Bending Steele

by Sadie Hart

“It’d probably be smart to start there,” he mumbled to himself.

  Instinctively he reached for the leather cord next to the map, and the white canine tooth tied at the end. He held it up, picturing the black and white spotted cat he’d killed to get it. Oh, he hadn’t killed her for the tooth, but the catch of a lifetime had demanded a souvenir. Running his finger along the curved edge, Jacks stared at the map.

  There’d been two cats that day. He managed to shoot one, but the mate had gotten away.

  Snow leopard males were a bit more transient than females, controlling territories that overlapped several females. While he wasn’t hunting traditional cats, studying other shape-shifter groups in the United States had proved that most tended to share characteristics of their animal halves. Werewolves liked packs, lion-shifters lived in prides. It stood to reason that perhaps, snow leopard-shifters might group similarly to their cat brethren. They’d no doubt have differences than their animal halves, but it stood to reason that they most likely held territories in the mountains. It’d make sense.

  Going back to the place of his last kill gave him a thrill. His thumb rubbed back and forth across the tooth as he stared down at the bright blue ‘X’. He could remember the gunfire, the blood, the warmth in that fur as he’d held it in his hands. A surge of adrenaline jolted through him.

  Tomorrow he’d be back on the hunt again and he wasn’t leaving until he’d killed another.

  ***

  Steele watched as Hexe fiddled at the stove, filling a cast iron pot before placing it on the burners to let it heat. The rich cocoa scent touched her nose before she saw the small pouch he dragged out of the cupboard. It was all so mundane. Normal. Where the hell had he found this stuff in the mountains? He’d apparently been to town more than she’d thought.

  Steele huddled into her coat. She wasn’t cold. Hell, she was damn near roasting. Hexe somehow kept his home warm, but she didn’t see the fireplace burning. Maybe it was the body heat. Her coat rustled as she shifted her weight, uneasy. Everything about this place made her edgy. No one had places like this up in the mountains.

  Hexe twisted to look at her, one eyebrow lifting. “You cold?”

  Steele froze. Damn. If she shook her head, he’d take her coat. If she said yes, he’d probably start the damn fire and make her sweat. Steele lifted her chin up a notch. “I’m fine.”

  His gaze drifted down to her coat, a soft smile toying at the edge of his lips and she shifted uncomfortably under the weight of that look. She was fine. Perfectly, utterly fine. Then again, she’d be better if he’d let her go home. Steele turned back to the living room; the old furniture looked cozy, comfortable.

  They damn near beckoned her over.

  But it was the picture staring out at her that made her squeamish. Two laughing, smiling faces that looked so much like the man behind her. They’d been happy. That much was obvious. In love. It was written all over their faces. Love was an emotion she wasn’t even sure she believed in, not anymore. But it was there, shining out of their eyes. Written all over their smiles. That photograph would haunt her.

  “My parents,” he said, his voice soft behind her. Soothing.

  Steele didn’t want to be coaxed like a wild dog into his lap. “I figured that. They look like you, just happier.”

  She turned to see his reaction to that, but his gaze still lingered on the picture, his smile gone. She knew enough about loss to recognize the grief in his eyes. He’d loved them, probably as much as she’d loved her mother. Steele fisted her hands in her pockets, holding back the sudden burst of sympathy.

  That was a slippery slope all its own. If she started to feel sorry for him, it was just another step closer to giving a damn. She wasn’t here to care. She was here to keep her place in the tribe and walk away when this was all said and done.

  Steele strode across the living room towards the door at the far end. It was the only door in the place that didn’t lead back outside. Her stomach tightened. It had to be a bedroom. Please let there be more than one.

  A stupid, silly thought. Hexe lived alone; he didn’t need a spare room any more than she did. The knob turned easily in her palm and she thrust the door open. A huge bed sprawled over the room, fit for a king. Large wooden posts spiraled at each of the four corners, curving beautifully up until they nearly touched the log ceiling.

