Before I realized what I was doing, or comprehended the voices calling my name, I was outside. In my truck. Driving. Nothing else mattered. No one else mattered. I had to find Amy.
Chapter Three
Amy
Long, thin legs flexed with majestic grace, leaving distinct tracks in the soft, white powder. Each footprint looked like a heart, two teardrops meeting in a point for every step. It was the size of the track that had lured me, the promise of a large buck. Alone in the snow-covered field, he was easy to follow. I could hear the flutter of his heartbeat even before I laid eyes on him. It was the black tip of his otherwise white tail that told me he was a mule deer. A two-hundred and fifty pound buck, of about five years. His long, elaborate antlers displayed his strength, as did his size. The fight he’d provide made him all the more alluring.
Each step brought me closer to my prey. In the open fields of soft powder, with little cover to hide behind, he’d see me before long. I had to remain low, stay upwind, and be silent. But something was wrong. Unnatural. The snow wasn’t wet between the pads of my paws. There was no movement to the air. No upwind, because there was no wind. There were no scents of winter, of moist snow or thriving evergreens. I kept my distance from the buck, but I should have been able to smell him. There was nothing. It wasn’t right.
White faded to black, through the slits of my drowsy eyes. Was I sleeping? I tried to open my eyes, to find the buck. But there was no white field. No buck. Only black. My head was heavy, and the throbbing within overtook everything else. I raised my paw to take the next step, and found fingers instead. A blurry human hand. Was it shaking? Was that mine? Forcing my eyes to blink and widen, I strained to focus. So much pain.
Saltwater, sand, and oak—I didn’t have to turn to know who was by my side. It was the man who was always there for me. We could have been at the bar, at a pack event, or on a mission. I knew James Harkins was always within reach. Tonight it was the woods. A wild grizzly cub had been seen outside Sawtooth Lodge, wandering too close to civilization. The sun would soon fall, and she needed to find her mother before some idiot with a gun decided to come out and help. There was never a shortage of unskilled, self-proclaimed hunters at the lodge. The call had come in from the scouts, from whichever sentries Lance had stationed to patrol the woods for the night. And Lance had sent Harkins to lure the cub back into the mountains. I had volunteered to help. Which led us to a dark night in the autumn woods.
Dried pine needles covered the forest floor, though the tall evergreens were still full. Each step crunched on fallen sticks and needles. There was no need for stealth. Though we both knew it was safest to complete this mission as wolves.
He turned his back to me as soon as I slipped my jeans down over my hips. How many times had we shifted together over the years? Enough that it was commonplace. Still, Harkins always turned. It wasn’t just a woman thing. He ignored Zaria, Trixie, everyone else. It was me.
“How long do you think we have before the cub causes trouble? Or the tourists do?” I asked, dropping the last of my clothes in the usual place. I used the same tree every time so I wouldn’t forget where I’d left my belongings. It was just far enough into the forest behind Sawtooth Den that we wouldn’t be seen shifting by the humans in town.
“Not long,” Harkins replied, though his back was still turned to me. I looked over his broad shoulders, his thick arms, his tight ass. Just because he turned didn’t mean I had to. “It’s been half an hour since she was spotted. Won’t be long ’til some prick tries to impress his friends.”
“Are you sure you can carry that thing in your teeth?” I asked, looking down at the slab of meat attached to a long bone.
“You’ll have my back,” Harkins replied.
“I will,” I agreed.
Hair grew all over Harkins’s back, a coat of thick grey fur that covered his body. He dropped to all fours, and his face grew long. I closed my eyes and let go of what it meant to be human, let go of human speech and human form. Bones cracked and reformed, painful yet exhilarating. Shifting meant being more connected with the natural world. Worries faded behind the heightened senses of wolf form.
Once we were both wolves, we headed out into the night. With fresh meat as bait, we quickly found the cub. She came running from the parking lot of the hotel, straight at Harkins, when we were close enough for the grizzly to get a whiff of the ham.
Harkins dragged the ham along the ground away from the barreling cub. I gave some distance, and followed behind the two.
