Suddenly, her fingers no longer felt numb. Pain seared them as the steel bit into her flesh. Her vision swam, but she kept pulling until the pain made her head spin. She heard the trap snap as she fell backwards, now crying herself. A stream of incoherent apologies poured from her mouth as she cradled her bloodied fingers against her chest.
When she regained her sight, the first thing she saw was the trap, which now laid on the ground, closed shut and innocuous. She blinked twice, and then her eyes darted to the side. She expected to see the wolf, but gasped when she saw a girl with long limbs and a cascade of dark hair. She lay naked on the ground, steam rising up around her prone form.
“Oh my gosh!” Ginnifer scrambled to her feet and quickly unzipped her outermost jacket, ignoring the burning of her fingers. She laid the jacket over the girl, who didn’t move, except to follow Ginnifer with her gaze.
She knew that there was no way she’d be able to get the girl back to camp without Boaz. Even if her fingers hadn’t been destroyed, it was enough of a struggle getting herself up the dunes, let alone a girl who was only slightly smaller than herself.
“Boaz!” she yelled. “Get your ass down here, now!”
She cringed, her tone reminding her of her mother’s. To her relief, Boaz appeared a second later, stumbling over the crest of the dune. But her relief was short-lived, as five men appeared behind him, one of them nudging a shotgun at Boaz’s back.
Poachers.
Shit.
They were garbed in full winter attire, and the slits where their eyes should have been exposed were obscured by shadows. Her heart started to hammer, and she snaked one hand behind her back.
“All they want is the wolf,” Boaz called out. “They said they’ll let us—wait, where’s the wolf?”
The man holding the shotgun gave Boaz a hard smack. “That’s it. There, on the ground.”
“It isn’t gonna do us any good like that,” one of the others remarked.
“We’ll make it shift.”
Something about the way the shotgun man said that made Ginnifer’s stomach turn. She had no idea how a werewolf could be forced to shift, but she could infer that it involved a heavy dose of sadism.
She could see that the others had guns, but they were all strapped to their backs or secured at their hips. At the moment, they all seemed either focused on the girl, or on Boaz, and Ginnifer knew she wouldn’t have a better opportunity. She cast a quick glance at the girl in order to strengthen her resolve, and then she pulled the gun out from where it had been tucked into her trousers.
She had the safety off and her finger on the trigger before it came to a stop in front of her. There, she aimed it at the shotgun man. All five men stopped in their tracks. Boaz screamed and put his hands on his head.
“You seriously brought that thing?” he screeched.
Ginnifer ignored him. “Let him go and get out of here. I’m not letting you take her.”
The men remained still, all except the shotgun man, who gave a deep belly laugh. “You even know how to fire that thing?”
If she weren’t so severely focused, she would have rolled her eyes. Before she could deliver an equally cliché response, Boaz spoke up.
“Of course she knows what she’s doing. She’s Ginnifer Castillo. She holds the 2012 Olympic silver medal for skeet shooting.”
Skeet shooting? Really? Beneath her mask, Ginnifer smirked.
Boaz kept talking, his words quick, but confident. “Don’t you know what skeet shooting is? She could probably take half of you out before you could blink, and while I have the utmost faith in her abilities, I’d rather not be on this side of her gun while you guys argue.”
“We know what skeet shooting is,” one of the men grunted.
Another asked, “You really expect us to believe that we just happened to run into an Olympic skeet shooter?”
Ginnifer huffed and with a free hand, pulled back her mask. “See, it’s me. And don’t pretend like you don’t recognize my face.”
“Yeah,” Boaz said. “She was plastered all over international news when she spit on the girl who finished first. They almost took her medal away.”
Between the two of them, she and Boaz could have improvised an entire life story for Ginnifer Castillo: Olympic Skeet Shooter and General Poor Sport. Thankfully, it wasn’t necessary. The shotgun man gave Boaz a hard shove in Ginnifer’s direction.
