by Lena Loneson
“They can fly down to Vancouver, and then across to Toronto and up from there. It will only take a few days.”
“A few days we don’t have, Cam!” She was raising her voice again. He was right, any minute now someone was going to hear them and report them. She glanced around the hall, trying to orient herself. Everything looked the same, a mix of maroon carpet and beige walls. “What room are we?”
“Fourteen-oh-six,” he said, pulling the room key from his duffle bag.
Noire squinted at the doors nearby. Fourteen-thirty-seven, fourteen-thirty-nine. They must have turned completely the wrong way. The next door was a stairwell. “Fuck it,” she said. “We need to finish this now.” She sprinted to the door, not giving him a chance to do anything but follow. When they were both inside, she let the door close behind them. The loud thunk echoed on all sides.
Noire turned to face him. “Look, if this creature is a bear—it’s November. I think I know why he’s going home. He’s getting ready to hibernate. If Page has a den and holes up in it for the winter, his tracks will be completely covered over the winter. We have no way of finding him again, unless he starts killing again. And then we’ll be way behind.”
“Noire—”
“And just how are you supposed to find him without me? I know the forests up there like the back of my hand. How much time have you spent in Ontario?”
“Not a lot,” he admitted.
“Exactly. What are you going to do, look it up on Google Maps? Doesn’t work like that in the park.” She knew that he realized this, but she thrust the phone at him on purpose, taking his duffle bag from the crook of his elbow as he struggled to hold them both.
He staggered and caught himself on the stair railing, then leaned back against it, taking a deep breath. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I can handle myself. I’m a crack shot, you know. I can trap. I can track. I can run. I can fight.” As she spoke, she unzipped his duffle. Aha—there they were! She pulled out the handcuffs, holding them behind her back. “I can do anything you need.” She made her voice low and sultry. It wasn’t a tone she was accustomed to using, so she hoped it worked. By the way his eyelids closed and he tilted his mouth toward hers, she knew it had.
And with that, she slipped one cuff around his wrist and slid the other around the stair railing and to his other arm, effectively trapping him.
“Shit,” he said. He looked so confused and flustered that Noire laughed. He mock-struggled against the cuffs. “How did you do that?”
She leaned in, pressing into him with her breasts. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe you were distracted.” She pushed her hips against his and felt his erection through her jeans. Perfect. She leaned in for a long, chaste kiss, no tongue, just pressing her lips against his. His mouth opened and he tried to return the kiss.
Noire suddenly pulled away.
“You’ll need a guide,” she said, keeping her voice quiet and seductive. She undid the top button on the sweater she wore, keeping her eyes on his. His own eyes drifted south to her neckline. She undid another button. “Admit it,” she said. “You can’t find the den on your own.” The sweater was nearly open now. She pulled the rest over her head, sliding her hands down her own nearly naked torso, across her flat stomach. His breathing was shallow and fast, and his eyes flickered from one piece of skin to the next, taking her all in. Noire let her muscles flex as she removed the sweater, showing him her strength. She was not a victim—she was not Fawn. She would survive, and he needed her.
Her bra was purple, a touch of femininity that Fawn had talked her into. Plain cotton, as she’d regretted earlier, but at least the panties matched. She undid the top button of her jeans, moaning slightly in anticipation, letting herself get into the act. She unzipped as slowly as she could, watching his eyes follow her movements, and she let her own gaze drift down to his crotch. His cock pressed against his black uniform pants, straining to escape. She felt powerful and strong, knowing it was her body turning him on. She let the jeans drop to the ground, then stood there for a moment in her bra and panties.
“Now,” Noire said, letting a hand rise to her breast, dipping inside her bra cup and playing with her own nipple. It was hard; she was just as turned on as he. Her other hand slid inside her lavender panties, slipping against the soft fabric. She parted her legs and felt the wetness between them. “If you’d like to see more of me, it’s very simple.”
“Is it?” he choked out. “I think I’d like that.”
