Cold Hearted: An Alaskan Werewolf Romance

by Heather Guerre

  Bright halogen lights lit up the space beside the pole building. The forest pressed close around us, branches whispering softly against each other in the dark. I kept my gaze on the plane and tried not to imagine a grizzly stalking us from the cover of the trees.

  When the plane was ready, Caleb gestured for me to get in. I climbed up onto the pontoon, and into the passenger seat, glancing out at the surrounding darkness as I pulled the door shut. At the edge of the forest, several pairs of eyes gleamed back at me. My heart jumped, and I froze with the door partially ajar. As my eyes adjusted, I could dimly make out the bodies of several bears.

  No, not bears, I realized. Wolves. Really, really big wolves.

  I jerked the door shut and twisted in my seat, frantic for Caleb to get inside.

  “Caleb!” I croaked.

  He appeared at the pilot’s side door and pulled it open. All of his face was covered except for his eyes, and he still managed to convey complete and utter disdain.

  “Wolves!” I whispered, pointing out my window.

  His expression blanked. Not fear. Not disbelief. Just a complete non-reaction. He hauled himself up into the pilot’s seat with casual unconcern. When he finally pulled his door shut, I let out a little sigh of relief.

  A few minutes later, we were accelerating down the runway. I closed my eyes as the forest raced closer and closer to the nose of the tiny plane. My stomach dropped as the sound of wheels rumbling over gravel abruptly cut away. There was only the smooth swoop of each upward climb and the rush of air.

  Once the plane leveled out, I opened my eyes. Caleb was wholly focused on the plane’s instrument panel, reading dials and making adjustments. His methodical, unruffled confidence went a long way in easing my fear of the small plane. I released my grip on my seat and made myself look out the window. The whole world was spread below us—a dark sea of treetops enclosed by jagged mountains. The river meandered through it all, a twisting, ice-white serpentine. The sight of it took my breath away. I leaned forward, enthralled. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Caleb turn to look at me. He watched me for a second, then turned his attention forward again.

  The flight to Anchorage was long and silent.

  We landed at an airfield on the edge of the city. Caleb’s deep voice came through my headset, startling me, as he communicated with ground control. It was the first I’d heard him speak in over an hour. He hadn’t said a single word to me during the flight—speaking only to communicate with other pilots and air traffic controllers on the radio. While his words were mostly perfunctory, he spoke to them with a comfortable ease that left me feeling slighted. He was nicer to complete strangers than he was to me.

  When we were wheels-down, I sighed and eased my grip on the seat. Caleb taxied the plane through a field of other planes. There was an old F-150 in storage at the hangar where Caleb parked the plane.

  “Where are we going?” Caleb asked. It took me a second to process that he’d spoken to me. His deep voice was carefully neutral, but dislike still gleamed in his eyes.

  “Why don’t you take care of your stuff, and I’ll take care of mine, and we can meet back here,” I suggested.

  “There’s only one truck.”

  “I can get a ride.” I was already opening the rideshare app on my phone.

  His big hand splayed over my phone screen, capturing my hands and making me jump. The heat of his skin was like a brand, and I jerked away from him, dropping my phone on the frozen ground. I hadn’t realized he’d gotten so close. He moved too silently for someone of his size.

  He bent to pick up my phone and tossed it to me. “I’ll drive. Get in and tell me where we’re going.”

  I sensed that, should I try to resist, I’d have to get pretty dramatic about it before he’d yield. So I got into the truck and searched for Anchorage bookstores. While I searched, Caleb made a call on his phone. I was only peripherally aware of him giving directions to somebody, talking about cargo and weights. He chuckled at something the other person said, and I looked up in time to catch the flash of his smile.

  “No, I’ll have to catch you next time. I’ve got something I have to handle today.” His gaze flashed to me and his smile dropped.

  Suppressing the urge to flip him off, I looked back at my phone.

  Caleb ended his call and tucked his phone into his jacket. “Where are we going?” he asked flatly.

