She grabbed hold of his belt and undid the buckle before he could finish his sentence.
“Peter…” she said his name. She felt a strange thrust with the word and it was as if she was pushing his name out from herself and wrapping it around him. “Stand still,” she commanded and surprisingly, he did.
Kneeling in front of him, she undid his zipper and slowly pulled his pants down over his slender hips and then down his rock-hard thighs. The bulge in his cotton briefs made a tent of black fabric.
And that part of him was as large and powerful as the rest of him.
The musky scent of man sent a throbbing ache between her thighs. She glanced up at his face and found him staring down at her, his lips parted. His dark hair fell around his shoulders and down his back, and she wanted to grab it up and kiss him hard—but that would come. First she had to convince him that this was what they both wanted.
She pulled down his shorts, exposing his upright shaft. It bobbed toward his flat, hairless stomach.
Her gaze traveled up to his and she found his eyes growing pale, the blue seeming to drain away from the pupils. Shimmery light reflected back at her.
Her tongue darted out and licked the tip of his shaft. Her hunger and need craved more, like a banshee screaming inside her, and so she gripped her hands onto his hips and slid her mouth up his long penis. The taste of him filled her, and when he reached the back of her throat she was only halfway down the velvet-wrapped steel.
She slid back instinctively and then forward again, her mouth stretching to take him. Her tongue wrapped around and worked the sides and under the tip. With each slide, she took him deeper, until she passed the back of her throat. He moaned, his hard butt flexing beneath her hands and his hips jutting forward, pushing himself deeper into her. She wanted more. Rocking on her knees she took as much as she could, tasting the salty precum.
His hands grabbed her shoulders, nails digging into her flesh. She jerked back at the sudden pain. His fingers now had black claws on the tips, curved and pointed. “No,” he said, his voice slamming into her. She closed her eyes as the force of it washed over her.
It was like standing naked in front of a winter storm. He shook her, and when she looked at him, his pupils were nearly white and streaks of silver glowed from his hair. His skin glittered as if made of ice, and his natural tan had faded away. Her mouth opened in shock and some sense finally entered her head.
Tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Was that pity in his eyes?
He pulled up his pants and knelt in front of her. A chill filled the room, and frost grew on the tub, crackling along the porcelain rim. As she breathed out, a huff of steam emerged, and she wrapped her arms around herself—not from the cold, for it didn’t bother her—but out of shame. What the hell had she been thinking? Had she really been forcing herself on him?
He took hold of her shoulders once more, but this time gently, the tips of his claws—claws!—made small pinpricks on her skin. His beautiful face tightened with sympathy and also something else. Guilt? What did he have to be guilty about?
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Peter,” she cried. Sobs slipped out her throat and shook her.
“It’s not your fault. The hungers come—we are all victims to them at first.” His hand moved to cup her face. How could he be so gentle with her after what she had done?
But his strange, pale eyes gazed into hers, catching and holding her when she wanted to look away.
“I did this. At least partly. You were dying. So I…I changed you the way I was changed. Only, I didn’t know the lycanthropy would be in you as well. But you’re not both, Arlene. You’re something else entirely. I don’t know what you are.”
A hiccupping laugh escaped her. “Oh, great. I’m a freak even among freaks.” Her laugh turned back into crying, and he pulled her onto his lap. His skin was ice cold, but it felt so good on her flushed body. She pressed her face into his neck and he held her while she cried.
But soon the smell of him began to drive her need and as she felt the first tug of it, she pulled away. She crawled off of him, and staggering, climbed to her bare feet.
“Let me cook for you,” he said with kindness. “Meat is what you need, and a lot of it.” His smile looked a bit forced and his teeth gleamed. They were bigger than she remembered, longer and sharper.
Meat. Thinking about eating sent a wave of dizziness through her. As he moved closer, she smacked his hand away. “Don’t touch me,” she stepped back into the kitchenette. She kept backing up, and he followed. Why was he following her? She shook back her wet hair. Her thoughts drifted—a cobweb caught her attention, then the lingering smell of bacon from a pan on the stove, and what was that? A moth fluttering around the lamp?