“Sure,” she said. She slid her middle finger inside her cunt, groaning with pleasure. From the way Cam was straining at the handcuffs, and the way his glorious cock was straining at his pants, she thought they might be running out of time. “Just agree to let me be your guide.”
“My guide to pleasure?”
“That too. But you know what I mean.” She removed her hand from between her legs and walked forward. She held her fingers up to his mouth. He sucked her middle finger between his lips, licking her pussy juices from her hand. His tongue was warm and rough, like his voice. “All you have to do,” she said, “is tell me I can go with you to find Steven Page.” She pulled her finger out of his mouth.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he muttered. “This isn’t going to be fun. We’re going up against a known killer who can possibly change into any predator on Earth.”
“We?” Noire asked.
“I just think you’re letting your thirst for vengeance blind you to your own safety.”
“I’m not.”
“Can you promise me that? You won’t go off half-cocked on some revenge quest? You’ll help me find Page, but you’ll let me take him down?”
It was better than Noire had hoped for. “I promise,” she said. Her own breaths were coming faster now. She wanted him more than she knew how to handle.
“Then you can come with me.”
“So that’s settled. Let me uncuff you so we can finish our previous, mmm, discussion.” She reached down to do just that, when suddenly the Earth spun and she found herself with her back pressed flat against the wall. Campbell stood in front of her, one hand free and holding her shoulder to the wall, the other still cuffed to the stair railing. His free wrist had the remaining cuff wrapped around it, with the chain in between broken. It had happened faster than her ears could register the sound of metal snapping.
Noire knew she should be afraid, and her body did shiver—but it was arousal more than fear. Men didn’t normally intimidate her. She could haul a large buck back from a hunt as well as any man; she was not a small woman. But it seemed Cam had a strength that completely outmatched hers.
Unfortunately he didn’t look as turned on as she felt. His nostrils flared and his lips were drawn back. He spoke from between bared teeth, “This creature is dangerous. He’s not human. Do you understand that?”
“I’m not an idiot. He killed my sister. Do you understand that I saw her in the morgue, her body covered by a sheet? They didn’t show me her toe-tag but I’m sure there was one. I get that he’s dangerous. I want to make sure he doesn’t do this to another vulnerable young woman.”
“And I want to make sure he doesn’t do it to you.”
“Maybe I’m not a cop or a werewolf, but I’m not helpless, Cam. I’ve taken down a black bear at full strength with a shotgun. I’ve rescued a six-year-old boy from white water in the middle of a thunderstorm. I’ve given talks about conservation to rooms full of hundreds of teenagers. I do not intimidate or impress easily, Constable Dawson.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Would you like me to let you out of the second cuff now, or do you have another demonstration you’d like to make?”
“So I did impress you?” he asked. His smile echoed that of a young pup with a new bone.
“It will take more than a little bit of physical strength to impress me. A quick snap of the cuffs is one thing, but do you have endurance?” The double entendre was intentional. Noire realized she l
iked flirting with him this way—with absolutely no subtlety. It was refreshing and, well, easy.
She leaned down to uncuff Cam herself. Before she could, he broke out of the final cuff himself. His strong arms picked her up and carried her from the stairwell, down the hallway across thick carpet, moving confidently now. Apparently he’d known their whereabouts all along. Noire hung in the air, blood rushing to her head and making her giddy. Anyone could open their door at any moment and catch them, Noire wearing only that matching set of lingerie. She made a mental note to go back to the stairwell for her clothing later.
He balanced her on one shoulder as he slid a card into the door lock, and when they entered the room, he placed her carefully on the bed, leaning over her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth and kissing her long, deep and hard. Noire kissing him back, her lips bruising. Her tongue explored every part of his mouth that she could find, wanting to possess all of him. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his red uniform and he had to help her remove it. The skin beneath was just as hot as the rest of him. His muscles rippled beneath her fingers, beneath his mouth. All she could hear was their breathing as she removed his pants.
