Winter of the Wolf

by Cherise Sinclair

  * * *

  She might as wel have driven her own car. Criminy.

  As fine mist dampened her hair and face, Bree paced outside the auto repair garage, unable to sit. She could just slap Zeb for not keeping his pickup in better shape. She should have expected this. He loved working with wood, but he absolutely hated metal and engines.

  How could this happen to her? Now, of al times.

  She looked inside. The hood of Zeb’s truck was open, and a mechanic worked away at its innards. Turning, she stared west. Through the gray clouds, the setting sun glowed a sulen red behind Seattle’s skyscrapers and the Space Needle.

  Her hands fisted in her jacket pockets. “Can’t you hurry?

  Please?”

  “It’l get done when it gets done, lady.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Seattle ~ Dark of the moon

  “Watch out for that red car. The driver’s drunk.” Zeb gripped the door handle. He’d thought itching was the worst part of being in a vehicle. Fuck, was he wrong.

  part of being in a vehicle. Fuck, was he wrong.

  “I see him.” Shay’s jaw clenched so tight that the muscles stood out. He slowed his truck. “Hope her helhound shows up,” he muttered. “I need to kil something.”

  “How can there be so many people in one place?” Zeb stared through the windshield into the misty twilight. In the three lanes in front of them, tailights streamed forward in steady lines, sometimes flashing the brighter red of brake lights. On the other side of the divider, three more lines of glowing headlights zoomed past. Horns blared. The car in front had the bass turned up far enough to reverberate in his bones. Disgusting music. “You hear the words to that song?”

  “Would be a pleasure to meet the singer, teach him how females should be treated and spoken of.”

  “We’ve had rotten Daonain too.”

  “Yeah, and look how Klaus ended up.” Shay’s face chiled as the music continued. “I could ram the asshole hard enough to crush the radio.”

  “Tempting,” Zeb admitted. He checked the map. “That’s our exit.”

  A few minutes later, he snarled. “How many fucking lights can one town need?”

  “It’s a city.” Shay brought the truck to another halt. “You never been in one before?”

  “Never even interested.”

  “I tried Portland as a cub. Thought it would be exciting.”

  “I tried Portland as a cub. Thought it would be exciting.” Shay absently rubbed his chest and set off Zeb’s urge to scratch.

  Fucking metal. “Was it?” Zeb caught glimpses of red outlining the Olympic Mountains. The sun had set. His hands fisted. Was she even now facing a helhound?

  “By the God, no. I only lasted two days. Humans are insane.” Squinting at the street sign, Shay turned right. “Some own mansions. Others live in cardboard boxes.” Zeb stared down a block filed with big square structures, al eerily identical. “And some live on top of each other.

  You’re right, brawd. They’re insane.” The numbers on the buildings increased slowly. “Another. One more. Stop.” Shay puled the pickup to the curb outside a huge, boxy building. “She lived in something like that?” Zeb double-checked the return address on the envelope.

  “Correct street. Right number.” He jumped out. “Let’s go.” No doorbel. Shay knocked on the dark glass door.

  No one came.

  Impatiently, Zeb yanked the door open and found a long halway with numbers on each door. That explained the extra number in the address. Maybe if he watched television now and then, he’d figure out human customs. “Look for two-two-five.”

  “Right.” Shay strode down the hal. “None here.” Could they have the wrong building? Zeb scowled, and then remembered how high the box was. More doors would be upstairs. “There were stairs at the front.” They ran back to the entrance, and Shay led the way up.

  These apartment numbers were in the two hundreds.

  Midway down, Zeb stopped. “Here.” Don’t scare the humans. He let Shay knock.

  The door opened, and a human male in his twenties looked at them warily.

  “Hi,” Shay said. “Are you Jim?”

  “No solicitors.” The man started to close the door.

  Shay set his hand on it, holding it open. “Wait. We’re friends of Breanne.”

  A female stepped up beside Jim. Probably the Diane who’d written the letter. “You’ve seen Bree? Is she al right?”

  “She’s fine.” Shay smiled at them. “Al healed-up.” The humans relaxed. His brawd could be fucking charming when he wanted.