“Fine. Take them both,” he said. “But you should know that the rest of my men are back at your camp right now, clearing out your supplies. If you manage to survive the night, we can renegotiate in the morning.”
Ginnifer’s mouth fell open, and although she couldn’t see his face, she could tell by the way the man raised his chin that he was feeling smug. But it wasn’t what he’d said that had startled her, and she watched with grim fascination as shadows shifted behind the men.
Behind her, the girl moaned softly. Ginnifer slowly lowered her gun, which the men seemed to take as an opportunity to regain the upper hand. The others were reaching for their guns as the shotgun man raised his own, pointing it directly at Ginnifer. She stared stone-faced into the twin black holes of the barrel.
A dark specter crashed into the shotgun man, latching onto his arm. In one fluid motion, it whipped its body around to knock the other men over like bowling pins. The men rushed to get to their feet, but as they tried to get a handle on their weapons, two smaller wolves descended on them.
Three of the men broke away, firing their guns into the night. One of the bullets whizzed past Ginnifer, plunging into the snow directly between she and Boaz. Her friend screamed and broke out into a run, shouting for Ginnifer to follow him.
She stood motionless, watching the carnage unfold in front of her. Two bodies lay motionless on the ground, the snow around them stained black in the night. The smaller wolves chased after the runners. The white-haired one tackled a burly man to the ground. It tore its teeth into his neck and then streaked off after another man, not pausing to check its work.
The dark wolf stood near the shotgun man’s body, watching the other wolves, but not giving chase. After a few seconds, it turned, cocking his head in her direction. Its gleaming eyes settled on the girl, and then moved to hold steady on Ginnifer. It began to saunter towards her, its sleek fur rippling with each step.
As it moved, its body began to change. Ginnifer watched unblinking, fascination overriding terror. She saw bones and muscles moving, but the wolf passed beneath a shadow, and even squinting, she couldn’t make out exactly what was happening. When its steps brought him back into the light, he was no longer a wolf—at least, not on the surface.
It was a male, but somehow, she’d already known that. He was a full head taller than her, which put him well over six feet. His height kept him from appearing too bulky, despite his heavily muscled physique. Shadows played on the contours of his face, making it appear menacing, for all its appeal.
He stopped in front of her and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping away a trail of blood. His eyes bored into her with a look of challenge.
The gun fell to the ground, not because she didn’t think she needed it, or to signal to him that she wasn’t a threat. Her fingers had simply grown too numb to retain their grip on the handle.
“I have to put my hands in my pockets,” she said. She was afraid to make any sudden movement, lest he think she was trying to pull another weapon on him. She had seen how quickly he and the others had taken the men down, and knew that she would fall just as easily in her current state.
She slowly moved her hands towards her pockets, but before she could slip them in, he grabbed one and then the other, clutching them in one big fist. His skin was so warm that the initial contact burned her frigid fingers. She swallowed hard, and by the time she let out a shaky exhalation, his heat had begun to transfer to her hands in pleasant waves.
“Thank you,” she breathed, her gaze fixed on his hand. It was calloused and lightly scarred, but long fingers m
ade it nonetheless graceful.
“You’re welcome,” he said. His voice was sinfully beautiful, his English carrying only the barest hint of an accent. “And I’m sorry.”
He glanced at something behind her, and before Ginnifer could ask why he was apologizing or turn to follow his gaze, something hit her hard on the back of the head. Her eyes widened, and for a second, her vision appeared pixilated. Then the pixels collapsed in on each other, blinking out and giving way to darkness.
CHAPTER TWO
Ginnifer opened her eyes to blackness. The throbbing pain in the back of her head was the only thing that told her she wasn’t still asleep. Still, she couldn’t fathom why she was so warm, or where she could possibly be, given that there were no stars or a dancing aurora above her.
“Who are you?”
The question sounded as though it had been spoken directly into her mind, where it echoed through the chambers.
