Damn it all to hell, she didn’t want reminders of this guy during her escape, but she’d do what was necessary. As quickly as she could, she threw on the long underwear and then her clothes. She shrugged on the coat and it nearly swallowed her whole. The tips of her hands poked out of the sleeves and the bottom reached her knees. Ehh, she’d need protection from the elements anyway. She grabbed her bag and headed for the door. The werewolf had left her post-hospital snacks inside the bag—they’d last her a while until she reached Prince George. With a soft click, she unlocked the door and made her way outside.
She was greeted by something bright and blinking in the way. Red and green lights flashed on the Christmas tree that blocked the path to the porch steps. Her mouth dropped open. There were four days until Christmas and now she was seeing this?
What was this doing here? Was this some kind of sick joke?
Every ornament was all too familiar from her childhood. The popsicle stick wreath she’d made in first grade. The tiny plastic bells her dad had brought home from a long hunting trip to Florida. Even the crimson ribbons tied at the end of the branches. She glanced from the plastic star at the top, down to the only object underneath. Someone had left a folded piece of paper tied to a rock.
Her name had been written on the outside in Zach’s neat handwriting. She’d recognize it anywhere. The ribbon holding the note to the rock gave way easily. She quickly read the note:
This is the only gift I can give you this Christmas. No matter how much you hate me, you have to live on and protect Ty when you get better.
Zachary
Chapter 3
If Zach had been in front of her right now, she would’ve beaten his ass and then shot him dead. Fury pulsed through her, forcing her to clench her fists. How dare he make such a decision for her? Her life was her own and how it ended was her choice.
Just looking at the tree twisted her stomach further into knots. It was the same plastic tree her parents had used. Not too tall and not too short. As hunters, her parents didn’t possess much. Living on the road was often necessary to keep her siblings safe from the inner-city werewolf gangs.
When they moved, Mom and Dad never left the tree behind. It was a tradition that was always kept to give them some sense of continuity and normalcy. Thanksgiving Day was optional. Why not have a turkey sandwich? Labour Day was just an excuse to sleep in. But Christmas was different and Zach had left this tree here to make his point crystal clear: leaving her with that werewolf had been his decision. Damn him to a burning hell with pools full of hemorrhoid-inducing fire.
She sucked in a few breaths and clutched her bag and the note until her fingers went numb. Her vision blurred with tears.
How could you, Z?
The chill in the air turned her exhalations into mist. Eventually, she released the note and let it drift away with the breeze. As much as she wanted to leave, many of these ornaments belonged to her, and her idiot brother had given them to the enemy. She stuffed what she could into the bag.
Then she walked south and didn’t look back.
***
Cyn’s lungs burned, but she hadn’t run a single mile yet. Keep going. Don’t stop. The mantra was all too familiar, especially when running was more advisable than fighting.
She kept going downhill along a snowy path. Patches of dead grass among the slushy snow made it easier for her to traverse. The light from the rising sun guided her to the southwest. She’d find Prince George if she didn’t give up.
As a child, she’d visited the city with her family during an endless road trip to Alaska from Seattle. The journey had been long and boring, but she remembered the mountains fondly. To the south was Longworth Peak and Fraser River. The clearest skies could be seen now along with the haze from the Aurora Borealis. This early in the morning, the dancing lights could be seen from miles away. But now wasn’t the time for sightseeing. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, that werewolf had done something to her. Each steady footstep in the snow told her as much. A few days ago, she had to be wheeled into the hospital as the lucky soul who got to have chemotherapy right before Christmas, a lottery ticket she’d wanted to refuse.
“We could always do your treatment after New Year’s,” her doc had suggested.
“I think that’s the best option, Cyn,” Zach had said.
She snorted as she focused on the tree line ahead. Her brother had been planning her capture the whole time. He’d known damn well she’d take the treatment. For a fighting chance at remission, she had to have it, even if she would’ve returned to her family very sick, forced to spend the holidays resting. Anger pulsed through her again, but she slowed down when a feather-light sensation brushed against the back of her neck, that tingling feeling when someone was trailing after you. Years of running away from her prey forced Cyn to listen to her body. That human instinct that alerted her to danger wasn’t something to be ignored.
Cyn kept her stride casual and her eyes forward. She couldn’t tell how many people were following her or how far they were behind her, but the one thing that was obvious was how difficult walking had become. The snow along the cliffs began to blow to the east. The skies to the west were still dark from the night, but instead of wasting away at the light from the rising sun, the darkened skies to the west grew more ominous.
She drew in a deep breath, cursing with each step. Guessing distances was a knack she was good at. You had to be when you tracked enemies who travelled quickly on foot. From where she stood to the nearest highway, which led to Prince George, had to be at least twenty miles. The path was nothing but forest. On a good day—when she was at her prime—twenty miles could be done at a steady run.
A chemo patient with an oncoming storm, and an unknown enemy on her tail, was another matter entirely. A breeze, cold and bitter, ruffled her coat and she shivered. Was the werewolf following her? Could she run if need be? How far would she make it? Only a fool would keep going under these odds. And her mother hadn’t raised one.
