Bile burned her throat.
A few minutes of deep breathing settled her stomach.
She turned on the shower and got cleaned up, trying hard not to think.
When she emerged sometime later—long enough to steam up the little bathroom—she found a large t-shirt and some sweatpants on the sink. Peter’s. They were huge on her, but the elastic waist on the sweats kept them on her hips. She swam in the tee, but hugged it around herself anyway.
Isabel and Peter stood outside, waiting for her. Her sister’s brow was still furrowed, her lips tight, and Peter’s shoulders hunched. The tension was palpable.
He met her eyes. “Please, Arlene. Stay here for a few days. We need to figure this out together.”
“She’s coming home.” Isabel shot him a hostile look.
Arlene nodded. “I’m going home.” It wasn’t just Isabel, though she had listened to her older sister all her life, she longed to be in her own room, in her own clothes. She felt strange, disconnected and floating, and she wanted her things to ground her. “I need to go, Peter. But I want to thank you for saving me.” However he had done it.
She went to him and gazed up into his exotically beautiful face. “You should stay,” he said, one hand cupping her shoulder. That warmth tingled her skin and sent a pulse of lust straight down her spine to her lower belly. God, even now, she wanted to lean forward and snuggle against him.
“Why?” she said softly. A small fantasy of him declaring his love for her and kissing her passionately on the lips played before her eyes. Pure fantasy. But was his other hand moving? It rose halfway up but then fell back to his side.
“You might be danger to others,” he finally said.
She blinked. “But not you?” Not even your heart?
His glacier-blue eyes looked impossibly distant. “No.”
“We’ll take precautions,” Isabel replied for her, taking Arlene’s arm.
As her sister tugged toward the Jeep, Arlene glanced back at him. “Thank you, Peter. Thank you for saving my life.”
He stared after her, looking like he wanted to say something but that the words were bunched up behind his lips. She watched him until the Jeep pulled away, rumbling down the gravel road, the forest closing in around them.
CHAPTER SIX
The sunlight penetrated the screen of trees and fell over the road in stripes of yellow-gold as Creed’s Jeep raced down the side of the mountain. Arlene clutched the door as the vehicle hit a pothole and shook and shuddered like a beast. Constant, swirling wind from the open sides lifted her wet hair and sent damp strands winding about her neck.
“I don’t trust that Peter,” Isabel declared from behind her, yelling into the moving air.
Arlene snorted. “He saved my life! How ungrateful do you get, Izzy?” She looked over her shoulder at her sister.
Isabel rolled her eyes. “I’m grateful, but what the hell is he? Creed? Do you know? His aura is strange…”
The Sheriff shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his mirror glasses hiding his expression. “Look, we let him stay because…well, because he was here first, to be honest, and he’s sworn he’s harmless. Even the vamps agree.” His badge winked in the passing light, and Arlene saw his lips press together. The smell of him burned her nose—aftershave, shampoo, deodorant soap, and something else, a wild, animal odor that she had never noticed before.
The woods too were filled with smells, and they hit her as they drove; the pungent acidy perfume of the cedar, the warm, rich scent of decaying wood, the dusty stink that rose from the churned gravel.
She frowned.
“What’s a windigo?” she asked into the tight silence that had descended into the Jeep. The word had been buzzing around her head ever since they had started driving. A memory came too, of Peter sliding a sponge over her wet skin, around her shoulder, down her arm, brushing the soft mound of her breast.
Isabel gripped her arm tight, and leaned closer, her violet eyes huge. “Windigo! Did he say that? Creed? Is it true?”
Creed shrugged his broad shoulders, appearing uncomfortable. “He said he was harmless, and we’ve never had any trouble from him.”
“He’s a demon! One of the Lost. Are you insane? Look what he’s done to my sister?” Isabel stared at Arlene with a look she imagined she would have got if she had suddenly announced she was dying of cancer.
“I’m fine. He saved my life!” Arlene pulled Isabel’s fingers from her arm. They left pale prints on her summer-kissed skin.