Who are you?
“Sometimes I wonder that myself,” she said, in a parched voice. She forced herself to sit up, wincing against the sharp pain and a rush of vertigo. “Ginnifer. My name, it’s Ginnifer.”
She heard a match strike, and the smell of sulfur reached her nose as she rubbed at her eyes. By the time she stopped seeing double, the match had been used to light a small torch of sticks and dried weed roots. She stared at the light, momentarily mesmerized by the crackling flame. Then her eyes drew a line to the man who held it.
His face was familiar, but her mind was too jumbled to place him. At first, she noticed his eccentricities. His brown hair was tousled to the right, revealing an ear that was lined with strange piercings of silver and what looked like bone. On the same side of his face, a small scar marred his otherwise perfectly shaped eyebrow. He was watching her speculatively, and looking into his eyes—fiery gold encased in a black ring—made her feel as though she were peering into the mouth of a volcano.
“You’re the wolf.”
There had been three wolves, that she had seen, but he had been the wolf. The one who had ripped the throat out of the shotgun man and then, paradoxically, warmed her hands in his.
“So I am,” he said, his expression demure.
For the first time, she realized how beautiful he was, and once she saw it, it was all she could see. Each feature was perfectly arrayed on his broad face, with nothing out of proportion. His nose was strong, but not too large. His lips were full enough to be sensual, without making his mouth too wide. His lashes were a long, thick fringe around his eyes, but somehow did not make him appear at all feminine. His body was swathed in dark furs, but the chiseled torso beneath them was burned into her memory.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
He seemed to consider the question as he staked the torch into the soft earth. She took the space of time to look around the room. It appeared to be some sort of cave, with a low ceiling of grey rock and floor of soil. It was small, and the only exit she could see lay behind the werewolf’s back.
“Zane,” he finally said, taking her by surprise.
“That doesn’t sound like a werewolf’s name,” she replied bluntly.
His lips curved, and a jar of butterflies was set loose in her belly. “So then tell me, what does a werewolf’s name sound like?”
Ginnifer had a few ideas, but she suspected the question was rhetorical. “Where are we? And where’s my friend? Have you seen him?”
She began to describe Boaz, but Zane gave a dismissive wave of his hand.
“We’re not doing that,” he said curtly. “Now, tell me what you are doing here.”
Ginnifer instinctively bristled, but answered him all the same. He hadn’t threatened her, or given any indication that he’d hurt her, and she wanted to keep it that way.
“Boaz and I came here to film…” she trailed off, her hands flying up to pat her pockets. She turned them inside out, finding gloves, but not her camera.
On cue, Zane held it up. The small Canon gleamed in the firelight. Ginnifer wet her lips. “That’s mine. Please, give it back.”
He ignored her request. “What are you here to film? From what I’ve seen on here, all you seem to want to do is talk to yourself about rock formations and rodents.”
Ginnifer steeled herself against embarrassment. Everything she said was heavily audited before it made the final cut, and she never shared all of her unedited footage with anyone, not even Boaz. She tried to think of what was on this particular SD card, and hoped it wasn’t the one where she’d stayed up all night, trying not to cry as she spoke about how much she missed her family.
“That footage is private,” she muttered, averting her gaze. “It’s for a documentary that I’m making—it’s an informational video about Nunavut and, hopefully, shifters.”
There was a dangerous glint in his eyes. “You came here to film shifters?”
“To help shifters,” she said. “I need to show people that your kind is just as worthy of human rights as we are, and that you should be protected, not hunted for profit.”
Zane leaned back, resting his elbow on a stone outcropping. He made a small sound of acknowledgement, but otherwise appeared as though he were only humoring her.
“I’ve done it before,” she said, pursing her lips. “All I need is a few weeks in a pack, to film the everyday life of your kind. If you can help me to do that, I promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to stop your kind from being hunted.”