“Arlene?” His voice brought her back to him.
She had the strangest longing to bite into his shoulder. Her stomach rumbled. Feeling cascaded through her, a fierce wild desire to attack him, claw him, fuck him, eat him—all these impulses and more pummeled through her. She sobbed. She couldn’t fight it.
“I’m sorry, Peter! I’m sorry.” She dug both hands into her hair.
He reached for her, and she ran.
She burst out of the cabin. For a few steps, despair and fear filled her.
But her body moved so smoothly, and the night air seemed to embrace her. She wanted to run forever. She leapt over the bushes and dashed wild into the forest. The mountains called to her—the high, rocky places where the snow lingered and the air would be thin. That’s what she needed, to get close to the sky.
As she ran, a silvery bear appeared beside her, but she wasn’t afraid. She laughed with joy.
CHAPTER FIVE
Peter brushed past the brambles and stalked back toward his cabin even as dawn’s light drenched the sky in rose and violet. The steep slopes of the mountains to the east shimmered with gold, coronas of light glowing off the highest peaks. He cursed himself for losing Arlene at the snowline. It had been over a century since he had lost something he tracked—not since, well, not since the last time he had hunted one of his kind.
Something by his door caught his attention. Could it be? The lump beneath one of his old coats had a cascade of golden hair and the breath he held slowly hissed out between his lips.
Her head cocked sideways against the door, and soft illumination fell gently over the contours of her face.
He crouched. Pinesap marked one soft cheek, and at the corner of her mouth was dried blood. Her heartbeat thumped loud like a metronome in his skull. Leaning closer, he rubbed his thumb at her mouth and brought some of the flakey crimson stain to his nose.
Well, at least she had found some food. And he thought it was elk, but bloodstains alone were always a bit unclear.
The sound of tires churning gravel brought him instantly to his feet. A Jeep, and it was a mile or so distant. The werewolf Sheriff, he guessed. And how a werewolf got elected Sheriff of their small, under populated county year after year was mystery Peter had little interest in solving. All he knew was that he and Creed had a mutual respect and a truce that worked between them. Peter didn’t care what happened in the valley, and Creed rarely hiked up into the Forestry lands.
But what would Sheriff Creed say to seeing Arlene asleep on Peter’s step, naked and bruised, blood on her lips? Arlene worked for him—she was one of his dispatchers. She might not be a werewolf, but the Sheriff would definitely consider her under his protection.
Probably nothing good. He lifted Arlene in his arms and carried her inside to his cot. Her skin was cool but not cold. When he stroked her cheek, her eyelids fluttered but didn’t open. She was exhausted. Poor thing. He remembered his first hunger with a shudder.
Outside the Jeep pulled up, motor rumbling in the quiet of his mountainside. He tucked in his shirt and went out to greet the visitors. Two. He could smell the wolf right away, but the other one was human.
The sun had yet to crest the moun
tains, but the sky glowed blue with all of summer’s promise, and the tips of the peaks shone in warm daylight. Peter paused as he stepped out, eyeing the other man with caution.
Creed jumped out of his Jeep with the agility and strength of something not-quite human. He was in uniform, and the gold star mutely glowed from his khaki shirt, the Glock on his belt superfluous. The mirror shades he wore had to be sold in some official police catalogue, but they did a fine job of hiding the man’s eyes. Peter crossed his arms and waited, refusing to be intimidated.
But then the passenger got out. Arlene’s sister Isabel. She could be no one else. The same golden hair and small features graced her face, though Isabel’s eyes were darker, more violet. She gazed at him with concern and worry, her brow furrowed. “Where is she?” she demanded before Creed or Peter could speak.
The Sheriff glanced back at her and waved his hand. “Isabel…”
“My sister is here. I know she is.” She glanced up at the tower and then back to the small cabin.
“She’s sleeping inside,” Peter answered as she stalked towards him. He could feel the magic on her. She bristled with power—it enveloped her aura like shimmery rainbow light, flashing with lightning sparks.