His body pressed down on her, heavy, hard and hot. Every inch of her skin was afire with his heat. Strong hands combed through her hair, undoing her braid, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He was solid and firm on top of her. He barely fit on the bed, he was so long. His fingers slid across her skin, skimming the surface, leaving her wanting more. She watched his gray eyes drift downward, toward her bra again. The size and the strength of him was more a turn-on than any man she’d met before. And the way he had looked at her in the stairwell—she felt delicate and feminine for the first time since she’d grown a foot during puberty.
When he tugged her panties off, finally, and pressed his cock between her legs, she felt ready to come right then. The head of his cock was velvet-soft against her, such a contrast to the strength in the rest of him. It teased at the opening to her cunt and she grabbed at him, pulling him inside her, fingernails digging into his ass. She shifted her hips, thrusting forward, and yes, there it was—he hit the center of her just so. She kept her hands on his ass, holding him tight for a moment, savoring the complete fullness before they began to move together again.
Noire had never been one for the missionary position, preferring the angle she could get from doggie style or the control she felt on top. But there was something about the weight of him pressing her into the bed that hit her in all the right places tonight. The tan skin of his biceps glistened with sweat, and her own dark curls were plastered to her forehead. She made a cavalier attempt to blow the hair out of her eyes flirtatiously and failed. He chuckled and with a tenderness that shocked her, brushed the hair from her face with his hand before leaning down to place a soft kiss on her lips.
Moaning, she opened her mouth and sucked his tongue inside, kissing him hard. He grunted and acquiesced, stroking her tongue with his own. She wanted him inside her in all ways possible—his cock, his tongue, his emotions. She met his eyes with hers and dared him to break contact. The air was heavy with sweat and for a moment Noire could hear everything—her gasping breath as they kissed, the syncopated thumpa-thump of his heartbeat, the whirring of the hotel furnace, the distant late-night street traffic fourteen stories below. She blinked first. He grinned.
He thrust into her again and again, moving agonizingly slowly. She clenched at his cock from inside and watched his eyes, staring at the black pools of his pupils surrounded by clouds before a storm. That’s what his eyes were: tempestuous. Stormy. She knew she was affecting him, but nothing changed in his pace, only his eyes. Stormy, with a kind of sunshine—she could swear his eyes were laughing at her. He knew he was in charge now.
She raked her nails from his ass up his back, knowing he’d heal by morning—shifters always healed quickly. He was gentler with her, catching her mouth again in a kiss as he thrust into her one last time, moaning into her mouth as he came.
When he pulled out of her, she was still hungry for more. He laid a trail of kisses down her neck, across her breasts, stomach and farther down. When he thrust his tongue deep inside her cunt, it felt warmer even than his cock, and she came right then. He sucked hard between her legs, lapping up every last drop of her pleasure. When her moans subsided, he kissed her once, then cradled her against him.
As she drifted off to sleep, Noire began to dream of large men, howling wolves and her sister’s wide eyes. She thought about the promise she’d made to Cam, and then made a new one to herself: If it comes down to my life or catching Fawn’s murderer, I know which one I’m going to pick. I won’t let you down this time, Fawn. Not this time.
Chapter Six
They left early the next morning, heading north in Cam’s jeep rental. A call to Detective Wahid, the woman Noire had met on Ward’s Island, brought news—Steve Page had purchased a sizeable amount of camping supplies the day before, including a new set of hunting knives, fire-starters, water bladders and protein bars. Clearly, he was planning on a long, potentially hard, journey. This gave credence to Noire’s theory that Page was returning to Algonquin Park and his potential den to hibernate for the winter.
They drove north, through the skyscrapers of Toronto, continuing past suburbia, farmlands, and then finally at Burleigh Falls the great limestone rocks of the Canadian Shield rose up on either side of Highway 28. Here, the highway had been cut into the stone. Unlike in the city, where the occasional lone tree seemed like an intruder between buildings, now their car was the one that didn’t belong. They were nearly three hours into their journey, almost halfway to the park. Rocks and pines towered over them, and for the first time since last night’s orgasm, Noire began to relax.
