Hunter's Mark: A Star-Crossed Book (Loki's Wolves 0)

by Melissa Snark

He spoke the truth—in his arms, she was safe. When Victoria whimpered her gratitude, Daniel pressed his face against hers, rubbing his cheek and temple across her snout, and then kissed her nose. She bathed him in wolfy kisses and thumped her tail.

  Her hero. They'd have to work on his timing though.

  Chapter Eleven

  * * * *

  The sun shone bright overhead, nearing its zenith, by the time they finally hauled Macan out of the canyon and back to the Chevelle. During the hour-plus drive back to civilization, exhaustion hung over them, a grim cloud that put a definite damper on the conversation.

  The trip to the closest hospital in Prescott passed in relative quiet. Victoria opted to ride in the backseat so the much longer-legged Macan could sit in the front. She crouched, wet and miserable, offensive to her own nose. Shifting back to human had healed her broken bones but required her last iota of strength. The resulting depletion rendered her exhausted—apathetic—grumpy. Even a clean set of clothing failed to help because without a shower, the ick on her skin transferred straight to the cloth.

  Thankfully, Daniel put the top up on the convertible so it cut down on the wind noise—not to mention the bug splatter. In the front, the men exchanged only a handful of words. Her drifting mind only registered the low rumble of their voices but not the meaning. The motion of the car created a seductive lull and she nodded off. The next thing she knew, the sound of the car door opening jolted her awake.

  "What's happening?" Startled, she bolted upright. Only Macan remained in the front seat. The driver's side was empty. The passenger door was wide open, and Daniel and a young male orderly were helping the Scotsman into a wheelchair.

  "It's okay. We're here."

  "Did I fall asleep?"

  "You were snoring." Daniel leaned over and peeked past Macan at her.

  "I don't snore," Victoria returned primly.

  "Course not. That racket must've been an elk's mating call."

  "Jackass." She glared and threatened him with a closed fist. She fidgeted, eager to exit the vehicle. Being confined didn't sit well with her ravenous, ill-tempered wolf. "I don't snore. What're we doing?"

  "We're just dropping off this lazy fool. Then we can be on our way." So saying, Daniel slapped Macan on the shoulder.

  "Hey now!" Macan bellowed a good-natured protest and then addressed the orderly. "Heave on three. One, two, three—"

  The men uttered cries and groans of exertion but together the three of them managed Macan's bulk from the car to the wheelchair. The metal frame creaked when they plunked him down. They asked the orderly to give them a minute while they formed a huddle.

  "You sure about being dropped off?" Daniel asked Macan. "We can come inside with you."

  "Oh, nay! I'll be pure dead brilliant. Off with ye!" The Scotsman added rather dourly. "Guess I won't ever learn what happened to my great-grandpappy."

  Daniel scowled. "Another time, all right?"

  Macan chuckled. "Another time. Thanks, Danny. I widnae made it outta there without ye."

  "Sure thing, man. Try to stay out of trouble for twenty-four hours, will you?" Daniel offered his hand and bent over to wheelchair level.

  "Aye." The men shook and exchanged a bro hug—lots of heavy back slapping. "Make sure yer father doesn't hear aboot this."

  "I'll try to leave your name out of it," Daniel said, laughing.

  Victoria kicked her toe against the ground, very much out of place. Frankly, her desires aligned with Macan's. She also preferred that Jake Barrett not hear her name associated with the events that had transpired the day before. It would raise way too many awkward questions.

  Sudden movement—the rattling of the wheelchair startled her. She jerked her head, looked up, and found Macan bearing down on her. He stopped and spread his arms wide. "C'mere, wumman. Give old Mac Guffin a hug."

  Inexplicably bashful, she wrapped her arm around the big man's shoulders. With him seated, the difference in their heights was inconsequential so she didn't have to bend to reach him. She made a concentrated effort not to jostle his injured leg still wrapped in the makeshift splint.

  "Take care, you old coot." She dropped a kiss on the hunter's cheek, brushing her lips across his bristly beard, and crinkled her nose in distaste over his body odor. If possible, his smell was even more offensive than hers.