  His bedspread was the same vivid green as his eyes, golden swirls etched through the middle. The amount of pillows on his bed alone could be smashed together to make the bed she had at home. Then again, her small house could easily fit inside his three times over.

  The floorboards creaked behind her and Steele spun, her blade instantly back in her hand, and Hexe paused in front of her. He tilted his head in the direction of the bed behind her. “I made it myself. Carved each pillar.”

  Pride touched his voice and she couldn’t help but glance back at it. It was a work of art. Vines were etched into the dark mahogany wood. White pine made the headboard, and he’d carefully carved out a snow leopard stalking over a snowy backdrop. Every detail had been carefully carved into the wood, from the tufts of fur on the cat’s tail to the bare, spindly branches of a tree stripped by the season. Her breath hitched in her throat. It was gorgeous. Beautiful.

  “The bed itself wasn’t bad. Chopped the trees from the forest around here, same way I built the house.” Steele closed her eyes against his voice. She didn’t want to hear this. She didn’t care. He was handy; he’d built all of this. So what? “The carpet on the other hand...”

  A wry laugh sounded from him. “That was hard as hell to lug up here.”

  Her gaze drifted down the ivory shag carpet that covered his bedroom floor. She hadn’t seen carpet in... Damn, she didn’t even know. She instantly wanted to kick off her boots and sink her feet into the plush flooring.

  Steele huddled deeper into her jacket. She was definitely keeping her boots on. Hell, she was sleeping with them on.

  “You can take your jacket off, you know. Stay awhile.”

  The kettle on the stove whistled before she could answer and Hexe was striding away, the muscles in his back rippling under the navy of his shirt, a large hunting knife swaying at his right hip. A few other knives decorated the sheaths along his back, his own personal, portable armory.

  “I’d feel safer if you took off your knives.”

  Hexe flashed her a grin as he set two coffee mugs on the counter. “You don’t expect me to believe that knife is the only one you have.”

  It actually was. She normally only needed one.

  Hexe dropped his gaze to her parka and wet his lips. His eyes flashed back to hers. “Here’s the deal. You strip off your coat, and I’ll take off every one of my weapons.”

  Steele hesitated. It was a smart deal, one that cost her little. Except then she’d be...what? Here to stay awhile? She was already stuck here, coat or no coat. A spoon clinked against the mug as Hexe stirred in a scoop of cocoa. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone beside her mother had seen her without fur or a parka. Maybe the last time she’d been in a village, but no, she remembered being hunched over the bar, a beer in one hand, the hood of her parka hanging loose around her shoulders.

  She’d be damn near naked without it.

  With Hexe.

  He picked the mugs up, steam curling from them, and carried them across the hardwood floors. Every step felt lazy, confident. This was his house, his territory, and now he wanted her stripped down and—

  “Relax.” He held out a cup. “You can keep the coat if it makes you feel better. For now.”

  He waited just long enough for her to take her cup before he reached behind his back with one hand. She tensed, waiting for a blade to spring free. Instead the harness went loose around his shoulders and he tugged it off—careful of his cup—before tossing it into a nearby chair. The only knife left on his body was the hunting blade still strapped to his hips.

  As easily as he’d floated across the room to her, Hexe sank back into the s
ofa and lifted his cup to his lips, blowing gently at the hot liquid, his emerald eyes still locked on hers. “What are you so scared of?”

  Steele stared at him for a second. She could deny it, but Hexe would call her on it. He knew. Hell, he probably knew exactly what she was scared of. That two weeks with him might make it harder to live alone.

  So instead of answering him, Steele turned away. “I’m tired. I’ll take the couch.”

  And this way, if she were sleeping, she wouldn’t have to face him.

  Chapter Four

  Jacks cleaned the blood off his knife, the metal catching the light of the moon, sending a sliver of moonlight out over the skinned carcass before him. After days of climbing through this frozen wasteland, he’d finally hit the fucking jackpot. He slid the knife back in its pouch and stuffed it in his bag, his nails red with blood. He didn’t need the meat, an animal could get that. The skin, however... Jacks ran a hand out to touch the soft fur, black rosettes spotting the white.