She saw a similar awareness come into Cam’s posture, and she wondered what it was like in his mind. Did he think of himself as a wolf trapped in a car, yearning to run over the rocky terrain? How did it feel? Noire had always been a little jealous of Fawn’s shifting abilities, though she never could have seen herself as a deer. Too skittish, too passive, too…gentle. Perhaps Noire was more of a wolf.
At one point, to pass the time, they turned on the radio and sang along to the Tragically Hip. Later, they shared stories. As he drove, Cam told her of growing up as a young pup among a large family of cousins in the forests in British Columbia, just north of Prince George where he worked now.
“We would run for days sometimes,” he said. “Even before I reached puberty and could turn into a wolf. We’d just run and run, some in wolf form, the rest of us human, our feet tough as moccasins with calluses.”
As he spoke, he kept one hand on her thigh. She was preternaturally aware of the warmth of him, of his presence beside her in the car. She napped and when she awoke, his hand was still on there. She drifted in and out of sleep for the rest of the ride, comforted by his presence beside her. I could definitely get used to this, she thought. The life of a park warden was fairly solitary, and with Fawn now dead, she had no family left. Noire wanted a large family and had always looked forward to raising her children the way she had been raised—to know the woods inside out, and to be capable and able to survive anything, the way she was. She’d almost given up on the idea, as there weren’t many men who shared her lifestyle.
She shook the daydreams from her mind as they arrived at the beginning of Algonquin Provincial Park. As Cam continued to drive down a winding path into the park, Noire pressed her face against the passenger window, thrilled to be home. Her eyes took in the towering pines and the few remaining spots of orange and yellow as the deciduous trees lost the last of their leaves. She rolled down the car window and inhaled the scent of home—a heady combination of pine, moss and fresh air. They drove past a sign that noted a popular deer crossing, warning motorists to slow and keep an eye out for wild animals on the road.
She couldn’t stop smiling. God, she loved this place. Noire tossed a quick glance at Cam and saw he shared her pleasure in finally arriving
at the wilderness. They made eye contact and grinned at each other before he turned back to the wheel.
Cam and Noire stopped at Noire’s cabin for supplies, knowing they might have to hike the forest interior for several days. It was a small wooden building that had running water and electricity, but that was the end of the creature comforts provided. The main room was decorated much like a hunting cabin, all in shades of wood brown and moss green, but without any trophies hanging on the wall. While Noire did hunt, stuffed moose and deer heads had always bothered Fawn, so she kept no reminders of what she’d killed—simply ate the meat, and shared the hide with local Natives who turned them into moccasins or clothing for themselves, or to sell to tourists. At this southern edge of the park, there were quite a few small gift shops run by locals.
Noire and Cam each took a shower, knowing this might be their last chance for hot water. Noire re-loaded her pack with supplies, including maps, a tent and a large amount of ammunition. She tossed two shotguns in the trunk of the rental car; they would be able to drive a bit farther before heading out on foot or canoe.
She knew Cam’s plan was to fight their enemy as a wolf, though he hadn’t said as much. They were on the same page as far as Page’s fate—they wanted him dead, not in jail. For Cam, the issue was exposure—the fewer people who knew about shapeshifters, the better. And if they were right about the possibility of their enemy being a skinwalker, it was possible a prison wouldn’t hold him. A smart skinwalker would find a way to smuggle in the pelt of a small animal like a squirrel or bird, and simply slip out of the cell.
Noire didn’t care about practicalities—as long as he was dead at the end of their trip, she would be happy. She agreed that the best way to do it was to have Cam fight him. A wolf kill was much less traceable than a bullet, and they wouldn’t have to explain anything to local authorities or the detective team from Toronto. Still, it would be foolish not to pack her own weapons, since they didn’t know which pelts Page had obtained or how dangerous they might be. She added a knife to her belt as well. Better safe than sorry.