When Zeb growled like a caged wolf, Shay slapped his arm. “Not bad, a mhac. Let’s mingle.”
That earned him another growl.
Unlike the jaded citizens of Rainier Territory, the shifters here were embarrassingly grateful for both the information and the presence of Zeb and Shay. They were thanked so many times that Zeb’s dark face acquired a reddish hue.
One lanky woman carrying the scent of furniture polish shouldered through the crowd to ask, “What about children? Sometimes they’re out after dark, visiting friends and such.”
Zeb raised his voice. “Listen up.”
Silence.
“A hellhound’s demon form has bullet-proof plating. The only vulnerable areas are its eyes or a narrow patch on its gut. You can’t win a fight with one.”
Shay’s belly tightened. Children were so fragile. “Never let them outside on the dark moon. Otherwise, make sure they’re escorted by several well-armed adults.”
Shay inclined his head at Zeb as conversations started again. “Damned if you’re not good at this. You take point for speaking engagements from now on.”
“Fuck you.” His black gaze promised Shay a fist in the face.
Grinning, Shay glanced around for more questions. Instead, he saw three men stalk across the room preceded by a wave of testosterone. Pretty obvious who they were.
His mouth tightened. He didn’t have the time or interest to dick around with some alpha wolf on a power trip.
The one in the lead was about six-one, over two hundred pounds, and stank of hostility. His receding light brown hair had been buzz cut. From the similarity in beefy facial features and builds, the other two were his littermates. The pack alpha didn’t halt until he was well within Shay’s personal space. Trying for dominance.
Good luck, alpha-hole. A normal wolf had two choices when meeting an alpha. Drop the gaze to acknowledge him as dominant. Or challenge.
Shay stepped back. Didn’t drop his gaze.
As the alpha tried to puzzle out what that meant, Shay heard an amused snort from behind him. Zeb had moved up to guard his back. Damned if that didn’t feel good.
The alpha pushed out his chest. “I’m Gerhard Schmidt. These are my brothers Dieter and Klaus.” The two betas glared at Shay. Probably in their sixties, not that he could tell since shifters didn’t look old until after ninety.
“Good to meet you,” Shay said pleasantly. “When’s the next run?”
Gerhard moved closer, getting up in Shay’s face, his aggression a foul stench.
By Herne’s giant balls, this sucked. His dominant instincts demanded he flatten the pushy cur. But even if he wasn’t oathbound, he didn’t want to be alpha. Never again. “Gerhard, I’m not interested in games. Don’t push me and I won’t” close my jaws over your throat “push you.”
Gerhard slid sideways to circle him.
As the hair on his nape rose, Shay started to turn—never allow an enemy in the rear—then realized he didn’t have to. The heat from Zeb’s body warmed his shoulders. Back to back.
He heard the pack leader stop in front of Zeb and knew Gerhard got no satisfaction there. Zeb submitted to no one, and very few were willing to risk the death in his eyes. The Rainier alpha had dealt carefully with Zeb.
But he’d never stopped trying to dominate Shay.
Shay saw Calum watching, but Cosantirs didn’t interfere in pack politics.
Gerhard finished his stiff-legged circling and faced Shay again. “The pack hunts the day before full moon.” Gerhard was stupid enough to add, “We’ll give you a few lessons in manners next time.”
“I enjoy learning.” And he and his co-instructors—pain and blood—always ended up being the ones teaching etiquette.
With a last scowl, Gerhard stalked away, followed by his littermates.
As Zeb stepped up beside him, Shay said, “That went well, don’t you think?”
“You ever met an alpha you didn’t piss off?”
“The older, smarter ones don’t get proddy.” Shay rubbed his face. “But why do they focus on me and not you? You don’t submit any more than I do.”
“I don’t give off alpha vibes, and you were born to lead.” Zeb’s eyes glinted with amusement before he turned serious. “You should be a—”
“I want a beer.” Shay walked away. He’d been an alpha. Had a pack…and he’d led it right into death.
Chapter Eight
On Monday, a little over a week after arriving, Bree parked her car downtown. As she slid out, a rip in the ancient plastic seat cover sliced her finger. “Ow!”