“Rather be on patrol than this,” Harkins said in shifter tongue, between gritted teeth. His jaw was clamped around the end of the long, fleshy ham bone. He backed slowly away from the cub, dragging the meat along the ground just out of the bear’s reach. “Wish you were still at the bar?”
“Nah, it’s fun to mix it up every once in a while. Go out for some excitement or lure a bear cub away from civilization, in the best of company,” I said.
“Better if a mission’s slow or dangerous, not both,” Harkins said.
“Don’t worry. I have six nieces and seven nephews,” I said. “I’m great with kids.”
“This isn’t a kid,” Harkins replied.
“She’s not going to harm us,” I said, following slowly at the back of the line, behind the scarred, grey wolf and the fluffy, brown bear cub that was nearly as large. “She’s not going to harm anyone, right little bear? We’re going to get you back where you belong. Where you’ll be safe.”
Harkins kept his pace the same as the cub’s, keeping the meat always ahead until we were about a mile away from the lodge. Then she dove.
The cub batted the bone from Harkins’s teeth. Now that she’d caught the ham, we’d lost our bait. I watched the cub chew a mouthful of savory meat, and wondered what exactly we were supposed to do next. We needed to keep moving.
“It’s Mom I’m worried about,” Harkins said.
“I think you should be more worried about how you’re going to get that- never mind.” Her scent announced her presence. Mission accomplished. A giant grizzly roared as we backed away from her cub. She charged forward, closing the distance between herself and her offspring.
“Run,” Harkins called, and I listened. Paws pounded the moist, packed dirt of the forest floor as we ran side-by-side toward Sawtooth Den. Adrenaline pumped and I could feel Harkins’s eyes on me.
The bears didn’t follow. And then we were alone. “Looks like it’s just you and me,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said, still staring at me.
“I’m not ready to call it a night yet,” I said. “Are you?”
“No.”
I flicked a pile of pine needles up at Harkins with my paw, and smiled as much as my wolf form allowed. He raced forward through the needles, and around a tree. “Let’s run,” he said, smiling back.
I followed. The forest was our playground, with moonlight illuminating the path through tree branches. Harkins fell back, brushed his shoulder against mine. Our eyes locked. We tripped over a root, and tumbled onto a patch of soft ferns—onto each other.
But that wasn’t now. It wasn’t right. Just like the deer, it wasn’t right. There were no smells. What was wrong with my nose? It was a memory. A memory of an exhilarating run through the woods, a successful mission, and the feeling that Harkins had wanted exactly what I did. It was the night that I had asked him over for a late dinner. His answer had been no. Wake up.
It was cold. So cold. Yellow strands dangled above me in two clusters, one on each side of my head. My hair? That wasn’t right. None of this was right. My head was heavy; my arms were like lead. The seat belt dug into my thighs and my shoulder. I was upside down. I grabbed the wheel and braced myself as best as I could before releasing the belt holding me in place. My arm buckled and the floor, no, roof came crashing down on my head. Everything hurt, stung, throbbed, or burned. I closed my eyes and saw the fluffy brown fur of the bear cub, the sharp tines of the buck’s antlers. When I blinked, I saw the spli
ntered glass of the cracked windshield. And my phone. My vision was blurred, so I touched the screen and hit send. It didn’t matter who I called. Nothing. But I noticed the dried blood smeared across my palms. Dead zone was about to take on a new meaning.
Twisting around, I reached for the door handle. The door didn’t budge. I tore the rearview from the rippled glass and bashed it into the side window. My vision swirled and faded. Unsure how long I’d be conscious, I kicked in the direction of the driver side window, and slid myself through the small space.
He was so close I should have been able to smell him. Was it really a deer? I couldn’t see anything but the flick of long, white ears popping out of the frozen tundra. It was a rabbit. Just as fun to chase, though not as thrilling to catch. I followed the rabbit, one step at a time into the bright, white field of freshly fallen snow.
