Caleb

by McCarty, Sarah

  It definitely was a beautiful evening. The moon, just clear of the trees, shone white light on the stretch of road, turning the packed dirt at the end of the asphalt into a path of soft amber, and the bare trees to a glowing silver gilt. The shadows wove through it all, providing contrast and depth, pulling the elements together into a landscape of otherworldly beauty.

  She took a deep cleansing breath of the cold air as she strolled along, enjoying the peace. She’d been so busy this last month getting the bakery established that she hadn’t done anything more than work or sleep. These few moments of relaxation made her realize all she was missing.

  She passed the playground, feeling like she was walking down a mystical path into a magical landscape, drawn forward by the impulse to be part of the moment. If every night was like this, she might just get over her fear of the dark. Tension disappeared as she strolled along, and the pall that had been hanging over her day since Caleb had withstood the allure of her suddenly D-cup breasts faded away.

  Ah, Caleb. It’d been such a long time since she’d met a man who’d piqued her interest, she wasn’t sure certain parts of her hadn’t atrophied. She’d even debated whether she was hormonally deficient, but one second in Caleb’s presence, one brief connection with his energy, and suddenly more hormones than she could contain were running amok, making demands and taking over her thought processes. It was as lovely a surprise as his feigned indifference was irritating.

  Like he was fooling anyone. Allie huddled deeper into her coat and blew out a breath. Mr. Studly-but-silent wanted her. He was just, for some reason, resisting doing anything about it. Well, if he thought he could out stubborn her, he was in for a shock. She’d once perched in a tree for three rainy, wet miserable days, drawing crowds and newscasters until the city had agreed to hold off cutting down a tree until the baby raccoons who lived there were old enough to move on. Momma raccoon hadn’t been any more thrilled with her sit-in than her butt, which sported a bruised imprint of that branch for a week, but she’d stuck it out because there were some things worth fighting for. The lives of innocents being one of them.

  Nope, no one, but no one, could out stubborn her. Sooner or later, she’d have Caleb talking, and once they dealt with whatever issue he felt kept them apart, the man was going to stop hiding his attraction and start doing something about it. And when he did, he damn well better not turn out to be a dud. She absolutely wouldn’t forgive him for that. Not after making her work so hard.

  The growl, coming from the right, stopped her in her tracks. Low and threatening, it rumbled along her nerves, bringing every childhood nightmare to the fore. She searched the shadows for the source, but it was too deep to see anything. And truth be told, since it didn’t sound like she was facing a Chihuahua with an attitude problem, she wasn’t too anxious to get up close and personal with whatever she’d disturbed. The growl came again. Deeper. Louder.

  She scouted the side of the road for a weapon. The most she came up with was one rotted twig and a handful of loose gravel. None of which looked substantial enough to take on what suddenly stepped out of the gloom.

  It wasn’t a Chihuahua, or even a dog. It was a wolf. She’d never seen one before, but that didn’t diminish her conviction. And it was huge. Its back stood as tall as her chest. Its head was massive and so were its fangs—dear God—she could have used those last Halloween when she was trying to scare off the rambunctious teenagers egging her house. She backed up another step. The wolf took two forward, coming into the light, its coat glowing as eerily white as its eyes blazed a ghastly yellow.

  Lowering its head, it stepped closer, the hackles on its ruff raised in a clear threat.

  Three emotions ripped through her at once. Fear, disbelief, and anger. Of the three, the last took root. She was so sick of this. Every time she got a new life started, something came along and yanked the rug out from under her. First it had been her father, then her fiancé, and lastly the pompous head chef at the plush Empire Hotel.

  Maybe she didn’t have a thick ruff to puff up and make her look bigger, but she had a ton of pent-up resentment and plenty of attitude to bring to the discussion.

  “Back off,” she warned with a growl of her own, trying to project aggression rather than fear, throwing some mental force behind the effort. Just in case animals really were naturally telepathic.