Isabel sucked in a breath. “He changed you. Now I know what I’m seeing in your aura. Demon flesh… Oh God!” Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Sweetie. No. We’ll figure something out. This can’t be permanent.” That little line formed between Isabel’s eyebrows that meant she was about to do battle.
He changed me? A memory came of a silver angel bending over her, his skin sparkling like it was sprayed with diamond dust. Peter?
“Izzy—” Arlene began but a buzz came over Creed’s radio interrupting them. Margy’s voice asked for him to respond.
Creed picked up the handheld. “Unit one responding. What’s up?”
Margy’s voice came back rough with static. “10-42D at Lakewater camp. Multiple. Stan is on scene. It’s bad, Creed.”
Shock hit Arlene, and there had been so many shocks today, she felt pummeled. “Dead bodies?”
Creed held the mike for a moment, and his mirror-covered glasses seemed to point at her before turning back toward the road. “My ETA is about 15 minutes. Call Dr. Jervis,” he said in his most professionally cool voice.
“10-4. Be advised. Stan says…he thinks maybe bear.”
“Unit One out,” he said in reply, putting the handheld back on its cradle.
As the radio fell silent, Creed hit the main road out of Cedarville, whipping the Jeep around and switching on his lights. Above them, red and blue flashers began to circle and the siren wailed so loud, Arlene had to put her hands over her ears.
Dead bodies. Bear. Panic gnawed at her, and fear, and disgust. It couldn’t have been her. Right? She clenched her teeth down hard.
As Creed turned onto Starflower Road, she knew he was taking her home on the way to the State Park. The tension in her belly should have eased. The last thing she needed this morning was to go to a crime scene. But dream-images came, bloody ones, and she remembered the crimson stain she had spat from her mouth as she brushed her teeth.
Was she capable? Or had it been the werebear? Or maybe it was something else…perhaps a real bear attack or a mountain lion. In Cedarville? Who was she kidding?
She wrapped her arms around her torso, hugging Peter’s t-shirt to her skin. His smell clung to the fabric.
Creed pulled up by their driveway, switching off his siren.
“Rest. I’ll be around later. Deanna’s inside and Margy will be by when Rick takes over her shift.”
“Creed—” Arlene started. She wanted to throw up. She longed to cry. What the hell was happening? Could she have killed…?
Creed held up his hand.
“I don’t know what happened. Like I said, I’ll come by later. Stay inside the house and rest. Everything will be okay.” He gave her a look that said it all. He was an alpha werewolf, used to taking charge and responsibility. His big body nearly rippled with tension, and if he squeezed the stirring wheel any harder, she figured he’d dent the metal.
Isabel gripped her arm. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get inside.”
But as she and Isabel began to walk away from the Jeep, Isabel let go of her and walked back.
She leaned close to Creed and whispered. “My sister did not kill those people.”
“Isabel—” Creed started.
She raised a finger. “No.”
Arlene swallowed. Would her sister be so adamant if she really didn’t have any doubt?
Isabel took her arm and together they walked toward the white farm house. Arlene shivered as she climbed the steps onto the porch. The old farmhouse, built before the
First World War, creaked as if in greeting. The lavender and herbs planted in the front beds buzzed with bees and filled the air with the thick perfume of summer’s end.
She turned, one hand on the railing, and watched as Creed drove away, lights flashing dully in the sunlight and the Jeep’s tires crunching on the gravel. Her gaze wandered to the herb gardens that covered the front of their lot. She loved those neat rows of marjoram, lavender, and rosemary. She felt overwhelmed by the beauty of the echinacea, the tall, pink flowers straining upward toward the flawless blue sky. Tears came to her eyes.
And within minutes she was sobbing.
Isabel hugged her, smelling of rose-scented shampoo. “You did nothing wrong. Whatever happened, you didn’t do it,” she whispered into Arlene’s hair.
“How do you know?”
