Howl for the Holidays

by Keira Blackwood

  “I remember the crash,” I said, slowly pushing myself up to a sitting position. The throbbing in my head wasn’t as bad as it had been. “And then…” What was next? The beach? “And then you, I think.”

  “Your Mom called the Den,” Harkins said. “She was lookin’ for you.”

  “Yeah, I was on my way there,” I said. Then I realized exactly how dark it was. There were needled branches above us, a tall tree. Snow in every direction, with fresh flakes falling from the sky. And the dark stillness of the night. Hours must have passed since the crash. A whole day’s worth. “What time is it?”

  “Middle of the night by now,” Harkins said.

  “Thanks for coming,” I said. “And for the coat. You brought that, right?” If Harkins hadn’t come would I still be alone, left out in the storm? Mom wouldn’t have sent everyone out. Not that fast.

  “O’ course,” Harkins replied with a nod. The look in his eyes said more than his words. Or at least I thought so. When he looked at me like that I felt like I was special. Like I was beautiful, precious. But I’d learned to doubt exactly how much I meant to Harkins when he’d declined my invitation for a date. I had thought he had wanted more, that he saw the potential between us that I did. But I was wrong. I was in the friend zone. It was kind of my MO. Most guys were interested in sleeping with the bubbly bartender, but not taking her home to meet the family. Harkins didn’t fit the category of ‘most guys.’ He cared more, but didn’t want more than friendship. Maybe it was the age difference, with me in my twenties and him over forty. Maybe I reminded him of someone he used to care for. Or maybe I just wasn’t his type. Though he never dated anyone else either. Our relationship wasn’t all that I wanted, but what crashed and stranded girl couldn’t use a good friend coming to her rescue?

  “So what now?” I asked. “Take me back to your truck and we say ‘screw Christmas’ altogether? I could take this as a sign that I wasn’t meant to go home for the holidays.” I had mixed feelings about the idea. Skipping out on the family time would allow me to avoid the feeling that I always had on Christmas, that I was missing out on life by not having a mate and cubs of my own. But I didn’t really want to lose out on watching my nieces and nephews opening their presents. Or seeing my sister Nora’s latest sonogram. I had to go, but it seemed unlikely that the narrow road could be traveled. Not after my crash.

  “Can’t go back the way we came,” Harkins said. “Landslide that trapped your car blocked the way back. Might o’ taken the road, your car, and my truck down with it.

  “So we just smile and walk I guess,” I said.

  “A few hours left ’til sunrise,” Harkins said. “Best to give yourself a bit more rest. We can set off after that.”

  He leaned his head back against the trunk of the tall, lone pine and closed his eyes. I was grateful for his body heat, for his company, and for the concern that had brought Harkins out into the wilderness for me. I zipped up my coat, and leaned my head on his broad shoulder. Then I stared up at the bright, full moon beaming its way between snow clouds, until the weight of my exhaustion overcame me.

  Chapter Six

  Amy

  Brightness forced its way through my eyelids, and was blinding when I peeked. The warm morning sun heated my face and reflected off of the white earth. With any luck, it meant a less freezing cold day to come.

  With a stretch of my arms, my fingers brushed a low-hanging branch. The needles rustled, and a clump of frosty white snow landed on my nose. I shook it off, though the cold, wet feeling remained on my skin. Then it hit me. I was alone. Harkins had been here, right? It wasn’t just a dream, was it?

  Two sets of footprints led to the pine where I woke, from the mountainside in the distance. One about my size. One larger. I crawled out from under the branches and found a third set leading the opposite direction, toward a distant evergreen forest. He had really come for me.

  My muscles ached as I moved, cold and stiff from the crash and from sleeping on the ground. I followed Harkins's tracks to a bundle of sticks and logs gently burning and letting off a wonderful scent and pleasant heat. A safe distance from the tree, he’d started a fire not long ago. I held my hands over the flames and let the fire defrost my aching knuckles.