  "Thank you for saving my life, Lassie. Yer a bonnie angel." Macan planted a smooch on her cheek in return, whumped her across the back, and released her.

  "You're welcome." She smiled and blushed, flattered and embarrassed all at once. She stepped over to stand beside Daniel and they watched while the orderly ushered Macan through the sliding entrance into the hospital.

  Chapter Twelve

  * * * *

  Once the Scotsman wheeled out of sight, they turned toward each other. Awkwardness slammed down on top of them. She opened her mouth but said nothing—the words refused to congeal. To her chagrin, Daniel appeared just as uncomfortable. The man scowled like the dickens and also stayed silent.

  The two of them were quite the sight. By now, their clothing had dried out in the arid air so the material was now stiff and crusty rather than wet and mucky. Her muscles ached, staying on her feet required effort, and her belly yawned. She was, in short, miserable. Like her, Daniel looked—and smelled—the part of a survivor of a natural disaster. The pallor of exhaustion hung over him; his movements slow and trudging.

  After everything they'd just been through together, it killed her to be overcome with uncertainty and doubt. She wondered what came next. They'd completed their task, accomplished their stated goal—located and rescued the missing hunter. Beyond that, their next move remained a total blank.

  He cleared his throat. "I doubt they'll let us back into our suite."

  A wry smile twisted her mouth. "Yeah. It's not exactly fit for habitation. What about our stuff?"

  "I'll make some calls and arrange to recover our belongings. My weapons have probably been confiscated. It'll take some wrangling through official channels to get everything back."

  She dipped her chin. "Okay. There's nothing in my bags I can't live without."

  "So..." He hung a thumb off his belt and then released it, a telltale gesture. "What do you want to do? If we head straight back to Phoenix we'll be there before two."

  "Is that what you want to do?" Victoria bristled, more than a little cagey. So—this was how he wanted to end their second unofficial date? If he failed to at least offer to buy her lunch, she swore on Freya's sweet chariot cats—she'd bite him.

  He regarded her with savvy appraisal, a wry intelligence that said the man was no fool. "I want to do whatever you want to do."

  Smart man. Grumbling, she deliberated for a moment. "I'm starving."

  "Break..." He glanced up, noting the time. "Lunch it is then."

  "My own stench might kill me before we can eat."

  He chuckled. "We'll take care of both. Tell me what you need. What's more important—food or a hot shower?"

  "A shower." No matter how hungry, she wasn't in any danger of dying from famine any time soon.

  "All right, then."

  They returned to the Chevelle. Daniel drove them to a nearby hotel that lacked the Hermosa Inn's historic charm. She hoped it also lacked for restless spirits. From the outside, it appeared clean and well-maintained. The facility consisted of a cluster of two-story buildings with doors facing outward toward railed walkways. It had a fence and an outdoor pool. Normally, she loved swimming but at the moment, the prospect aroused zero interest in her.

  While he disappeared into the lobby to check them in, she waited in the car. Daniel returned fifteen minutes later carrying a big, stuffed plastic bag. He proffered it to her without explanation so she wrapped her arms about it and dragged the whole thing into her lap.

  "What's this?"

  "I told the clerk that the airline lost our luggage."

  "Great idea." Victoria peeked inside and found soft white terrycloth—a pair of
robes. She dug deeper and found other delights. "Toothpaste—you're a god."

  "Thanks, but I try not to let it go to my head."

  He parked close to their second-story room and together they trudged up the stairs. As soon as Daniel unlocked the door, Victoria pushed past him. She made a beeline for the bathroom. Within, she shed her soiled clothes, freed her hair from its braid, and jumped straight into a scalding hot shower. Her mood took an immediate turn for the better. She scrubbed herself down from head to toe, washing away the accumulated dirt and dried blood from the hunt. Once she was clean, she stayed there a time, soaking beneath the spray, inhaling the purifying steam which helped clear her airways of the lingering mine filth.

  The creak of a bathroom floorboard alerted her to Daniel's presence. The vanity lights backlit his form so his shadow fell across the shower curtain. Excitement coursed through her. Leaving the water on, She tensed and turned to face him through the vinyl drape that separated them.