Before her sister could answer, the door opened and Deanna, Creed’s mate, hurried out to them. Her dark hair fell around her shoulders in waves, and her small body radiated energy and tension. “Arlene! We were so worried.” The wolf smell clung to her as well and Arlene wrinkled her nose. God, she had never noticed that musky scent before. Deanna paused, as if she too smelled something, and her eyes lit with an amber glow. “What happened?”
“I’ll fill you in, but let’s get Arlene to bed.” Isabel turned, keeping Arlene’s arm around her shoulders and headed into the cool interior of the house. Wood floors gleamed mutely in the filtered light that fell through the blinds covering the windows, and the gentle odors of dried herbs and flowers mingled with the perfume scents of her sister’s candles and homemade soaps. Everything was familiar and yet everything was different. She stared at the home she had left yesterday morning, at the mail on the side table, at the couch she had picked up at a garage sale, at the computer in the corner where she did the accounts for Isabel’s business. All familiar. All different.
Because I’m different, she thought, biting her lip.
Deanna reached to help her on the other side, her engagement ring sparkling, and Arlene moved away. She gently shook off her sister as well. “I just need to be alone. Please.” More tears pressed behind her eyes but she was tired of crying. Tired of feeling weak and confused. “I’m going to go lie down.”
“Good!” Isabel said, but her enthusiasm sounded faked, and hurt filled her eyes. “Go lay down, Sweetie.”
Arlene paused on the first step, wondering if she should say something—even a simple thank you—but when she glanced back at her sister and Deanna, who both gazed after her with such worry, she found the words missing. She shook her head and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Her body felt bruised and battered. Her spirits sunk down below her feet, maybe all the way through the center of the earth. Maybe all the way to China.
Her room was quiet and neat. Cream colored walls soothed her, and the white coverlet over the bed called to her. Collapsing backwards, she lay with her eyes closed and concentrated on her breathing, taking one slow inhale at a time. Peter’s scent overwhelmed her on the borrowed clothes she wore, so she dragged herself up once more and changed. Her own tee and a pair of sleeping shorts fit fine. And they brought no memories. That’s what she wanted. She lay back down and wondered if she had ever been so tired in her whole life.
“Maybe it was just a senseless attack,” Isabel’s voice came up the stairs, even though her sister must have been speaking in a normal tone. “Maybe Arlene was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She heard the floorboards creak as Isabel and Deanna moved to sit down. Shit! Was the weirdness never going to end? She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and wondered if she would go mad now. Wasn’t that an old Edgar Allen Poe story, about the man who could hear too much?
“You know better,” Deanna said softly. “In our world, it’s dangerous to make assumptions. But tell me what happened, she smells…odd. Like bear. And demon.”
“Demon! That would be Peter. Windigo. One of the Lost,” Isabel said, her voice resonating with her scorn. “She had talked about him…but how could I have suspected? Why the hell is he here, living among humans?”
“The Lost?”
“The demons that live here, on the mortal plane. Permanently. They have severed their ties to the Firelords. They wander and owe no allegiance. He…contaminated her. I can see the demonic influence…” Her voice broke and she began to cry. “My sister! I need my books! That’s what I need.” Isabel stomped from the family room to her library.
Arlene picked up the pillow and wrapped it around her head. She didn’t want to hear any more. Her sister’s pain was a burden she just couldn’t take. Oh, Isabel! She wanted to shake her. She always assumed the worst. Demon? Was that what Peter was? She thought of her last sight of him. His black hair loose, his brown-gold face tight with concern. The tension eased from her shoulders as exhaustion took hold of her, and she sunk down into strange dreams.
She awoke slowly. Shadows filled her room, and she knew the day must be waning. And it was hot. Lord, was it hot. She sat up and ran a hand through her hair, which she expected to find dripping with sweat, but instead found dry. When she lowered her fingers, her heart stuttered in her chest, fear coiled around it.