  Even the typical snow leopard hide was worth a fortune on the black market, but for this one, fortune was too pale a word. Shame the other had gotten away. Jacks frowned into the darkness, the muscle in his jaw flexing as his teeth ground together. He hadn’t expected the second. The shapeshifters were hard to find in the mountains; able to slip into their feline forms, they could climb the slick mountain slopes far easier than he ever could. Especially loaded down with a pack and a rifle.

  And they were incredibly rare.

  But there were very few reasons for people to be this deep into the mountains, so he’d stuck close to them, trailing them and sure enough, they’d slipped easily from human to snow leopard. He’d sighted the male first, they were worth more. A shame they had to be skinned and packaged immediately. The hides lost their potent magick if they sat too long. His fingers ached at the image of the second fleeing. He would have liked to bag her as well.

  Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try and follow her trail. A mage or a skinwalker would pay dearly for one fur, but with two, he could easily double his take for the trip. And snow leopards were worth more than the average shifter. Especially for a skinwalker looking for exotics.

  Jacks wrapped the fur in the mage-woven fabric and slid it into the leather pack he’d brought specifically for it. There was plenty of room for a second. He snapped the flap shut and stuffed it in his backpack, staring out over the barren, snowy tundra. The wind had picked up, chilly enough it could burrow straight to the bone, leaving a man frozen. Raw. Exposed. He flinched under another sharp blast of wind. He had enough to go home. His family would be well set, his wife happy with her trinkets, and he could retire.

  Jacks rose, slinging the bag over his shoulders. The weight bore down on him, heavy with supplies and enough provisions to survive a few more nights in the Himalayas. He’d intended to head out after nabbing this one, but…two. The thought nagged at him, a persistent bug in his ears that he couldn’t shake. His family would never want for anything again, they could have anything they wanted in life.

  The lure was irresistible. Not with a payoff as good as this.

  Checking the position of the sun in the sky, he still had a few hours to make a move. It hadn’t snowed and the evening wind was light, making it easy to track the paw prints laid into the snow. Jacks tarried after her, his pace as fast as the terrain would let him go. His snow shoes left soft impressions in the white crust.

  White buried the world here, everything crystalline and untouched. It’d been beautiful. For the first five minutes. Now, storm gray rocks and the nearly uninterrupted splay of white blended into each other, the world blurred around him in one massive haze. Only his compass and the tracks in front of him kept him going.

  A mountain split out of the ground in front of him, jagged, it scraped up into a dusky sky. The tracks leapt up the slight crevices, fleeting, and he could only track them for a handful of strides before they vanished all together. Damn. He licked his frozen teeth. The wily little cat thought she could outrun him going up, deeper.

  But Jacks hadn’t come this far to give up. Dragging his ice pick and climbing gear out of his pack, he turned, scanning the cliff side for another way up. Tracking was always the hardest part, once he had them in sight, it was easy from there. Make sure they’d traded in human skin for animal fur, get them in the scope of his rifle, and...bang.

  ***

  The scent of Hexe’s venison stew woke her, followed by the chop-chop-chop of a knife hitting the cutting board. Her stomach gave a hungry rumble at the scent of food and Steele rolled over onto her back, staring up at the log ceiling. On more than a few of the logs Hexe had carved vines into the wood, like a forest canopy stretching into the house. But it was the intricacy of the designs that left her breathless.

  Sure, one could get bored as hell up here, but this was art no one but him would ever see. But he put every detail into each leaf, from the veins to the stems. He missed nothing, just like with his damned bed. Steele sat up from her makeshift bed on his couch, angling herself so she could watch as Hexe cooked. Four days here and so far she’d managed to keep her distance. Not easily of course.

  Hexe didn’t understand the words ‘back off’ even when he ended up flat on his back with a knife at his damned throat. Steele leaned into the soft couch cushions and watched as he worked, pausing as he chopped up a vegetable to give the stir a quick stew.

  “You must get out of the mountains fairly regularly.”