Just what she needed—another injury. With a grunt of annoyance, she stuck her finger in her mouth. Tracing torn skin with her tongue, she tasted the metallic tang.
The monster had liked her blood. Said it was different. Why? The lab work from her regular physicals always came back normal. She was O positive. So what was special about her blood? Would her parents know?
The bartender had suggested she visit the bookstore and grocery. She glanced at one unembellished sign, “BOOKS,” and grinned. The owner probably didn’t like fancy French sauces or intricate desserts either.
Inside the store, a gray-haired man was attaching iron bars inside the display window. Were wild animals really a problem in the downtown area? She started to speak, then smiled at a sudden realization. Zeb would eventually look like this older man—tough as leather, scarred to heck and gone, still a little scary.
The man nodded at her. No greeting. Yeah, definitely like Zeb.
Fine, she’d be the polite one. “Hello.”
The sigh was almost, but not quite, inaudible. “Miss, can I help you?”
“Calum at the Wild Hunt suggested I stop in here.” She pulled the photo from her denim purse and handed it to him. “Would you know these people? The picture was taken around twenty-three years ago.”
When he held the photo up, his hands and arms were covered by so many thin white lines it looked as if he’d picked blackberries every day of his life. What would cause such scarring?
He shook his head. “Sorry.”
“Neither one lived in Cold Creek?”
“No, and I’ve been here close to fifty years.”
Oh. Her hopes fell like over-yeasted rolls, leaving her sagging inside. “Well, thank you for looking.”
“No problem.”
As tears welled, she hastily turned and ran into a hard body.
Too tall, too big. The monster. His horrible touch, foul odor, the way he ripped—Bree punched out blindly.
The monster caught her arms in a merciless grip.
“No!” She tried to yank away and couldn’t. Oh God. Her gasping brought her a scent like thick mountain forests. So very masculine and clean.
“Easy, little human, easy,” the deep voice said.
Not the creature. She sagged in the ruthless grasp.
The soft little human went limp in his hands like a captured rabbit, and her panic-filled blue eyes filled with relief. “Zeb.”
His name on her lips was strangely satisfying. “Little female,” he acknowledged.
As her legs recovered, her chin lifted and her spine turned straight as a young pine. “Sorry. Guess I had too much caffeine.”
Shay’d mentioned her explanation. He bent far enough to murmur in her ear, “Shay didn’t buy that excuse, and neither do I.”
When her face turned pink, he felt a trickle of amusement. She didn’t look scared of him now.
Still holding her arms, he nodded to the bookstore owner. “Thorson.”
“You come to give me a hand installing this sh—stuff?” The old man’s scowl was belied by the amusement in his eyes.
“Aye.”
“Well, I’ll let you get to work,” Breanne said. She pulled away and walked toward the bookshelves.
Mesmerizing little thing. All golden hair and curves. Zeb watched her a second, then turned toward the preparation Thorson had done. “Good start.” He picked up the drill.
As they finished the first set of bars and started on the second, Zeb’s gaze kept sliding to Breanne. He liked the way her full breasts stretched her shirt when she reached for a book, the way her jeans cupped her round ass.
A screwdriver smacked his knuckles, and Thorson growled, “She’s pretty, but human. It’s not good to break their hearts.”
Zeb nodded. All too true, and not usually a problem. Humans didn’t attract Daonain any more than bears attracted coyotes. But her scent, although human, was oddly pleasing.
As Zeb worked, a male entered the bookstore with two boys not yet past the bumbling puppy stage. Their red shoes were no longer than his fingers. Cute. They raced through the store toward the back.
Lot of excitement for books. As the man followed, Zeb stepped away from the window to look. The right corner held short book-laden shelves, a tiny table, and a wooden box of colorful toys.
Zeb glanced at Thorson. “You like kids?”
“Keep the children busy, and the parents have time to purchase books.” The grizzled werecat’s mouth tipped up at their laughter. “Calum’s mate suggested it, probably so she could come in and play with the cubs.”