  “Here.” I pulled out the old ashtray—clean—and set my phone on it with the navigation pulled up.

  Caleb glanced at it and put the truck into gear. He was silent as we drove out of the airfield and into the city. I’d only been in Longtooth for a few weeks, but the size of Anchorage, the traffic, the people—it was overwhelming. I found myself scanning the faces of strangers on the sidewalk, in cars as we passed them. I searched the windows and doors of passing buildings.

  Calm down, I told myself. Everything’s fine.

  The first store we went to was a large, independent bookstore. Caleb trailed behind me, a silent, looming shadow. He stood by, glowering silently while I searched the shelves and counted copies and hunted down salespeople to ask if they had more copies of certain titles in storage. I’d just returned to the spot where I’d left Caleb, having managed to accumulate a surprisingly sizable stack of The Parable of the Sower, when I realized he’d disappeared.

  I stood on my tiptoes, peering across the store, but couldn’t see his bearded, shaggy-haired head anywhere. I walked the length of the central aisle, looking down rows of shelves, and finally found him in the History section, leaning against the shelves and reading a book about Genghis Khan.

  His hands were so big, he could span the entire book—both covers—in one hand. I watched as his rough fingers turned the page, his focus never wavering. The sight of such a big, rugged man, fully engrossed in a book of historical nonfiction sent a staggering bolt of attraction straight through my body. Jerking like a startled rabbit, I backpedaled before he saw me. Suddenly overheated, I unzipped my parka and tugged at the collar of my sweater. I returned to the fiction section and resumed book-hunting.

  I had three stacks of books on the floor beside me when Caleb returned. I glanced up to see him towering over me, his expression impassive as he scanned the titles I’d gathered. His jacket was partially unzipped, and I could see the edge of a paper bag with the store’s logo sticking out. He’d bought a book. Maybe even several.

  I had a sudden image in my mind—Caleb, back in Longtooth, laying in a bed that looked like mine, engrossed in a thick history book. His big body was relaxed, his shaggy hair mussed. He licked one rough fingertip and turned the next page.

  My whole face heated, and I twisted away from him, pretending to be totally intent on assembling my stacks of books. Without a word, Caleb crouched and gathered them up.

  “I can carry them,” I objected, letting my hair swing over my burning cheeks.

  Caleb didn’t respond, but he didn’t let me take them from him either. He brought them up to the counter and set them down for the cashier. I added a small armful of single copies of a few other titles.

  “Can you put these on a separate receipt?” I asked the cashier.

  Caleb frowned. “Isn’t the school paying for the books?”

  I laid my hand over the individual titles. “These aren’t for the school. They’re my own, to loan to students who are looking for something to read for fun.”

  Caleb’s dark eyes narrowed as he regarded me. I raised my eyebrows in question. My blush had mostly receded, but I could feel my cheeks warming again. After a moment’s silent interrogation, he shuttered his expression and turned away from me, staring impatiently out the window at the parking lot.

  I wanted to grab his jacket and scream, WHY DON’T YOU LIKE ME? But I was depressed, not deranged, so I swallowed my aggravation and waited for the cashier to bag my books. After I’d paid, Caleb swooped in and grabbed the bags before my outstretched hand could close around the handles. Were he any other person, I’d thank him
for the kindness. But his intense dislike charged the air between us like crackling static, and his insistence on carrying things for me felt condescending. I glowered at his back as we returned to the truck.

  “That everything?” Caleb asked as I climbed into the passenger seat.

  “No, I couldn’t get enough copies. We have to go to another store and try to make up the difference. We might end up going to a third and fourth store if I can’t get enough at the next one.”

  Caleb let out a long-suffering sigh and put the truck into gear. Ignoring his pissiness, I set the route on my phone and propped it in the empty ashtray so he could see the map.

  The next store was a large chain. I was able to get nearly everything I needed, but I was still two copies short of A Wizard of Earthsea. We drove to a third bookstore, located inside a mall. As we walked through the parking lot towards the mall entrance, Caleb suddenly froze. He lifted his chin, dark eyes scanning the parking lot. A soft wind sifted over us, and he inhaled deeply.