Chapter Four
Harkins
Hardly wide enough for more than a bicycle to cross in each lane, the frosted, white road curved around the face of a steep cliff. In the dark night, only blackness was visible over the edge. Dangling half off the side was the little blue car that I had searched for. Dirt and boulders covered the width of the narrow path around the bend, engulfing both the road and the upturned car, making them part of the mountainside. Freshly fallen snow blanketed the scene, without regard for the devastation below.
High beams on, I climbed out of my truck far enough from the crash to avoid adding another eight thousand pounds to the landslide. Urgency turned to nausea. Please let her be breathing. I couldn’t bear to bury another person I loved. Not Amy.
Snowflakes melted as they landed on my nose and cheeks, and kept their shape when they caught in the hair on my wrist. A long shadow was cast across the ivory powder as the headlights shone around me.
“Amy,” I said, hoping to hear her voice. To stir movement. Anything.
Only the howl of the icy gale rustling through the pines replied.
“Amy,” I said again, stepping carefully over fallen rocks and uneven earth. My voice sounded strange in my ears, like it belonged to someone else. I didn’t risk a blink, and kept my eyes locked on that light blue paint. “It’s me. I’m comin’ for you.” My voice shook.
There was no answer. No sign of movement. The headlights of my truck reflected off of the crumpled glass, shattered but still attached to the frame, making it impossible to see inside. Her scent lingered, though faintly.
Shards of broken glass crunched beneath my boots; the driver side window had been knocked out and its remnants lain scattered over the ground. Blood. A trail of sliding, crawling, and stumbling led away from the wreckage.
Tracks meant she had survived the crash. Tracks meant the likelihood of Amy still being alive just grew. I looked down into the busted window, and imagined her trapped inside. Injured. The thought pained me, but I clung to hope. A light blue, puffy winter coat was balled up on the roof, left inside the car. She’d be freezing out there without it. I grabbed Amy’s jacket, which still carried her scent—blueberries and cherry blossoms, the promise of a smile no matter how difficult life could be. Amy was pure sunshine, and she hid the rest. But I liked it all, everything about her. Though I knew that was all we could ever have—me loving her, protecting her, being there for her. A friendship that meant more to me than any other. She had to be okay.
Then I pulled out my phone and followed the trail. No service. Amy’d said there was no way to make calls out here. ‘No sign of civilization, or indication of the modern era,’ she’d said. No chance for backup. No ambulance. Just me. And I’d find her.
Woulda been practical to look for help, get closer to town and make a call. But instead of goin’ back the way she’d come along the road, she’d gone forward, over the rocks. Into the night. Handholds and footprints bare of snow scaled the cliff, showing me exactly where she’d been. I followed. Loose dirt shifted beneath my weight, but the boulders held still. I tested each step before taking it, pulling hard with my hands before using any ledge to support me. Pebbles echoed down the mountain side as they tumbled into the black pit. What had Amy been thinking when she’d scaled these rocks? Was she afraid? Was she feeling herself?
When I reached the top of the mound of dirt, rocks, and snow, I shined the flashlight on my phone to my left and right. No sign of her trying to scale the mountain, or falling over the edge. She must have continued the way she’d driven. So did I. Feet first, down the unsettled rock face.
Before long, my boots hit pavement. My knuckles were stiff from the cold, and from climbing. I flexed my fingers to help circulation, and searched the ground for signs of where she’d gone.
Amy’s trail of clumsy footprints picked up on the serpentine road, and led off into the distance. Desperate to hear her, I listened to the wind. There was the rustle of branches, the crunch of snow beneath my boots, the hooting of an owl, and the howling of wolves in the distance. Though her voice was not among them. The road twisted, and the wind hit hard as I rounded the turn.
Amy’s footprints led into a crevice in the mountain side. It had seemed dim outside, with the moon hidden behind clouds, until I stepped into the cave. Inside was pure darkness. My phone lit the way, useful, if only as a flashlight. With each step, there were less droplets of blood on the ground, telling me her wounds were healing. That it got better from here, not worse. But where had she gone? What had she been thinking when she had left the warmth of her car? When she had abandoned the safety of waiting where she could be more easily found? By the falter of her footsteps, she must have been dazed.