She turned around and saw that no one was behind her. Peering through the trees, she surmised that either she was alone or whoever trailed after her was damn good at hiding. Carefully, she made her way back toward the cabin. As much as she wanted to find Zach and keep him from doing something foolish, Cyn wasn’t in any condition to go all the way to Prince George and elude whoever was behind her.
Damn it. Damn it.
She shook her head and tried not to smile. At least Zach had been thorough with his plan—which showed he still owned a pair of balls. He’d left her isolated and with someone who had medical training of sorts. But what did that werewolf get for healing her? She wasn’t exactly wife material. Nobody did something like this for free. She’d yet to meet a humanitarian among their ranks.
She was getting closer to the cabin now. The house should’ve been dark, but the lights from the kitchen were on, as well as the living room. Snow was beginning to fall and the wind had picked up even more, whistling through the branches. She zipped up the coat even farther until a small hole for breathing was all she had.
Carefully, she approached the porch and peered through the window. No one was stirring in the living room. The Christmas tree was gone now. In the time since she’d left, he had taken it into the house and now the tree sat in one of the corners. All the ornaments she hadn’t taken had been arranged again. Not in the right spots, but they’d been hung with care.
So he’d been awake the entire time and he’d let her leave.
Why?
The chill in the air swept into the gap and coursed down her throat. She couldn’t stay out here like this. Heading inside to attack him was an option. She had a few ornaments in her bag. She could tackle him and throttle him to death with holiday cheer and broken glass. As much as she wanted to go in, she decided to go around the house to see if she could find a weapon like an axe. There wasn’t much. A tiny shed with a massive lock was right behind the house. The cold padlock was as big as her hand. Beyond that, the tre
es were hard to look past.
What she found fascinating was the lack of a generator and power lines. Where did the house draw power?
Her legs buckled, a warning that she’d been exposed for too long. Time to face him again. She walked through the front door; why bother trying to sneak in when her previous ninja-like attempt in leaving had failed?
The moment she opened the door, a cloud of warmth bathed her face. The fireplace at the other end of the room had been lit and the heat was welcomed. And the smells! Fresh hot soup and bread.
She could use some real food after walking. Sounds from the kitchen revealed the werewolf’s location. With caution, she left the coat on the sofa and she took a seat near the fire to warm her hands. The bag was in her lap, close by in case she had to make a quick decision.
“Did you have fun on your little hike?” the werewolf’s voice called out from the kitchen.
“It was...educational.”
“Do you want something to eat?”
Her first thought was no, but her stomach thought otherwise and growled.
“I’ll take that as a resounding yes.” He came out with two bowls of food and followed with drinks. She spotted wet footprints on the floor. So, he’d been her little tag-a-long. Quite a fast one.
“I don’t want your food.”
“Suit yourself.” He took a spot at the tiny table on the opposite side of the room. His stance was casual. He even placed warm bread and a knife on the table. The blade was large and he turned his back on her to go to the kitchen.
Did he really believe she was that harmless?
“How long have you been awake?” was what she asked instead.
“Long before you moved, I caught your intentions.”
Now that’s not good.
“You’re the noisiest hunter I’ve ever met,” he said.
“Oh, really?”
“You hit every floorboard between here and the door. Not to mention how you danced around the porch grabbing those ornaments.”
She rolled her eyes. Stupid werewolf hearing.
He sat down, and not long after his first slurp of soup, her body rebelled. Hunger sliced through her insides. In the past, she would have been so nauseated, she’d refused food, but now was different. The werewolf had done something to her, and whatever gift of energy he had given, she wasted it in her futile escape attempt, and now she was a husk.
While avoiding his gaze, she got up and took the only spot opposite him at the table. He continued to eat, not even looking at her. Even the bread and the knife had been left on her side of the table.
This had to be some kind of test. A hilarious one at that. No more than two feet separated them. All she’d have to do was grab the knife and aim for his chest. Maybe even dump the hot soup over his head for good measure.
“Your blood sugar is getting low,” he grumbled.
The hand that was supposed to stab him shook slightly. That was a bad sign. He pushed the glass of juice toward her. “Drink.” The command was firm.
She hesitated, tapping the tabletop with her fingertips. Giving an alpha control was never a good idea, but her body won out. The cool liquid slammed down her throat. The effect didn’t take long and, soon enough, a heady rush hit.
Next, he slid a pill across the table.
Oh, hell no. She laughed. “I’m not falling for that shit again.”
“You drank the juice, didn’t you?” His eyebrow rose.
Clever little soon-to-be dead wolf. Was there anything in the juice this time? Her fingers inched toward the knife. He left the pill next to the bread and continued to eat.
“Was there anything in the drink?” she asked.
“Cut me off a slice of bread, would you?”
He had massive balls. Even her other brother Ty never pulled that kind of shit.
She flipped the knife in one hand and slammed it down into the loaf. The table shook from the blow.
“Is that how hunters cut their food?” He hadn’t flinched, not so much as a twitch.
“You wish.” She took a bite of her food in a huff. “Hey, werewolf, how about a little Q&A?”