“Females are sneaky.” He could smell Breanne on his hands: woman, vanilla, and strawberry, like a feminine dessert.
A thud came from the back. A child’s high-pitched scream.
Zeb spun. One of the boys lay on the floor, holding his knee.
“Tyler, hey, it’s okay.” The father frantically patted the boy’s shoulder. The cub kept screaming.
Every instinct in Zeb cried out to help, but with his battered face, he’d scare the boy further. He watched helplessly.
Breanne walked out of the stacks. After setting her books on the floor, she sat beside the pup. “Oh, you got a boo-boo,” she said, her pretty voice almost a croon.
The screaming stopped as Tyler stared at her with big eyes, fat tears spilling down his cheeks.
“Let me see?” She rolled up his jeans and frowned at the knee. “Oh look, no nasty blood. Maybe a kiss would make it better?” She arched her brows.
Lower lip poking out, the little boy nodded solemnly, and Breanne bent to place a smacking kiss on the knee. “There you go. Now you’d better sit with me while the magic works.” Winking at the father, she pulled the kid into her lap.
As the father eased onto to a tiny chair, Breanne rocked Tyler, murmuring tales of clumsy rabbits and foolish mice. A hiccup or two later, the kid was quiet, leaning against her chest, sucking his thumb.
“Amazing,” Thorson muttered. “Last time that mischief-maker got hurt, Brady had to carry him to his mother before he’d settle down.”
“Likes women.”
Thorson snorted. “What male doesn’t?”
But Breanne’s appeal was more than just being female. Her smile, her eyes, her whole body projected comfort so strongly Zeb felt it from across the room. When the other boy snuggled up to her side, she wrapped an arm around him also.
“Thank you,” the father said and smiled with an appreciation that had nothing to do with her comforting manner.
Zeb growled under his breath.
“My pleasure.” Breanne didn’t even look at the man, and Zeb felt marginally better. “I haven’t had a kid-fix for a while now. You have beautiful children.” She kissed the top of each little head before whispering to them, “Did you guys look in the box? I saw a really scary dinosaur in there. I almost screamed.”
Two heads popped up, and the children ran to dig through the box of toys. “Here!” The hurt one scrambled back to lay the dinosaur in her lap like a well-trained pup, staring up at her for approval.
“Oh no! Is it going to growl at me?” She waggled it with such a tiny provocative growl that Zeb hardened.
Not a human. I’m not attracted to a human. He turned to concentrate on his work.
He heard one child say, “My name is Luke. Who are you?”
“Breanne—but since I like you, you can call me, Bree. That’s what my friends call me.”
Bree, huh.
After playing a few minutes longer, she came to the front to purchase several books and a postcard of Cold Creek from the counter rack. She stopped beside Zeb on her way out. “I’m picking up my pistol today.”
“Mmmhmm.” Her fragrance eroded his control, and he ran a finger down her cheek. Her skin was as soft and smooth as he’d thought.
She backed away as if he’d bitten her, eyes wide with…bewilderment. Her scent held only a trace of fear.
Want more.
Thorson cleared his throat. “Time’s a wasting, cub.”
Cub? Zeb curled his lip at the old werecat, then with a grunt of frustration, stepped back from the female.
* * *
As Bree waited for the clerk to open the box containing her gun, the door to the hardware store opened.
When Zeb stalked in, she took an involuntary step back. Black flannel shirt, black jeans, black eyes and hair. Mr. Deadly himself. He glanced at Warren, and the young man retreated behind the counter. The dark gaze settled on her. “Show me what you chose.”
Warren shoved the Desert Eagle across the counter. When Zeb picked it up, the huge weapon looked like a perfect fit for his oversized hand. He hefted the weapon, played with the slidey thing, and checked the sights before handing it to her. “Point it at the wall.”
She edged away and had to remind herself they weren’t alone. He was trying to help. Her shoulder wound pulled painfully as she struggled to aim the heavy pistol. The barrel wavered like a flag in a high wind.
“Use the slide on top.”
She managed to pull the slide back, although it almost snapped shut onto her palm.