  Upon further inspection, I realized that the tracks leading away had been retread more than once. Harkins must have carried these logs from the woods. I had to decide between spending the day huddled around the flickering flames and finding my friend. It was an easy choice.

  When I left the fire, the cold seeped right back in. Soon after, I found his clothes, and knew it was about to get worse. How far had he gone? With enough wood to keep the fire going, what else was he doing out there?

  I followed Harkins’s lead and stripped my clothes off. The worst part was definitely losing my cozy boots. The air was cold on my bare skin, but the snow that engulfed my feet was agonizing. The shift couldn’t happen fast enough.

  I welcomed the fur that coated my arms, my legs, and every inch of me. The chill of the air faded to a memory as a thick coat of white fur warmed me more thoroughly than any clothes could. My bones cracked and realigned. My face grew long, forming a jaw meant to catch prey. Hands and feet in the snow turned to paws, and the arctic landscape into my playground.

  With a deep breath, I took in the world. As a wolf, I could sense so much more. The air was wet, and carried the scents of the forest hidden beneath the blanket of white powder. There was pine and life, birds and animals hibernating amongst the trees. There was a pack of wolves in the distance, those that lived their days without human form. There was the smoky warmth of the fire behind me, and the comforting scent of Harkins up ahead. His was the scent I followed.

  Snow went on forever in every direction, but up ahead, the trees appeared taller as I approached. What had been white from our resting place was rich with color once I’d passed the forest’s outer branches.

  With the clearing behind me, I followed Harkins’s set of paw prints into the trees. The forest was quiet in the way that only forests are. There was the gentle tapping of a woodpecker, the trickle of water moving over rocks, the rustle of pine needles in the gentle breeze. There were greens and browns, fallen logs and soft mosses. The trail became more difficult to follow, as Harkins’s tracks became less distinct. As the trees grew more dense, only a light layer of white powder had settled on the forest floor. Most that had made it through the branches of the pines had caught on the ferns beneath. Still there was enough of a trail to follow—paw prints here and there, broken branches, snowless fern leaves, and the distinct scent of the beach.

  Grey fur, still as stone. I found him standing in a stream, legs and tail in the water, so only his head and middle remained dry. His tail was turned toward me as I approached, into a small clearing by the water’s edge.

  “Almost done,” Harkins said in the shifter tongue. I wasn’t surprised that he had noticed me standing there. Harkins noticed everything. Well, everything physical. He remained as still as if he were a part of the scenery, his legs like roots of a tree. When I saw the pile of fish on the shore, I knew why.

  A salmon jumped up from beneath the surface of the water, and splashed back down a foot away from the thick, grey wolf. One second he was a part of the river, the next his mouth darted into the water. When his furry head reemerged, there was a long, silver-scaled fish between his jaws. Harkins turned to me and padded out of the water, dropping the fish with the rest.

  “Figured we could use some breakfast before headin’ out,” he said.

  “I know this place,” I said. It had been a long time, but I knew this stream. “We’re closer to my family’s farm than to Sawtooth Peaks.” My stomach growled; and his words registered. “And breakfast sounds great.” Healing always took a lot of energy, and after the car wreck my injuries must have been significant. More so than I could remember, since the whole thing was still a blur.

  “Feeling any better?” Harkins asked. Our eyes met, and I studied his wolf
face. I’d seen him like this a million times. The scars that were there as a man remained in wolf form. I’d never asked that story, not the one about what happened to his face. And he’d never told me. I loved to hear the stories he shared, but I never pushed. He’d been hurt, and those scars ran deeper than his skin. I could see it.

  “I’m good, thanks,” I said. “I don’t know if I said this last night, but thank you for coming out here for me. And for breakfast.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said. “We look after our pack.” He cast his eyes down away from mine. That was it. The shut off. Though I knew he wouldn't run out here in the middle of the night to hold just anyone while they slept. It was the typical Amy friend zone. I was special to Harkins, a close friend. And that was it.

  “Let’s bring those back and cook them up,” I said. “Salmon sounds amazing.”

  Then I scooped up two long fish into my mouth. It was best to change the subject, not to linger.