  To her surprise, the animal paused and tilted its head, almost as if it were listening. She added more “back off” aggression to her mental litany. Reaching into her pocket, she worked her keys between her fingers. With a start, she felt the small penknife attached to the chain. She’d forgotten about that. Using her coat as a brace, she pried the blade open. It wasn’t much of a weapon. At most she could take out the wolf’s eye, while it could do a hell of a lot more damage to her, but if she was going to die here tonight, she was not going meekly.

  She pulled the knife out of her pocket. The keys jangled obnox iously. The wolf lifted its lip, displaying those vicious teeth. It was trying to intimidate her, and on many levels it succeeded, but on another level it was really pissing her off. At no time in her life plan had she written down to die as tabloid fodder under the teeth and nails of a killer wolf. She gripped her makeshift weapon and took a fortifying breath.

  If it wasn’t on her to-do list, it simply wasn’t getting done.

  Her bravado lasted right up until the huge wolf moved, more of a shifting of its weight than a real step, seeming to float over the frozen ground. Every survival instinct screamed run. She managed one panicked gasp and a step back before it caught her, shoving its nose into her crotch, snarling when she flinched.

  If it was a warning, she was incapable of heeding it. Terror was a great motivator and having this thing so close scared her witless. Jabbing downward with the knife, she aimed for the wolf’s right eye. At the last second, the animal jerked its head aside. The blade hit bone, deflected and sliced down the wolf’s snout. The fur of its muzzle brushed the side of her hand as metal tore through flesh, the softness a shocking counterpoint to the violence of the act. The ferocity of the wolf’s response was a raspy snarl that defined retribution.

  Oh shit! She jumped back. Now she’d pissed it off.

  The wolf reared up. Its huge paws slammed into her chest, driving the air from her lungs. Her keys went flying and so did she. There was a moment of disorientation, and then she was on her back on the ground, staring up at the gaping jaws of the wolf as shock waves from the hard landing reverberated through her body.

  The wolf was in no hurry now that it had her pinned. It lowered its head with taunting slowness, jaws angling in, spreading wider as they got closer to her neck. Its claws stabbed through the padding of her coat into the ridge of her collarbone with equally agonizing slowness. She tore her gaze off those gleaming teeth, crashed into the barrier of the wolf’s eyes . . . and paused.

  If she didn’t know this was an animal, didn’t know it was incapable of human emotion, she’d swear the beast was laughing at her. Playing with her like a cat played with a mouse. Amusing itself on her fear.

  As if sensing her thoughts, the wolf’s grin broadened, wrinkling its snout into a savage grimace that hit squarely on that primal core of genetic fear every human possessed. A drop of blood dripped from its wound, slapping her cheek in a hot splash. She cringed and closed her eyes when the animal leaned in, its fetid breath hitting her face a split second before the equally repugnant roughness of its tongue touched the same spot. The chuff of air it emitted sounded too damned much like laughter. She opened her eyes, took in the wolf’s expression, and just knew deep down in the only place that mattered, that the animal was getting off on her terror.

  The sick son of a bitch.

  Anger surged up behind her fear, swamping it in a torrent of backed-up rage. She glanced down between their bodies and found inspiration. Grabbing handfuls of the coarse fur on either side of the bloody muzzle, she braced her arms and added a snarl of her own to the mix. “Fuck you.”

&
nbsp; Before the last syllable ended, she drove the hard point of her mini boots up into the beast’s groin, feeling a sense of satisfaction as they sank deep into the soft flesh before striking bone.

  She’d never heard a sound like what came out of the wolf’s mouth as it reared back and spun around snapping savagely, missing her foot by a breath. She didn’t wonder at it or catalog it for future reference. She just scrambled to her feet and took off running, the hoarse howl that followed her raising the hairs on the back of her neck and sending a chilling surge of adrenaline through her body. One glance over her shoulder showed the wolf in pursuit, eyes glowing eerily bright, all illusions of laughter gone from its expression as it raced after her.

  Oh God, she needed a miracle.