He turned a black frown on Warren, making the kid gulp. “Herne’s hooves, if a female insists on a pistol, give her one she can manage. The kickback on this will bust her face. Show me your revolvers.”
“She wanted a big pistol. I didn’t think about…” Warren’s gaze measured her. “I’ve never sold a weapon to a female. She’s awful little, isn’t she?” Despite Bree’s scowl, Warren forgot his nervousness in the challenge. He considered the array of pistols under the glass counter, then pulled one out. “Try this. A Smith & Wesson. Lighter but it can shoot .357 magnums.”
Zeb weighed the pistol and nodded. He plucked the Eagle out of her grip, replacing it with the revolver.
She pointed it at the wall and dry-fired. There was an obvious difference, especially when holding the thing out at arm’s length.
Zeb grunted his approval. “Start her on .38 specials. She can work up to the .357s.”
Bree handed Warren the revolver. “I guess that’s what I’ll do.”
“I’ll add ear plugs too.” Warren started piling boxes on the counter.
Bree smiled at Zeb. “Thank you. I’m glad you were here.”
Arms crossed over his massive chest, he returned to frowning. “Why the fuck do you need a weapon?”
Because a knife didn’t work. Her fingers still held the memory of her butcher knife breaking against the monster’s bony plating. She swallowed. Forcing words through her tight throat gave them a snap she hadn’t intended. “That’s really none of your business.”
His eyes narrowed before he nodded. “First lesson at ten tomorrow.” He glanced at Warren. “You got ax handles somewhere? Mine busted.”
“Yes, sir. Give me a sec, and I’ll show you.” After Warren put a hefty dent in Bree’s credit card tab, he handed over her monster killer and motioned to Zeb.
As the men headed for the rear, Bree escaped out the front. Whew. Guns made her nervous; Zeb even more so. Yet, his very reluctance to teach her was reassuring. If he were after her…body…he’d want a reason to spend time with her.
She shook her head. The most scary-looking guy she’d ever met, and she felt as if he’d protect her. Confused much, Bree?
I obviously need chocolate. The tiny grocery store was right there, and even if the cabin’s oven wasn’t up to her standards, chocolat
e chip cookies were impossible to ruin.
“Hey, Breanne.”
She turned at the sound of her name
Vicki strode across the street with a blonde teen trailing in her wake. “We didn’t get a formal intro before. I’m Vicki. How do you like Cold Creek?”
“Bree. And I’m enjoying the quiet.”
“Well, then stay away from this noisy one,” Vicki slung an arm around the girl. “Bree, this is my daughter, Jamie. Well, technically, she’s Calum’s baby, but she’s mine now too. Jamie, Bree’s staying at the Wildwood Cabins.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Jamie.” Bree blinked. Considering Calum’s black hair and dark complexion, his fair-skinned, blue-eyed baby looked more like she should be a child of Bree’s. A pang ran through her. I’d like children.
“Hi.” Jamie studied her. “You’re here to fish?”
“No, I just needed a break from the city.” Bree hesitated, but the more people that knew of her quest, the more likely she’d succeed. “I’m hunting for information about my parents.”
The girl’s eyes widened slightly, and freckles crinkled over her nose. “You lost your parents?”
“Or they lost me.”
The hardware store door slammed.
“Hey, Zeb,” Vicki greeted.
Zeb nodded at her, frowned at Bree, and glanced at Jamie. The girl backed away, sliding behind her mother.
The man’s face tightened. He walked away, without saying a word.
Vicki looked over her shoulder. “Why’re you hiding back there?”
“Well, duh, MomVee, the guy’s really scary. Didn’t you notice?”
“Not really.” Vicki watched him for a moment. “He’s big and scarred up, and… Okay, I can see how you might think scary, but he’s also—I don’t know—vulnerable or something.”
Bree stared at her. “And you pet rattlesnakes in your spare time, right?”
Vicki snorted. “That’s me. Are you starting to get cabin fever yet?”
“Well…” Yes.
“Come to the tavern tonight. I’ll buy you a drink. Fair warning though—if the place gets busy, Calum’s liable to put you to work as a barmaid.”
Winter of the Wolf (Hunt 2) Page 7