  “She was headed here,” Shay said, “and we’re worried about her. This isn’t a safe place, as I’m sure you know.”

  “I haven’t seen her,” the female said.

  Zeb interrupted. “What’s her door number?”

  “One-sixteen,” Jim said. “Downstairs.”

  Shay turned to Zeb and said under his breath, “Go. I’l talk them out of this trap.”

  Back downstairs, Zeb trotted down the hal. One-sixteen.

  The door was locked, of course. He tapped. No answer, no The door was locked, of course. He tapped. No answer, no sound of anyone inside.

  Where the hel was she? She should have arrived hours before. The sun was already down. His gut tight with dread, he pounded. Nothing. The door was cheap wood and holow. After checking the halway, he tipped his body to try to muffle the sound and rammed his fist into the wood next to the handle. Took more effort than he’d figured. Definitely hurt more.

  Reaching through the hole, he unlocked the doorknob and the deadbolt above it, and entered. After a quick sniff, he knew he had the right den. The stuffy air said the place had been empty for some time. He glanced around. Pretty with soft colors and fabrics. The kitchen held a myriad of cooking stuff: copper-bottomed pots, more knives than any female should possess, herbs running the length of one wal. Yes, this was his little female’s den.

  He frowned at a sliding door made of glass. By the God’s bals, talk about being unable to defend your cave. Zeb turned to leave.

  Glass shattered.

  He spun. A helhound charged across the room.

  Zeb flung himself sideways and over the couch. He hit the ground hard, roled to his feet, and reached for his knife. The helhound crashed into him, knocking him on his back. As fangs bit deep into his knife arm, pain seared through him. He fangs bit deep into his knife arm, pain seared through him. He kicked out uselessly.

  Fuck, he was dead.

  * * *

  These humans were incredibly stubborn. Shay tried again.

  “You don’t understand. There wil be someone kiled here.

  Tonight.”

  “How do you know that?” Jim’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I can’t afford to take my family to a hotel for weeks until they catch this guy.”

  “Just for tonight.” Shay caught sight of a cub, al freckles, and big eyes.

  “You’re realy big,” the boy said.

  “I’m from the mountains. We grow bigger there.” A flash of humor showed in the father’s eyes.

  “You’re Eric, aren’t you,” Shay guessed. “Are you the one that gives sticky hugs?”

  Beaming, the boy grinned, displaying a missing tooth.

  By the God, he couldn’t let the helhound have this family.

  Shay puled the father into the halway. “Listen. That’s a fine son you have. Don’t risk him.”

  The man shook his head again. “I can’t—”

  “The hel—the murderer attacks on the new moon.” Shay got a blank look.

  Shay got a blank look.

  “The night with no moon. One night a month. After the sun sets. Tonight.”

  As comprehension filed the man’s eyes, his color drained, leaving him almost gray. “Diane, bring Eric. We’re going to visit Shawn and Susie.”

  “Jim.” Diane glared at Shay. “We can’t just up and leave. I have work tomorrow.”

  Sighing, Shay prepared to start over ag
ain.

  * * *

  God, could anything else go wrong tonight? Bree tore into the apartment building from the rear parking lot and ran up the back stairs to the second floor. It was after dark. If the helhound had already visited her place, it would now be looking for other prey. She had a vision of Eric, torn apart like Ashley, and she shuddered. No, don’t go there . She needed to get them out. Now.

  * * *

  The helhound whipped its head, flinging Zeb across the room. He skidded into a chair. Mind fuzzing, he staggered to his feet. What the fuck was wrong with him?

  The demon-dog took a step, ran its tongue over its bloody The demon-dog took a step, ran its tongue over its bloody muzzle, and stopped dead. Its rust-colored eyes focused on Zeb with new interest.

  Yeah, I got magic in my blood. And oh fuck, the magic was why he was fucking weak. “Your Gifts from Herne will not be there for you, not in a city of metal, so far from His forests.” Damn the Cosantir for being right.

  He kicked a chair into the helhound’s path and puled his knife, feeling the weakness in his torn muscles. He might not have the strength to shove the blade through its leathery bely.