  She didn’t hear or see a thing, but one minute she was running for her life and the next something big and hard knocked her flat on her butt directly in the path of the oncoming wolf. Oh God. Oh God. She threw her hands over her head, curling herself into a ball, making herself as small a target as possible for those fangs.

  Moonlight winked under shadow. There was a loud thump and then a vicious chorus of snarls punctuated the night, swiftly followed by the bone-chilling clash of sharp teeth. She lowered her arms in time to see two shadows blend into one hellish, writhing mass of primitive fury.

  Another wolf, Allie realized as she rolled to her knees and panted for air. Her miracle was another wolf, black and as big as the first, and from the timbre of its growls, more than a little ticked off. Good. She hoped it killed the first. Though it was irrational, she couldn’t help but attribute human characteristics to the first wolf, and if she’d had to analyze him, she’d have pegged him as a serial killer run amok. He just had that cold, disconnected feel to his energy.

  She lurched back as the two wolves rolled toward her, barely missing a slash from the gray wolf’s teeth as they whirled past. She needed to get out of here. She also needed her keys because without them she had nowhere to go and no defense at all. She cautiously edged to where they gleamed in the moonlight, swallowing back terror, reaching for the anger that got her through so many scrapes as she took another step. One more and she was within two feet of the wolves. One foot from her keys. Never taking her eyes off the fighting animals, she stretched for the leather key chain. The second wolf glanced her way, its deep green eyes glowing red around the edges. For one brief moment their gazes connected and in the fringes of her mind came an impression of fury, determination, and an imperative.

  Run.

  As she blinked in shock, her fingers an inch from the keys, the first wolf moved in, taking advantage of the second’s distraction. His teeth flashed eerily in the moonlight as he dove for the black wolf’s neck. With a twist of its body, it had her savior pinned.

  The order to run echoing in her mind, every sensible instinct telling her to obey, she stood there, and knew—just knew—she was the stupidest woman alive because even though he wasn’t human, and even though he probably planned on eating her, too, she couldn’t just leave the black wolf to die. Not when it was her fault he’d been distracted in the first place. Not when he’d saved her life. She just wasn’t made that way.

  Grabbing the keys, she hustled to the left and took aim. With a quick prayer that God really did watch out for fools and idiots, she kicked the gray wolf as hard as she could, right in the testicles.

  “Leave him alone!” she hollered, terror and anger pitching her voice to almost the same high tenor of the gray wolf’s muffled howl.

  It turned, its eyes glowing, fangs dripping blood, and came at her, one measured step at a time, looking no weaker from the fight, and none the worse for her kick. And that smile, that totally evil smile was back on its face as the powerful muscles in its shoulders bunched in preparation to take her down.

  Oh God, she should have run when she’d had the chance.

  This time the thought that pushed into her mind was more coherent.

  Goddamn it. Run!

  She blinked. She’d recognize that deep baritone anywhere. That was Caleb’s voice. The second wolf heaved to its feet, blood pouring in a dark river from its torn neck, and charged the first, colliding with the gray wolf’s side in a violent crash. Air grunted from the gray wolf’s lungs before momentum carried it and those gnashing teeth away.

  Allie dragged a shuddering breath into her own lungs, assimilated the near miss, and then for once did as ordered. She ran. Straight down the road toward her house. As fast as she could, the sounds of the battle not fading from her mind with distance, actually seeming to increase with each step she took until she wanted to cover her ears and scream from the primitive fury battering her sanity.

  With a suddenness that made her stumble, the noise stopped. No grunts. No snarls. No snapping of teeth. Just a hollow aching void that hurt more than the rage. She stopped running, clutched her side against the searing stitch, and listened. The calm of the night enfolded her once again in an ethereal beauty, unfazed by the violence she knew had occurred, revealing nothing of the outcome.

  And then it came, that strange connection and along with it the knowledge that that was what she’d been searching for. It wasn’t as strong, and it wobbled with an uneven tempo, but the voice came to her again.

  Run.