He only noticed as she reached him that shadows ringed her eyes, and she wore plaid pajama pants beneath a long, blue nightshirt. On her feet were beach sandals. Her blonde hair hung in a heavy braid down her back while wisps of hair fluttered about her face and neck.
Creed moved to stand between them. Brave man. “Isabel. Please. You brought us here. Let me do the talking—”
Her implacable gaze passed over both of them. “Go ahead. I’m going in to check on my sister.” She stepped around Peter and stomped into his cabin.
Creed pulled off his glasses and gazed at Peter with amber eyes. “Why do I smell blood? And bear?”
“Why do I smell wolf?” Peter said back, unable to help himself.
Creed raised an eyebrow. His lips thinned. “Look, Peter. You said you were harmless. That you didn’t…kill. That’s why we let you stay in our territory. But you had better not play any games with me. Is Arlene okay? Tell me straight, right now.” He couldn’t help but rile at this comment. Let him stay? He had lived in this part of the world for two centuries longer than Creed had been alive. He closed his hands into fists and took a deep breath.
He met Creed’s gaze. “She’ll be all right. Eventually.”
Isabel came to the doorway, a hand on her stomach, her face pale. She stared at Peter, and the muscles clenched in her shoulders. Her heart jolted faster with fury. She ran at him. He let her. What was he going to do? Have her chase him around the yard?
She hit him with both fists. “What the hell did you do to her?”
“She’s alive. I saved her life,” he answered, holding still and allowing her to beat him. She was about as strong as a mosquito anyway.
Creed on the other hand was a different matter. He grabbed Peter by the shirtfront and threw him at the Jeep, where he dented the front fender before falling to the ground. The Sheriff’s eyes glowed, and his teeth showed with a chest-deep growl. His canines grew pointed.
“You better talk fast, Iceman.”
* * * *
Arlene awoke to the sound of voices—an argument. She tossed aside the blankets that covered her and sat up, surprised somehow that she could. But she felt well, strong even.
The small cabin confused her for a few minutes as she tried to recall where she was—not home, definitely. Her gaze fell on a Forest Service shirt that lay tossed to the floor. Peter’s.
What dreams she had suffered! Bears and snow and…Peter. But a different Peter. Peter with silver-white hair, skin as white as ice, and eyes that were pale crystals of shifting shadows. She shook her head. God, she felt fuzzy, and her mouth tasted terrible.
She blinked in the morning light, listening to voices outside. The door was open and she could see a slice of meadow and a near horizon of young pines. The breeze that entered the cabin smelled of cedar and rock, pine needles and dew-coated grass. And exhaust from a car, and the rubber of tires, and someone’s after-shave—and her sister. Her heart fluttered. Could she really smell all those things? It had to be her imagination.
“I’m taking her home!” a familiar voice said from outside. Isabel. Her sister. Oh Lord! She sounded pissed off. Well, it was morning, and Arlene had left yesterday only for a day hike into the mountains.
Yesterday? She hoped it was yesterday.
Raking claws tore into her guts and a muzzle rose above her with long strands of bloody drool falling from the inch long teeth.
She swallowed back her bile. Her body was unmarked. Since she was naked, that was an easy inspection. Naked. And on Peter’s bed.
She grabbed up a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. Tentatively, she made her way across the wooden floor—just a few steps, and to the doorway.
“You can’t! It’s far too dangerous. Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?” Peter towered over Isabel’s slight form, leaning over her and glaring. His black hair was tied back, but messy, and he looked tired. His blue eyes were bruised from lack of sleep. He had missed a button on his shirt and his feet were bare. For some reason, Arlene blushed when she saw him. Her dreams had been strangely sexual. And Peter wrapped in a pair of loose pants was something to behold. He had the longest legs, and the muscles in his thighs and butt would have made many a movie star drool.
Her cheeks burned, but she shook these thoughts away. Dreams were dreams. She had no reason to be embarrassed by them. But why was she naked? Naked and in Peter’s bed? She supposed she could have an excellent reason to be embarrassed, but she couldn’t remember!
