”
Two heads popped up, and the children ran to dig through the box of toys. “Here!” The hurt one scrambled back to lay the dinosaur in her lap like a wel-trained pup, staring up at her for approval.
> “Oh no! Is it going to growl at me?” She waggled it with such a tiny provocative growl that Zeb hardened.
Not a human. I’m not attracted to a human. He turned to concentrate on his work.
He heard one child say, “My name is Luke. Who are you?”
“Breanne—but since I like you, you can cal me, Bree.
That’s what my friends cal me.”
Bree, huh.
After playing a few minutes longer, she came to the front to purchase several books and a postcard of Cold Creek from the counter rack. She stopped beside Zeb on her way out. “I’m picking up my pistol today.”
“Mmmhmm.” Her fragrance eroded his control, and he ran a finger down her cheek. Her skin was as soft and smooth as he’d thought.
She backed away as if he’d bitten her, eyes wide with…
bewilderment. Her scent held only a trace of fear.
Want more.
Want more.
Thorson cleared his throat. “Time’s a wasting, cub.” Cub? Zeb curled his lip at the old werecat, then with a grunt of frustration, stepped back from the female.
* * *
As Bree waited for the clerk to open the box containing her gun, the door to the hardware store opened.
When Zeb stalked in, she took an involuntary step back.
Black flannel shirt, black jeans, black eyes and hair. Mr.
Deadly himself. He glanced at Warren, and the young man retreated behind the counter. The dark gaze settled on her.
“Show me what you chose.”
Warren shoved the Desert Eagle across the counter.
When Zeb picked it up, the huge weapon looked like a perfect fit for his oversized hand. He hefted the weapon, played with the slidey thing, and checked the sights before handing it to her. “Point it at the wal.” She edged away and had to remind herself they weren’t alone. He was trying to help. Her shoulder wound puled painfuly as she struggled to aim the heavy pistol. The barrel wavered like a flag in a high wind.
“Use the slide on top.”
She managed to pul the slide back, although it almost snapped shut onto her palm.
snapped shut onto her palm.
He turned a black frown on Warren, making the kid gulp.
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