  “Caleb…?”

  “Shh.”

  He closed his eyes, inhaling again. He opened them, staring intently at the shadowed alley between two fast-food restaurants. His gaze was sharp, laser-focused. I followed his line of sight, but I couldn’t see anything other than some dumpsters.

  “What are you—”

  “Nothing.” He turned away and continued towards the mall as if nothing had happened.

  I trotted to catch up to him. “Seriously. What were you—?”

  “Did you come to Alaska alone?” he asked suddenly.

  I frowned. “You know I did. You’re the one who flew me to Longtooth.”

  “But what about your flight to Anchorage? Did you come with anybody?”

  “No.” I’d been very specifically trying to get away from people by coming up here, but he didn’t need to know that. “Nobody even drove me to the airport in Chicago. I took a cab. Why does it matter?”

  We reached the door and he pulled it open for me. I hesitated, once again put off by what I’d consider a nice gesture from anybody else.

  “Do you plan to stand out here all day?” Caleb demanded.

  I scowled at him, but he wasn’t even looking at me. His gaze was trained on that alley again, his brow furrowed.

  Unnerved, I scuttled inside the vestibule. Caleb followed on my heels, reaching around me to pull the next door open as well. The material of our coats shushed as his chest brushed my shoulder and his arm curved around me. Even through all our winter layers, I felt his touch spread over my skin like warm honey. Gooseflesh crawled up my neck as a shiver chased down my spine. I hurried through the door, putting space between us.

  At the bookstore, I found the last two copies I needed. I sighed my relief and paid for them. On the way back out to the truck, Caleb resumed that hyper-vigilant watchfulness, like a dog who’s heard a stranger at the door. It made me uneasy, and I nervously scanned the parking lot, instinctively stepping closer to Caleb.

  Inside the truck, Caleb reached across me to lock my door. I pressed back against the seat, away from the brush of his arm. He put the truck into gear and pulled out immediately. I just managed to click my seatbelt as he pulled into traffic. He leaned forward, peering intently through the windshield. His gaze swept methodically over the street and surrounding buildings.

  “Why are you being weird?”

  Caleb didn’t answer me. But as we wove through city streets, getting further from the mall, his posture relaxed and his watchfulness eased. He still wasn’t exactly a picture of careless nonchalance, but electric tension was no longer snapping off of him.

  We returned to the airfield, and I frowned over at Caleb. “Didn’t you have anything to do in Anchorage? Don’t tell me you flew here just so I could buy books.”

  “I had some cargo to pick up. It was loaded while we were in town.”

  “Oh.” I relaxed back against my seat. “Does that mean we’re flying back now?”

  “Did you need to do anything else?”

  “No.”

  “Then, yeah. We’re headed back.” He bit off the words so tersely, as if even answering a simple question was such an imposition. He pulled the truck into the steel outbuilding and put it into park.

  Driven by some impulse best left unexamined, I decided to antagonize him by continuing to speak. “So, what book did you buy?”

  He scowled at me, unclipping his seatbelt. “What?”

  “You bought a book. I saw the bag. What’s the book?”

  “There is no book.”

  I leaned across the bench seat and knocked on his chest, rapping my knuckles against the flat, hard rectangle stowed inside his parka. “Liar. Why won’t you tell me? Is it embarrassing?” His jacket was unzipped far enough that I could snake my hand inside. “How to Win Friends and Influence People?” I suggested as my fingers closed around the top of the book.

  Caleb’s big hand closed around my wrist, stopping me from pulling it out. I wouldn’t let go of the book. He wouldn’t let go of my wrist. I was trapped with my fist pressed against the warm, firm plane of his chest. Heat seeped from his body to mine, traveling up my arm, flooding my lungs. I let out a shaky breath and looked up to find Caleb staring down at me. Our eyes met, and held. His grip tightened on my wrist, and there was a flare of heat in his eyes, a subtle golden gleam. I felt myself falling into those dark, unfathomable depths—first only in my mind, but then my body was leaning into his and then—

  “What are you hoping to accomplish here?” Caleb asked, his gaze still searching mine.