  Could he use his other hand quickly enough?

  He was slower too. Hel, he’d probably be slaughtered trying to reach the creature, especialy with no diversion.

  Where the fuck was Shay?

  In this piled-upon place, a yel wouldn’t be heard upstairs.

  But… He yanked his pistol from his left-hand-holster and aimed at the helhound. Wouldn’t work, but the noise might.

  * * *

  The sound of a handgun sent fear ripping through Shay.

  Zeb or Breanne. He shoved Jim to one side and ran down the halway. He took the stairs, jumping down them four at a time. On the ground floor, he checked doors as he ran.

  Number one-sixteen had a fist-sized hole in it.

  “Zeb!” he roared. Couldn’t strip fast enough to trawsfur.

  He drew his knife. As he charged into the room, he caught the scent of blood and pain, and the foul stench of demonkin.

  Smal place. Too smal. Cornered by a helhound, Zeb had a knife in one hand, a chair in the other. As Shay charged across the room, the beast started to turn, ruining his chance at the bely. Shay lunged in to slash at its hind leg. The knife scraped off, not getting between the plates. Fangs worked better, dammit.

  The helhound snarled and snapped at Shay.

  Shay dodged and slashed toward its eye, but it was old enough, smart enough, to turn its head so the blade stabbed only the facial armor. Its jaws almost caught his arm, and Shay evaded, banging into furniture.

  It kept coming.

  He desperately dove over the coffee table and landed on his side, knowing he’d not get out of this one. The room was too crowded.

  “Fuck, no!” Zeb hit the helhound from the rear as Shay staggered to his feet.

  The helhound spun, and Zeb jumped away, hitting an end table. He fel in front of the door. The helhound went for him.

  No! Shay ran forward—too late, too late.

  * * *

  The sharp retort of bulets had turned Bree around as she The sharp retort of bulets had turned Bree around as she reached the second floor. Now on the first, she burst out of the stairwel to the sound of thuds and snarling. Her place.

  Someone was in her apartment. Being hurt.

  The helhound must be there. Her pulse increased, roaring in her head loud enough to drown out every other noise. A voice inside her screamed, Get away. Run! Puling her pistol from her purse, she forced her legs to keep moving. Toward her apartment.

  The door was open, red splatters on the carpet. And…the monster.

  Its stench hit her, and she froze. Ash’s screams, blood, teeth ripping into her. Pain, pain, pain. Her world narrowed, turned gray. Sounds receded. Paralysis gripped her until she couldn’t move.

  “Breanne, no!” Shay’s voice came from far, far away.

  “Run!”

  Blood covered the monster’s muzzle. Pink frothy saliva ran down its jaw and dripped off, drop by slow drop. Her gaze folowed the liquid as it seemed to float in the air, descending and landing on a person. A man. Zeb.

  It stood over Zeb.

  The world snapped into focus. Sounds blasted into her ears: shouts, snarls, growls.

  As the monster turned toward Bree, her hand came up, her form exactly correct. She puled the trigger gently— just her form exactly correct. She puled the trigger gently— just like stroking a man’s balls.

  The red-brown eye splattered.

  The helhound dropped onto Zeb, knocking the air out of his lungs. Again. With a groan, Zeb tried to shove it off. Got nowhere. “Fuck,” he gasped. “Why am I always on the bottom?”

  “Because I’m the alpha?” Shay asked in a strained voice.

  He grabbed an armored leg, and then Bree was there, pushing from the other side. As the demon-dog changed to human and Shay tossed it aside, Bree fel to her knees.

  “Jeez, Zeb!” She wrapped her arms around his neck, trying to fracture his spine.

  He puled her closer. Warm, soft female, leaking tears al over his chest, smeling of fear and vanila. Sweet, sweet Bree. Her heart was pounding so hard, his ribs would probably have bruises. As he buried his face in her silky hair, for a second, his world was just right.

  “Mo chridhe, you’re going to strangle him.” The amused tone said Shay wasn’t seriously injured, not that the mongrel would let anyone know.