  It was Caleb’s voice. She knew it in her bones. She’d studied up enough on psychic phenomenon to be convinced it was possible, but she’d never thought to experience it. But she was. With Caleb Johnson. And he was telling her to run in a mental voice so weak it was barely audible. Instead of running, she hesitated.

  She mentally tested the energy she could feel, grabbed it as best she could with her thoughts, and asked, Where are you?

  He didn’t answer, but the sense of urgency increased as the stitch in her side eased. It was only twenty more steps to the base of her driveway. She took them in a lurching jog, the keys jangling in her hands and her leg muscles shaking as they struggled to meet her request. She stopped at her bright purple mailbox, starkly illuminated in the strange light. The long shadows reached out to her from her tree-lined drive. The arced branches of the poplar trees hovered over the entrance, looking like huge, clawed hands just waiting for the unwary to step within reach.

  Her heart raced from exertion and pure fear as she forced herself into that pit of darkness, the crunch of gravel scraping down the raw edge of her terror as she took one step and then another. If there were any more of those wolves in the shadows, she hoped they didn’t give any warning. She remembered the horrible gushing wound on her savior’s neck and shuddered. She’d rather not know in advance if one of them was planning on ripping her throat out. Her steps slowed as she reached the darkest part of the driveway. A feeling of damned-if-she-did and damned-if-she-didn’t froze her in place.

  What if there was a whole ton of those monster wolves between her and the house?

  There aren’t. But they’re coming.

  Oh, shit! She glanced behind her. Nothing moved, but goose bumps sprang over her skin, and the nape of her neck tingled with cold anticipation. “They’re” implied more than one, and the one she’d tangled with had been bad enough. With no other option, trusting the voice because she had to trust something, she plunged into the gloom, a silent scream in her mind the only outlet she allowed the terror eating her alive.

  Nothing pounced as she raced through the dense darkness toward the moonlight ahead. Nothing snapped at her heels or hit her back and brought her down, but the feeling that any second she was going to be wolf chow pounded harder and harder on her conviction that it was only a matter of time. She broke into the clearing of her yard, found an extra burst of speed, and headed for her front door, its bright red paint washed out to the color of dried blood in the harsh moonlight.

  Her hands shook so badly she couldn’t fit the key into the lock. The nerves all along her back prickled as if in response to invisible eyes. She shoved the key at the lock, swearing when it slid off. Oh God, she had to get inside.

  A strange
calm settled over her, soothing her, taking the terrible panic away. On the next pass, she got the key in. The dead bolt clanked open. She unlocked the handle, opened the door, and all but fell into the small foyer before slamming the door shut.

  She immediately threw the dead bolt and leaned back against the cool metal, sliding to the floor. She wrapped her arms across her torso as she drew breath after needed breath into her starved lungs. The warm, familiar sugar cookie scent of her home enveloped her in a comforting hug. She was safe.

  She dropped her sweaty forehead to her knees and let the knowledge seep in. She was in her home, and she was safe. But they were coming for her. If she was going to believe that telepathy was possible, she had to believe more of those monster wolves were coming for her. Which meant she wasn’t safe. Panes of glass and dead-bolted doors wouldn’t protect her for long. She had to get out of here. She sat up straight.

  Stay.

  The voice was more a stutter of sensation than a formed thought.

  “Caleb?” she whispered.

  There was no response, but a stroke of calm stilled her alarm.

  It was Caleb Johnson who was giving her orders, and he was hurt. She didn’t know how any more than she knew why he could talk to her like this, but he was hurt. She closed her eyes and concentrated on that strange feeling of calm, trying to follow it to the source. At first, she got nothing. Just the feeling of being ridiculous for even trying, but then there was a break in the wall, a sensation of expansion in her mind. Horrendous pain and weakness overwhelmed her before the door she’d opened slammed shut, and she was left alone to contend with the vivid memory.

  Her hands went to her throat, surprised to find it intact.

  There was only one thing she’d seen with its throat torn recently—the black wolf that had saved her life. It was connected to Caleb somehow. And now it was out there alone. Terribly wounded because of her. And more of the monster wolves were coming.