  "I've ordered food. It's being delivered. I hope that's okay."

  "It's great. Thank you." She hit the shutoff. "Will you pass me a towel, please?"

  "Sure." A rustle accompanied his movement. "Here you go—"

  A washcloth appeared over the top of the shower bar, dangling from his fingers. Victoria stared at it. Squinted. Her lips quivered and then turned up in an involuntary smile. She fought and failed to suppress laughter, but the effort turned the sound she produced into a brassy giggle-snort.

  "Very funny." She snatched the washcloth from his fingers, grabbed the shower curtain, and drew it aside. To her immense disappointment, he faced away from her—and held a bath towel in his other hand—just above his backside.

  "Sorry, I couldn't resist," Daniel said, but the man didn't sound apologetic in the least. In fact, he was downright smug. Belatedly, it occurred to her to look past him to the vanity. Steam fogged the mirror but only partially thanks to the cold air streaming in through the open doorway. He still had a damn fine view.

  "I bet you couldn't." She took the towel from him and smacked his ass for good measure. The whack elicited an appreciative chuckle from him. Without being told, he vacated the bathroom.

  She dried off and put on the white robe he'd left on the counter. It claimed to be one-size-fits-all but the enormous thing engulfed her. The bottom fell to her ankles but it was clean and soft—she loved it. Five minutes later, she emerged with waist-length hair loose about her shoulders. Unfortunately, the hotel had only supplied a comb so she anticipated it'd take forever to work through the kinks.

  She found Daniel waiting for his turn to use the bathroom, a folded robe clutched in hand. He had the right idea. His hygiene hadn't fared any better than hers. Before she'd showered, her own stench had masked his, but now that she had... Her nose scrunched in distaste.

  "Can I get in there now?" The look on Daniel's face conveyed—Yeah, I get it. You don't need to rub it in.

  Victoria snickered. "It's all yours."

  "Thanks." He disappeared within and closed the door behind him. She listened but detected no click to indicate it'd been locked. A few seconds later, the shower came back on.

  Victoria waited a full minute before she crept to the bathroom, eased the door open, and sneaked inside. Sly as a fox, she snatched up every single clean towel except for a single washcloth, which she generously left behind on the rack. Clutching her prizes, she returned to the main room where she dropped the stack on the bed and flopped down beside it. With a sigh of pleasure, she rolled onto her back, luxuriating the scent and slide of fresh linens.

  She listened to the muffled water flow which meant the shower was still in use. She was more tired than she thought because she drifted. Distantly, she dreamed Daniel called out her name in a soft voice. She may have murmured something in reply or maybe not. The next thing she knew, the mattress heaved with the addition of a heavy male form seated upon the edge of the bed. A mouth-watering aroma yanked her straight out of slumber.

  "Wake up, sleepyhead. The food is here."

  On cue, Victoria's stomach rumbled. Blinking, she sat straight up and looked around. True to Daniel's word, three large white sacks bearing the logo of a Mexican restaurant sat on the table—the source of the delicious scent. Her wolf burst over her, and it required an act of will to quell the desire to vocalize her exuberance for food. The situation so richly deserved a joyous yodel.

  "How long was I asleep?"

  "Less than an hour." Daniel rose and crossed the room. He wore a robe that was identical to hers except the hemline stopped at his knees. The white terrycloth offset his deep tan. Curiosity led her to cast a quick glance at her own arm, confirming that the man was a couple shades darker.

  He flashed a slow smile. "That was a low blow—taking all the towels."

  "Yeah? Well you had it coming."

  Sharing a laugh, they dragged the only chairs in the room over to the small round table. Conversation remained at a minimum while they dug out and distributed the food across the surface. From the looks of it Daniel must have ordered half the menu—burritos, enchiladas, tamales, and tacos. Snatching up a Styrofoam container at random, Victoria pried open the lid off, releasing a cloud of steam straight into her face. She inhaled—tasting the vapor—and identified the spicy stew as birria—goat stew.

  Her startled gaze flew to Daniel. "You didn't—"

  "I figured it might make up a bit for you having missed the Winter Nights feast." He passed her tortillas and a spoon.