Her flesh glowed white. Her nails were black and curved, and her veins stood out in blue lines. She slammed her hand down on the bed, as if to force the circulation, and she broke through something hard on the coverlet. Like a layer of glass. It cracked over the surface and shimmered in the half-light. Ice. She had been lying on a bed of ice. She tumbled off the side in surprise, landing on her bottom on the floor. Frost grew on the window. It spread over the walls and coated the top of the dresser, crackling and popping as it went.
She jumped from the bed—a scream lodged at the back of her throat—her only thought to flee. But she caught sight of herself in the mirror, and she knew she was no longer human.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Peter watched the house from the patch of forest growing at the back. With his face to the evening breeze, he thought he stood a good chance of going undetected by the alpha’s mate. He had seen her moving in the kitchen, talking to Arlene’s sister, the windows of the house growing brighter as the sun faded to the west. Twilight came and covered the land in a grey veil, and the woods grew shadowed and secretive. Rabbits grazed at the edge of the lawn, and he ignored their scattered movements, just as he disregarded the coyote prowling the woods behind him. Their living heartbeats were part of the music of life around him.
He waited with infinite patience. It was his nature to be unwearied, to stand still for long periods of time—weeks, months, even decades—unless hunger and the need to kill stirred in him. The demon blood that pumped in his veins was like ice water…
Blinking, he realized that he felt something. Regret. A long time had passed since he had reveled in that emotion. Had he done the right thing?
But the thought of allowing Arlene to die remained unbearable. Millions die, he scolded himself. Why save her? She was beautiful, sure. She was kind. And so were others. What was it about her that held his attention so? Made it impossible for him to consider her death. He thought of her smile as she stepped hesitantly into his lookout tower, the wind blowing back her gold hair and tugging at those long feather earrings she liked to wear. A part of him had eased at the sight of her, some unremembered pain lessoned, some hole in his heart filled. As she moved about, chattering and making tea, he had felt…at home.
Strange.
But what would he do if the madness caught her and didn’t let her go? Like Timothy. Will you be able to kill the woman you can’t bear to see die? He shook his head. He wouldn’t let that happen to her. He’d be there for her. Guide her.
Something moved in the woods behind him. He listened. No heartbeat. Only one thing came so silently, and yet moved no blood. The vampire approached him out of the velvety grey gloaming, emerging from the shadows as if they parted like a curtain to reveal him.
He had his hands in the pockets of his worn, black jeans and wore a faded rock concert
tee shirt that said” Music for the Masses.
“Hello, Henri,” Peter said calmly. “Has your Mistress ordered my death?” He wondered which of them would win in a fight. The vampire had killed demons before and had been adept at it for many centuries. But Peter wasn’t some insane monster lost in bloodlust.
Henri waved a pale hand, his eyes unfathomable in his still face. For a dead man, he could look quite animated, nearly human, but right now he wasn’t trying to pretend. He strolled silently across the forest floor, his black boots leaving no prints on the fallen pine needles. His wheat-blonde hair glowed mutely in the shadowy light.
“My Mistress is not involved. Yet,” the vampire said this carefully, without much inflection, but Peter knew what he was trying to say. No one wanted the Mistress of Seattle involved in this. Or anywhere near Cedarville.
Henri peered at the house, his eyes glittering oddly in the twilight. “Two hikers were killed by the lake. Brothers. I smelled bear at the crime scene. So did Creed. He’s tracking it now with his pack.”
Peter tightened his jaw. “It had to be Cecile.” Of course, it did. Arlene wouldn’t…not in any state. But then he would have said the same thing of his younger brother. Timothy had been a gentle boy, only fifteen when the creature called them into the woods. Great Spirit! No. Not Arlene. He narrowed his eyes at Henri. “Cecile is a killer. Look what she did to Arlene.”
“Well, I didn’t see what she did to Arlene, but I’ll take your word for it.” Henri shrugged. “Still, this was panicked. A feeding frenzy. If you know what I mean. Something like a newborn vamp would do.”
Peter stood straighter, the chill in his veins growing. “It wasn’t her.”
“And if it was? You know the rules. No human deaths. I am the local enforcer—”
The Windigo Page 5