  After a gentle touch of her lips to Zeb’s forehead, she jumped up and did her best to choke Shay instead. Shay wrapped his arms around her, set his cheek on the top of her head, and looked at Zeb. His mouth formed one word.

  head, and looked at Zeb. His mouth formed one word.

  “Ours.”

  Oh yeah. Pain flared like wildfire in his arm as he sat up, but Zeb stil managed to smile. “Ours.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Rain buleted the smeary windshield of Zeb’s truck. As he wrenched the steering wheel to the left to enter a motel parking lot, his arm flared with pain. It felt as if the fucking helhound’s teeth were stil embedded in his flesh. He puled up beside Shay’s truck, letting the engine run as his brother disappeared inside the office.

  In the passenger seat, Bree stirred. “Where are we?”

  “Motel.” Not his choice of places to stay, but at least they’d driven long enough to get away from al the metal and concrete. He wasn’t sure what Shay had in mind though—

  Cold Creek was to the east, not south.

  “Oh. Good. We need to patch you up.” Bree frowned at the blood-soaked dishtowel he’d wrapped around his arm.

  “You should have let me drive.”

  “Uh-huh. Hold your hands out.”

  She gave him a dirty look, not even attempting to prove she wasn’t shaking like an aspen in a high wind.

  she wasn’t shaking like an aspen in a high wind.

  In the apartment, when she’d seen what her bulet had done to the helhound’s face, she’d turned green and dashed for the bathroom. But she’d returned on her own two feet and, hearing sirens, had led them out of the building. By the God, she was a strong female.

  Shay appeared, carrying a sack, and jumped in his truck.

  Zeb folowed to the rear of the motel and parked, nodding approval. The line of smal cottage-like buildings was much better than the huge building in front.

  Their cottage was at the end. After slinging an arm around Bree, Zeb went inside. The room was clean and decorated in pleasant green and white colors. One side held a token kitchen area containing a round table and chairs. A microwave, tiny refrigerator, and coffee pot sat on a counter.

  The center had a smal couch and television.

  Near the far wal was a bed only slightly smaler than the one at their lodge. No—not their lodge any more. At the best, they were now exiled from Cold Creek; possibly, they’d be outcast completely.

  He took a slow breath, pushing away the ache of loss. Th
e sweet female cuddling against his side was enough recompense for any male. “What you got there, brawd?” he asked as Shay set the sack on the counter.

  His brother puled out several microwavable soups and hot chocolate packets, plus some white T-shirts boasting pictures chocolate packets, plus some white T-shirts boasting pictures of the Space Needle.

  “You wanted souvenirs?” Bree asked in disbelief.

  Shay laughed. “After Zeb takes a shower, I’l wrap his arm up with special Seattle bandages.” He patted the Tshirts.

  “Good plan.” Zeb frowned at the guilt on Bree’s face and kissed the top of her head. “Make me some soup, little female?”

  She gave him a wavery smile and nodded.

  * * *

  The guys had taken quick showers, and Bree had been grateful to go last so she could take her time. Finaly feeling clean again, she donned one of the oversized Seattle T-shirts and stepped out.

  At the table, Shay was ripping up shirts while Zeb drank a cup of soup. Both men were shirtless, wearing only their jeans.

  Shay smiled at her. “C’mere. I need to hold you before I yel at you.”

  As his arms closed around her, she breathed in his masculine scent of snowy mountains—the fragrance of safety, comfort, and love.

  “I understand why you thought you had to come back

  “I understand why you thought you had to come back here.” His voice turned to a low growl. “But if you ever do something so dangerous again, you’l find that Gerhard’s discipline was nothing.”

  She rubbed her face against the crisp hair on his chest.

  “Uh-huh. And you’l do what?”

  He nipped the top of her ear in a stinging reprimand. “I’l bare your ass and pound on it.”

  “Sounds like fun.” Zeb leaned forward and swatted her lightly. “Can we practice first?”

  “There’s a thought.” Shay’s big hands massaged her bottom, lighting a warmth inside her. “Maybe after I rest a bit.”

  “You too? Guess the Cosantir was right about being weaker in a city. And slower, dammit.” Zeb turned his arm over, examining the bite.