Zane frowned. “You expect me to bring you back to my pack and let you film them? How is exposing the movements of my pack and the location of my den going to stop my kind from being hunted? I might as well bring you there so that you can make a roadmap and put up signs leading poachers directly to us.”
Ginnifer tried to get a word in, but he spoke over her. “Or do you think I am so altruistic that I would sacrifice the security of my pack for the benefit of all shifters? I assure you, I don’t give a damn about any other packs. I protect what belongs to me. Nothing more.”
“Then what about that girl I saved?” she asked, speaking quickly to make sure she was heard. “If I hadn’t been there, those poachers could have—”
“Would have never touched her,” he said. “We were out there since before dawn. We were going to let her go if the poachers hadn’t come by the following morning.”
Her brows shot up, and she felt the blood drain from her face. “You were using that poor girl as bait?”
“No,” he said, his lips drawing a hard line. “She put herself in that position. We were merely taking advantage of the situation.”
“So you were there the whole time?” she asked. “Listening to her cry out for help?”
He arched a brow. “Weren’t you?”
Her mouth clamped shut. If he had been there all day, then he would have seen she and Boaz on the dune, filming for two hours while the wolf had struggled against the steel trap. They’d been fully prepared to watch her die, either at the hands of poachers, or to the elements. She could try to justify it, explaining how the scene would have given her documentary the emotional punch that it needed to make waves, but she imagined he had his own justifications as well.
“Fair enough,” she said quietly.
He nodded his head in approval.
“Why did you try to help her?”
She blinked, and then met his gaze again. His stare was unnerving and effortlessly intimidating, but she didn’t let it shake her calm.
“I suppose it was my hedonism,” she said, and she wondered if he was familiar with the word. Given that he’d used the word altruistic, she decided not to insult his apparent intelligence with a definition. “I knew that if I didn’t save her, I’d feel guilty, and I didn’t want to deal with that on my conscience.”
He nodded again, as though it made perfect sense to him. Then, he said something unexpected.
“The girl you tried to protect is named Indigo. She is my sister.” He paused, giving her a few seconds to chew on the new information. “Regard
less of your motivations or her lack of jeopardy, you were prepared to lay down your life for one of mine, and so I owe you a debt. You can return with me to my den to film, however I decide what you film and which footage you take with you when you go.”
He pulled the torch from the earth as he stood. Then he stepped forward, offering her his hand.
Normally, Ginnifer would have never agreed to have her creative license stifled, but she was still in awe of her good fortune. When she’d made the decision to come to Nunavut, she’d expected to observe a werewolf pack from afar, but this was the opportunity of a lifetime. Even if she were only allowed to leave with a few shots, she’d already have more footage of shifter life than any filmmaker, independent or studio-backed.
She took his hand to shake it, but he pulled her up instead. There were only a few inches between them, and she had to crane her neck up to meet his eyes.
“You have a deal,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too eager.
His nostrils flared, and something about his demeanor changed for an instant, though it passed too quickly for her to pin it down.
“Good. Now, I’ll take you to your companion.”
***
A questioning look spread over her face as Zane handed her the torch.
“I don’t need it,” he said, though it was only partially true. They were far enough below ground that the passageway was as dark as pitch, and even he could not see in total darkness. But where the torch would reveal a few steps in front of her for the human, its light helped him to see a great distance ahead.
The passageway was as wide across as ten men, but stooped enough that he had to duck his head as he walked. He noticed that the human ducked as well, though mostly to avoid the icy stalactites. Still, she was tall, much taller than any human female he’d met. Taller even than most of the shifter females in his pack.
He made her go ahead of him, not liking anyone at his back, least of all a stranger. Her scent wafted back to him, and although it carried the musk of travel, he could detect feminine undertones that he found rather pleasing. Somewhere within him, his wolf lifted its head in quiet speculation.
Capturing the Alpha (Shifters of Nunavut Book 1) Page 2