“There was nothing in the juice. Just pulp, orange juice, and water. You drank the last of what I had.” He reached for the bread and tore off a slice. “What more do you want to know that you haven’t learned already? You saw the Christmas tree. You can’t tell me you didn’t feel a little different post-chemo. What is there to know?”
Everything. “The reason. Zach sent me here to be healed, but c’mon, there’s no way a werewolf would agree to such a thing. Not from a hunter. I’ve heard the rumors. That an alpha without a mate would consider human women, especially the ones with incurable diseases. They turn them into werewolves to heal them.”
He shrugged. “Sounds about right.”
“Zach is like me. He has wanted for years to take down the gang who killed my parents, and now that I’m out of the way, no one can stop him from exacting his revenge.”
“So you think I fed him intel on how to find the gang?”
“You bet your hairy ass I believe that’s what happened.”
He sighed. “Would you ever believe that maybe he did it because he loves you? That he wanted you to live instead of finding your parents’ killer?”
A part of her believed that. During all the appointments—the ones she’d let him attend—he’d been her driver and supporter. But underneath it all, anger had begun to build in his blood. Before she’d gotten sick, a lead had surfaced to the gang’s location, only to disappear along with her health.
“Your face tells me you have doubts,” the werewolf said quietly. He tore off another piece of bread and placed it next to her bowl. Reluctantly, she took a sip of her soup and held back a sigh. So delicious! Just the right thickness for a beef stew.
He’d asked her if she had doubts. She was swimming in doubts galore. If what was happening was true, her brother had left her here to mate with a werewolf. The very idea made no sense. Did Zach think she’d agree to this? That she was that hard up she’d need to jump into the sack with this dude and mate with him? The guy did live out in the middle of nowhere, but it wasn’t because he was so ugly he’d have to wear a paper bag. If he’d been a human, the huntresses would be all over him, sizing him up as a future husband. But he wasn’t human. He was the enemy. And, unfortunately, a good-looking one at that.
Now that they weren’t in the dim bedroom, she tried to avoid taking him in. He had the kind of chin most men would envy, strong and assured. The T-shirt he wore did little to hide the firm muscles along his chest and arms. The light from the overhead lamp hit the top of his thick hair. Thick enough for a woman to grip while he kissed her. The delicious thought coursed through her and she slapped it away before her eyes went to his mouth.
Kissing, my ass.
She scraped the bottom of the bowl. How had she eaten the soup so fast? The bread was just as good. She tried to yank off a piece and failed. Even the bread had it in for her. She used the knife instead. When she handled the blade, he didn’t even look up.
“Whatever you’re hiding, I’m going to cut it out of you.” She played with the hilt. Still no reaction.
Then she stood, and he got up.
Now we’re talking. Instead of coming at her, he rushed to the windows.
Now that was unexpected.
“Oh, shit,” he breathed.
She followed him, seeing at just the right moment—not right in a good sense—as a wall of white rushed at the cabin and the cabin shook. In one moment, sunlight poured through the windows, and, in the next, snow and ice covered them.
Chapter 4
“Was that what I thought it was?” she asked in a quiet voice beside Kaden.
“Unfortunately.”
His hands formed fists and he took a deep breath. At his side, the hunter still held the knife, her gaze centered on the window and the blanket of white covering it.
Instead of standing there like a fool, he got to
work. When he’d first moved here, this had happened a couple of times. A great deal of snowfall high up in the mountains and a trigger often sent snowdrifts plunging toward the lower-lying areas. What he hadn’t anticipated was this happening again after he’d cleared most of the drifts over a week ago.
And what was he doing a week ago? Planning a kidnapping in exchange for the safety of his pack.
He stormed to the front door, only to find, when he pulled it open, another wall of white. He went from window to window. Through each room and the result was the same. Most of the time there was at least one free crack, a place where the house wasn’t covered.
“Hey, werewolf, you got a loft hatch?” she asked from behind him.
“I had plans for one someday, but it never happened. A cellar seemed more practical for food storage.” Right above them was the roof, nothing more. With the right tools, they could break through it if they had to. Too bad those tools were in the shed.
Her face had grown pale since she’d eaten.
“How claustrophobic are you?” he asked. He reached out to touch her, but stopped himself in time.
“Not at all. You wouldn’t believe the places I’ve had to hide to ambush my targets. I once hid in a garbage dumpster—”
“We’ll have to dig ourselves out. Or should I say, I’ll have to dig us out.”
“What about air?”
“We should be fine for a day or two, but we can’t have a fire.” He immediately put out the fire to conserve their oxygen.
She appeared calm now, taking the news far better than he’d expected. But he wasn’t worried about Cynthia as much as he was the people outside of his home who most likely had been hit by the same avalanche. He had to get out to check on them.
First things first. He gathered as many pans as he could from the kitchen cabinets. If she attacked him, he’d tie her to the bed if necessary. Instead, she hovered close, watching his progress. He returned to the doorway, scooping up as much snow as he could into the containers. A few of them he left near the fireplace to melt while he dumped the rest into the sink.
Windham Werewolves Page 2