  “I’m cooking,” Harkins said from behind me. I didn’t know that he cooked. Learn something new every day.

  I led the way, sure that he would follow. It was difficult knowing that he didn’t want me, but I cherished what we had together all the same.

  Chapter Seven

  Harkins

  The scent of roasted salmon made my stomach ache. I stared hard at the fillets while the flames flicked up and darkened the orange fish, and forced myself not to look at Amy.

  She took her time. Agonizingly so. I wanted to turn and stare. Her hips were wide, her breasts round. She was gorgeous, sexy, and naked. I didn’t need to imagine the way she looked. I’d seen her before, and I’d never forget. She was perfect. I wanted to tackle her to the ground and feel her bare skin on my hands, taste her lips, claim the only woman I’d ever really loved. But Amy deserved better. A better man than I could ever be. So I bore my eyes into the fish and hoped Amy would finish dressing before the orange fillets turned black.

  “So I’m thinking we keep heading up to my family’s farm,” Amy said. “Since it’s closer than going home. I’m sure you’re welcome to stay for dinner with us if you’d like. And there’ll be plenty of help to get the road clear, and the cars repaired afterward. That is unless you want to head back to Sawtooth Peaks for Christmas dinner. I know I’ve imposed on you enough. If you want to go back while I go ahead I totally understand.” She thought she had put me out. She never could.

  Amy sat down by my side on the log, fully clothed. I sighed in relief, and pulled the fish from the fire.

  “Got no plans,” I said. “Just work.”

  “So you’ll come?” Amy asked with a genuine smile. She had a gorgeous smile, the best smile. Her big, brown eyes lit up, and dimples formed on her cheeks. She had a second way of smiling, the kind she wore by the river. It was the fake grin she put on at work for the sleazebags that hit on her. I preferred the first.

  “O’course,” I replied. It was work or Amy. Easy choice. Hell if I was going to let her travel the rest of the trip on foot alone. “Food’s done.”

  “Let’s see how good your cooking is, James Harkins,” Amy said, beaming at me. I grinned back.

  I gave her the biggest fillet, and she dug in, lifting the fish to her mouth then going right back for more. “It’s good,” she said. “Really good. Thank you.” I was glad she approved.

  “You’re welcome,” I replied. “Can only cook a few things. Meat. Fish.”

  “Well, you do it well,” Amy said. “It’s not easy over an open flame and with no plates or pans.”

  “My specialty,” I said. “All I did before Sawtooth Peaks.” Out of necessity I’d taught myself to prepare meat and fish with nothing but a pocket knife, a lighter, and wood.

  “After you left the east coast?” Amy asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “How long was it between when you left and when you met John Tenbrook?” Amy asked.

  She knew part of the story. The part where John had found me, feral mostly. Took me in, though he had no need to. He could have left me. The last alpha of Sawtooth Peaks had been kinder than most men. Humans or shifters.

  “Didn’t know how long at the time,” I said. “Later found out it ended up being about eight months.”

  “I wish I’d had a chance to meet John,” Amy said. “With the way everyone talks about him, and the way you talk about him. Was he as good of an alpha as Lance?”

  “He was,” I said. “Had peace with all the pack’s neighbors. John was the kind of alpha that made the pack and the town better. Took people in, no matter where they came from or what they’d done.”

  “Like you?” Amy asked.

  “Yeah.” I didn’t like talking about my past. Except with her. Amy could ask me anything and I’d tell her.

  We both ate, and I was ready to get moving. No reason to keep her out in the cold any longer than she had to be. With handfuls of snow, I put out the fire. The embers sizzled, smoked, then dwindled. And Amy led the way toward her family’s farm, back into the woods.

  “What’s it like?” I asked. “The farm?”

  “Oh,” she said, “it’s a big farm in the middle of nowhere. I thought it was magical when I was little. The way food grew in the ground when it was well-tended. The way a family could create so much.”

  “And now?” I asked.

  “They still do those things,” she smiled. With the one that said she didn’t really want to go home for the holidays at all.