Inside the cave, the ceiling grew lower with every step, the walls of the passage more narrow. Before long, I needed to crawl. My hands guided me across the cold, rock floor, and it was difficult to make use of my flashlight while navigating and carrying Amy’s coat. There were no sounds to indicate inhabitants, only the howl of wind outside. It was a tighter space than I’d first thought, and the further I traveled, the more concerned I grew that my shoulders would not fit through the entire passage. With the scent of Amy’s trail was the hint of another. It was one I’d hoped not to cross. Grizzly. It should have been in hibernation this time of year, but I wasn’t complaining that the thing had left.
The ground shook; the rocky cavern all around me quaked. Loud rumbling echoed through the canyon into the small crevice, like the mountain itself was a giant grizzly waking from its winter’s sleep. Dirt and pebbles dislodged from the roof of the cave, pelting me as the earth shook. I kept moving, and listened to boulders tumble down the mountain side behind me, over the edge of the road, and into the dark pit beneath. The roof of the tunnel collapsed by my feet, leaving a wall of rock where I had just been. A little slower and I would have been crushed. The vibrations dissipated. The crashing, crumbling, rumbling faded. And the hole that led to my truck was gone. There was only forward. Through the darkness. Toward Amy.
The cave grew more narrow before the light of the moon shone in around a curve in the rocks. I looked out into the falling snow, onto an open field of white. Moonlight broke free of the clouds, shining down on the peaceful meadow. A single tree stood tall and reached for the sky, set away from the distant forest. Amy’s single set of boot prints was the only sign of travelers in the winter landscape. On the ground, balled up in the center of the field beneath the cover of the evergreen was something moving, something alive. She stretched out, and moonlight reflected on her golden locks. Relief flooded through me. I held tight to the soft blue coat that carried her scent, and I ran. Amy.
Chapter Five
Amy
Saltwater and sand. When did I go to the ocean? The sun shone bright in the cloudless sky, highlighting the depths and shallows of the waves through shades of deep sapphire to aquamarine. Sprigs of tall, brown grass peeked up out of hills of golden sand by the wooden path. I wiggled my toes in the hot grains of beachy earth. But somehow it wasn’t as warm as I’d expected. I let down my hair in the cool, ocean breeze. But it was too cold for summer. It wasn’t rea
l. I was supposed to be home for Christmas. The crash.
One cheek was pleasantly warm, the other numb from the icy air. A soft jacket covered my torso from the falling snow, like a blanket. Fluffy and light blue. It was my jacket, though I didn’t remember taking it from the car. My jeans were damp and cold, and clung tightly to my skin. I blinked to focus, and found that I wasn’t alone. That explained the dream. Harkins. His scent was different than the usual wolf shifter, different from the piney forest essence that was common in local wolves. But Harkins wasn’t from Sawtooth Peaks, and he wasn’t like any other wolf shifter I’d ever encountered. I turned my head and looked up at the man I knew had found me, and our eyes met.
His dark beard was thick, and unquestionably masculine, framing lips that rarely spoke. It was the scars that told his stories, and it was his dark, brown eyes. There were lines in the corners that spoke of the man he had once been, a different version that had smiled often. And there was sorrow. His shoulders were broad, and thickly muscled, framed well in his leather jacket. He was hard, rugged, and handsome—a warrior that valued loyalty. Strength radiated off of him, as it always did, even when he looked at me so warmly. I had found him attractive before I knew him, but once I got to know him I was drawn to him even more.
My mouth felt dry as I opened my lips, staring up at Harkins. “Hi,” I said. My voice scratched in my throat.
“Amy,” he breathed.
“Where are we?” I asked, still feeling disoriented.
“Somewhere between Sawtooth Peaks and your family’s place,” he said. “Not really familiar with the area.” I blushed when I realized my head was on his thigh.
Howl for the Holidays Page 2