  The corner of Hexe’s mouth kicked up in a half smile as he glanced her way, but he didn’t say a word. For the past two days, that had been his new tactic. If she wouldn’t share, neither would he. Which would have been fine, but the near-silent treatment was beginning to grate on her nerves. She’d lived on her own every damn day for years now, in perfect silence, and yet, toss her in Hexe’s house and she couldn’t take it. The problem was, the bastard was typically downright chatty, talking to himself as much as to her.

  Now, the sudden silence felt false. An overbearing presence that lingered in the room, stretched out between them. Steele crossed her arms over the back of the couch and rested her head on her wrists. “I like the color blue.”

  “Why?”

  She lifted her eyebrows. “Where’d you get the vegetables?”

  Hexe shook his head with a laugh. “All right. Fair enough.”

  He lifted the cutting board, and using the knife, he swept the chopped carrots into the stew. Giving the pot one last stir, he headed her way, those gold-green eyes focused on her. Like always, they seemed to look into her, through her, but for once, Steele was thankful for the company. His strides were long, purposeful, and his hips swayed slightly with the movement. He moved like a cat, both as a man and as a leopard. All confidence and easy, liquefied grace.

  Hexe prowled around the side of the couch and sank down next to her. “You’re right. I get out of the mountains quite a bit. Sometimes you just have to see people, be around them.”

  Steele watched him as he spoke, the murmur of pride in his voice. The quiet longing. He hadn’t always lived this life, unlike her. She’d grown up in the mountains, a member of the tribe since the day she’d been born. Hexe had been changed. He’d already lived a life as a normal human, a continent away.

  “You get lonely,” she said, forcing some the icy smugness back to her voice. To make sure he didn’t think she actually cared.

  Hexe lifted one shoulder. “I’ve adjusted.” His attention zeroed back in on her. “Why is blue your favorite color?”

  Steele snorted and pulled back. What kind of question was that? Why? Who gave a damn about why? Hexe caught her arm, his grip soft against her bare skin. During the night she must have shoved up the sleeves on her thin black undershirt and she hadn’t realized it. But feeling his hand on her arm, skin to skin, and it drew a shiver through her. Her breath caught. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been touched.

  Not with something as simple as a hand resting on her arm.

  “Ju
st answer the question, Steele. How hard is it?”

  “I could count that as a question—”

  “But first you have to answer mine. Why is blue your favorite color?”

  Steele started to pull away, suddenly needing distance between them to keep herself from talking. She was sick of the silence, but Hexe never let an answer simply be an answer. He was determined to know more. Determined to have her let him in.

  And the more she let him prod, the more likely she was to cave. She shook her head. It wasn’t going to happen.

  “Forget it. Your stew probably needs another stir.” Shoving off of the couch, Steele stalked towards the fireplace. The flames danced in the hearth, golds and yellows flickering, and the wood gave soft pops. Soothing sounds, ones she’d probably miss when she left.

  The crackle and pop of the fire were the only sounds in the room though. Hexe hadn’t moved for the stove and she could feel him watching her, no doubt the same intense knowing look in his eyes as always. As if he was trying to probe beneath the surface.

  “Fine, Steele,” he said. “Then tell me something else about yourself.”

  Not on his life. This whole conversation thing had already proved how much he’d gotten into her head over the past four days. She’d lived in silence her whole life before now, she could damn well suffer another week in it. But when she didn’t answer she heard the floor creak behind her as Hexe rose and strode towards her.

  A familiar tenseness filled her muscles, suddenly ready to fight, but she didn’t want to fight him. She was tired of fighting. Steele turned to face him before he could finish closing the distance between them. Black hair fell over his eyes, but she didn’t need to see them to know he was trying to figure her out. Her tongue touched her lips, a hint of nervousness playing through her, but it had nothing to do with fear of him.

  She was scared of herself.

  Could four days really make a person crave human interaction? She hadn’t thought so, not really, but she could see the yawning hole of emptiness inside her now. The same hole that had led her to hang around the fringes of the tribe, so she could watch and live through them rather than have to open herself back up to the possibility of getting hurt.