  “What?” I asked, still dazed.

  “You came for the Alaskan adventure, right? Winter in the Arctic, job in some bumblefuck backwoods, flights on a puddle jumper. You need to fuck a local before you go back to your real life?”

  I jerked my hand out of his grasp and shoved back to my side of the truck. Humiliation washed over me in cold, clammy waves. To my utter horror, I felt tears burning at the corners of my eyes. “I don’t understand why you’re such a prick to me,” I said through a tight throat. “I’ve never done anything to you! I just want to do my job and be left alone. Is there something wrong with that?”

  Caleb stared at me, his straight black brows pushed together in a frown. “Why’d you come to Longtooth? Tell me the truth.”

  “You don’t want to hear it,” I told him with grim certainty.

  “Let’s see if I can guess. You wanted to escape the mundane hustle and bustle of your old life. You wanted an adventure.” He said the last in a mockingly saccharine voice. An unfriendly grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, showing a flash of white teeth against the black of his beard. “You wanted to live somewhere wild and untamed and rugged. You wanted—”

  “I wanted to get as far as I could from my stalker ex-boyfriend!” I spat out angrily.

  He clapped his mouth shut. The mean smile dropped off his face. “What?”

  “I had a restraining order. He kept breaking it. The police couldn’t do anything. I just wanted to get away. Far away. So, no, I didn’t come here for the magic of Alaska. I came here because, of all the very distant places I applied to, the Teekkonlit Valley district was the first to offer me a job.”

  Chapter Seven

  I’d thought that the worst thing about Alex was that he was boring. He didn’t hit me, didn’t call me names, didn’t scream at me. He wasn’t cruel.

  And yet, being with him had exhausted me. It took me so long to leave him, not because I was afraid, but because it was so hard to muster the energy. There was no clean, decisive reason to give him. There was no final straw, no glaring fault. I was just tired—of him, of myself, of everything.

  The longer we stayed together, the harder it was to disengage from him. Whenever I expressed discontent—Alex, can’t we do something besides sit at home watching crime documentaries? Alex, do we always have to eat the same takeout every night? Alex, why don’t we ever hang out with friends anymore?—he seemed genuinely shocked. Instead of answering me, h
e’d just parrot my words with a baffled look on his face. Friends? he’d ask, as if the concept had never occurred to him. You want to see your friends?

  I remember the faint line between his brows, while he stared at me like a puzzle he couldn’t solve. We never did get around to going out, trying a new restaurant, or seeing friends. Somehow, the conversation always moved on to something else, and we passed yet another night slumped on the couch, watching Unsolved Murders.

  When I finally found the motivation to end things, Alex had just stared at me with that same puzzled frown, echoing my words like a senile macaw. Over? We’re over? You’re…leaving me? Me? He couldn’t have been more incredulous if the couch had broken up with him.

  It wasn’t until after the breakup that he started to scare me.

  After I’d packed Alex's very few things and taken his key back, he kept turning up places where I was—my usual coffee shop, the grocery store, my favorite bookstore—and spoke to me as if we were still together. When I didn’t play along, he acted as if I were the unreasonable one, reacting to my discomfort with bafflement.

  The few friends who hadn’t given up on me during the self-imposed isolation of my relationship were not shy about expressing their joy over the break-up. They insisted on dragging me out to bars and clubs—to “get over” him. But in every crowd, he was there, watching me. Clubs had never been my favorite thing to begin with, but after Alex, the idea of going out left me panicked and shaky. When I wasn’t at school, I stayed home, alone and miserable, but repelled by the idea of doing anything else.

  The final straw came when I’d walked into my apartment after a late night at school, and found him sitting placidly on the couch, waiting for me in the dark.

  “What are you doing here?” I demanded, clutching at my racing heart.

  He got up, looking both concerned and confused by my fear. “You invited me. Two years ago.”