  “You don’t have to do that,” I said. “Not with me.”

  “Do what?” Amy asked.

  “Pretend everything’s fine when it’s not. Pretend that the bubbly bartender is all that you are,” I said, treading carefully between ferns.

  “I am a bubbly bartender,” Amy said. “It’s my thing. Good friend. Always smile. Listen and be there. That’s me.”

  “Sure,” I said. “But I can tell you don’t wanna go to that farm. I can tell, Amy.”

  “Fine,” she said, stopping in her tracks and turning to face me. Her big, brown eyes were intense. Her muscles were stiff. And I worried that I’d upset her. It wasn’t my intention. “I don’t like spending Christmas with my family. Or Thanksgiving. Or Easter. I love my family, and love to be with them. But every time everyone is all together it turns into a pity-fest that poor Amy’s going to be an old lady with no mate. And I don’t need that. I like my life. Sure, I’d like a mate, but I’m busy with work. And it’s not like the right kind of guys line up.”

  “Amy,” I said. “Any man would be lucky-”

  “Let me stop you right there,” Amy said, putting her hand up. “You don’t get to tell me that I’ll find a nice guy, or that I’ll find my mate. Because if you aren’t going to take me up on a date then you can’t say someone else will. And I know you too, James Harkins.” She put her hands down, and her face softened. “You’re deeper than the silent, tough enforcer that everyone sees. I see your pain, your kindness. I see the way you keep everyone at arm’s length so you don’t have to let anyone know you. But I do.” By the time she finished speaking, the tension in her shoulders had eased.

  She did know me, too well, and she deserved better. Not a man old enough to be her father. Not a scarred and damaged brute. She deserved a happy life with cubs and the kind of man that could give her everything that she could ever want. I said nothing.

  “Okay then,” she said with a nod. Then she turned around and started back down the narrow deer trail. “And no matter how mixed my feelings are about going home for Christmas,” she said softly, with a small turn up of her lips. “I’d never miss it. Holidays are about family.”

  Family. Not for me. Not anymore.

  Chapter Eight

  Amy

  Walking through the forest on autopilot, I stepped over logs and around low-growing plants. Was I too mean? No. He can take it. Maybe I was a bit too harsh. Harkins followed me even after I’d snapped at him. Which I shouldn’t have. He was right. Of course he was right. There was a mate out there for me some
where, just like everyone said. There was a mate for everyone. But I didn’t have time to date, not really. And the one I wanted wasn’t interested. Maybe he knew me too well. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he liked brunettes or was hung up on some woman from back east. It was pointless to go over it again in my head. I knew it was. Just as I knew it was selfish of me to be glad that I’d have Harkins with me for Christmas dinner. But I was grateful for him being with me all the same.

  “Bear.” Harkins’s voice pulled me from my head. Which was definitely a good thing. Overthinking was always trouble.

  “Bear?” I said, sniffing the air. “Shouldn’t they be in hibernation?”

  “They should,” Harkins agreed. “But you see that tree?” He pointed off to our left, into the distance. I scanned the tall trunks of the sky-high pines until I saw it. Deep lines carved into the bark of one of the evergreens. The scrapes were distinct—definitely created by bear claws.

  “Could be from before the first snow,” I offered.

  “Could be.”

  “It seems the most likely. I don’t smell anything but wolves,” I said. The markings looked fresh, but they would have even if they were made two months ago. The chances of a grizzly or black bear wandering around in this cold were low.

  “Agreed,” Harkins said. “Let’s keep movin’ either way.”

  “Fair plan,” I said, and continued on the deer trail that curved mostly in the right direction. The brush off of the path was too thick to traverse. Best to avoid it. So we followed the trail.

  After about another mile, the trees became less dense. As the trunks grew further apart, logs and brush covering the ground became more sparse, and were replaced by snow. Between branches, I could see bits of the rocky white landscape beyond. We reached the valley just before the mountain that led to the farm. Another couple of hours and we would reach the road. But between us and our destination was rough terrain. And a pack of wolves.