  "Thank you." Speechless, she got down to the serious business of feeding her wolf, though real wonderment lingered in her mind. Granted, consuming goat meat stew hardly equated to performing the ritualized sacrifice in honor of the Vanir deities—Freya and her brother, Freyr. But the sentiment carried a lot of weight. It amazed and impressed her that he'd been so attentive to what mattered most to her.

  Freya chimed in, It is a worthy gesture. Grant him my appreciation and thanks.

  I will do that. Swallowing a mouthful, Victoria wiped her mouth on a napkin. She watched Daniel down the end of a burrito. "Freya desires that I convey her appreciation and thanks."

  A smile tugged at his lips. "You're welcome. I hope this makes up some for what was probably the crappiest second date in the history of the world."

  She chortled. "Oh-ho-ho! So you finally admit this was a date?"

  "Yeah. You've got me."

  "It wasn't so bad. I got to spend time with a really great guy—and fight the ghost of a giant skeleton. How many women can say that?"

  "Not too many." He smiled but his expression remained pensive.

  "What's wrong?"

  "I'm wondering whether there's going to be a third date."

  Oh. Damn. Victoria's teeth sank into her lower lip, and she worried it. She harbored more than a few reservations about the appropriateness or workability of them—a wolf and a hunter. Oh, as allies and hunting partners, they made a sublime team. But romantically? She had her misgivings.

  Daniel noted her lack of ready response with a wry smile. "Yeah, that's what I was afraid of."

  "I'm sorry. I'm not sure if this is a good idea."

  "What is it you're not sure about? At least give me a chance to change your mind." He pushed aside the containers and shoved away from the table, dragging his chair closer to hers.

  "It's not about changing my mind... It's not made up one way or the other. We make a good team when it comes to hunting but this—" She turned her hand in a vague gesture which conveyed the murkiness of her emotions.

  "We do more than just fight well together. We're good together, period. I know you've got doubts. You're always holding back—watching me—judging me. But I have no idea what you're thinking."

  She found herself caught in a quagmire of awkwardness. Impulsively, she opted for humor as a means of defusing the tension. Deliberately comical, she leered at his chest. "Most of the time I'm just lusting after all those muscles."

  "Thanks, I think." He laughed and she sighed.


  "You're right. I have some reservations."

  "Let's talk about it. C'mon, it's only fair for you to tell me what's holding you back. I can't convince you if you won't talk to me."

  "I'm talking. I'm just not sure what to say."

  "Bullshit. You always know what you want to say. You hold your tongue when you're being diplomatic."

  She stared at him in astonishment. "When did you get to know me so well?"

  "Are we back to this being a hunter-wolf thing?"

  "No," she snapped. "We're back to this being a respect thing."

  He jerked and drew back. "I respect you.

  "Do you?"

  "Yeah, I do." Daniel's eyes narrowed; the rest of his face hardened. His stance underwent a pronounced transformation to assertive, and his scent soured on the strident rush of anger. She'd insulted his honor.

  Visceral delight thrilled through her. She tensed in response to his aggression—capitalized on it. She wanted him angry and invested in their relationship—if that was truly what this was. "Then why didn't your family accept my mother's offer to heal your mom when she fell ill?"

  Surprise wiped out his ire. His eyes hooded, and his lips parted but he hung onto his words with grim greed. Innate caution led him to consideration—and contemplation, both of her and the issue. She approved of his discipline—restraint carried weight with her. A taciturn man seldom had cause to regret his words. And a man who couldn't control his temper lacked the mettle to make a good Alpha.

  Lesser males weren't worthy of her.

  "Believe me, if it'd been up to my father, my brothers, and me, we would have. But it was my mother's call. She refused magical intervention." He flexed his hands, telegraphing his tension.

  "Why? Why would she—" A startled exclamation escaped Victoria. Of all the potential answers he might've given, she wasn't expecting that. She cut herself short because the question was both intrusive and insensitive. None of her damn business.

  Daniel smiled, tight and grim. "Believe me, we asked the exact same thing. My father was furious. He and mom got in a shouting match—my parents never argued. At least, not in front of us."