She swallowed back the thousand demanding questions she had and stared at the two people arguing in front of her. Isabel pointed a finger at Peter’s chest. Her indigo eyes smoldering with rage. “I’m taking her back with me. She’s my sister, and I can handle it. I don’t trust you. Not for one minute.”
Creed stood nearby, and Arlene swallowed. God, did Isabel have to get her boss involved? What if she lost her job? He leaned on the fender of his Jeep and watched the other two argue. For some reason there was a rather large dent beside him.
Peter poked a finger at Isabel. “You’re mad. You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. Something’s going on with her that you can’t even understand, little witch.”
“And you do? You yourself said that you don’t know when she’s going to wake up or in what state? Looks to me like you’re the one guessing.”
“Isabel,” Arlene interrupted.
Her sister ran to Arlene’s side. “Oh! Sweetie! Are you okay? Should you be up?” She tucked a strand of Arlene’s hair behind her ear, just as had done so many times before. Memories flashed through Arlene; her first day of school, the day Jeremy Evans took her lunch and threw it on the roof of the school, the night of prom when her date didn’t show up… Isabel was in all of those memories, tucking back Arlene’s hair and telling her that everything was going to be all right. Always and forever, her sister had been there for her.
“I can’t remember.” She sat on the front step, clutching the blanket closed, aware that she smelled bad—like old blood and stale sweat. And her mouth still tasted foul. Tears came to her eyes. “What happened?”
Isabel kept her arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. “Why don’t we get you cleaned up first and then we’ll talk about it—”
“Just tell me. I’ve had such bad dreams…” And some good ones. Or potentially good. Had Peter really run his hands over her naked body? She bit her lip. Suddenly, she had a vision of herself kneeling on the floor in front of him.
“You were attacked by a bear, but not just a bear. A shifted bear.” A line formed between Isabel’s eyebrows. Her violet eyes stared intently into Arlene’s. They had never lied to each other, not in all their lives, and Arlene could always trust that her sister would give her the straight story. But this? A shift
ed bear?
“Peter says that she’s been haunting his territory for the last two months, but that you are the first she’s attacked.” Isabel gave him a glare over her shoulder.
“A were-bear.” The dream-memory came back to her then. Claws. Teeth. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. When she could breathe again, she stared at her sister.
“I healed. Does that mean I’ve turned into one too?” Am I going to turn into a bear? Have I already?
“I… I don’t know.” Isabel gave a forced smile. “But we’ll figure it out. Everything will be okay.”
“I think… I think Peter saved my life.” An image came to her of Peter stroking her skin. She blushed. This was so frustrating. What was true? And what was dream?
Isabel pursed her lips. “He says he did.”
“Isabel?”
“Yes? Are you ready to go home now?”
Arlene pulled the blanket closer. “I need to wash up and use the bathroom. And get some clothes.”
“Okay. Do you want me to come with you?” Isabel seemed unable to let go of Arlene’s shoulder.
Gently, Arlene set her arm down. “No. Give me a minute, Izzy. I need a minute to myself.”
In the bathroom, she closed the door.
Staring at the tub, she remembered Peter giving her a bath. She shivered at the warmth that coiled in her lower belly. Had she really let him do that? And he had talked to her about something…a word stuck in her head. Windigo. Was that what he was?
All this time she had been visiting him, she had never suspected that he wasn’t human. But then why should she? She might work for a werewolf, but that didn’t make her an expert.
He saved my life. She looked at her face in the mirror. Her eyes seemed paler somehow, different. She shivered but pushed those thoughts aside. She was too tired to deal with it now.
A quick search of the medicine cabinet revealed a toothbrush still in its packaging and a bar of soap. She brushed her teeth, spitting out pink water again and again until finally her mouth felt clean. Why there was so much blood in her mouth? Her stomach rolled with nausea. Hadn’t she had a dream where she was eating something hot and bloody? Just a dream, she told herself. But she remembered chewing, and her teeth hitting bone.
The Windigo Page 4