by Lena Loneson
They seated themselves, moving gracefully in unison. The canoe tipped side to side lightly and Noire pushed off from the side of the lake bed. They each picked up a paddle and began to move through the water, Noire at the back steering, Cam at the front providing powerful strokes. It was rare to find a paddling companion who felt this natural. Noire wondered if it was an echo of the psychic communication between them that had happened the night before when she’d felt his change. Possibly, they just worked well together.
After a few hours of paddling and talking, they settled into the rhythm and Noire zoned out. She watched him paddle, the sinews in his arms standing out as he strained to keep them steady. Her own arms felt heavier than they did after her first day of shotgun training at age eight. She signaled to Cam to switch hands again. “Hang on a minute, we need to rest,” he said, resting his paddle across the top of the canoe.
“No, we don’t.”
“You look exhausted.”
“Well, looks can be deceiving.” She continued to paddle as he watched her, not making a move of his own to reach for the remaining paddle.
“On your own you’re just going to steer us in circles.”
“So help me. We don’t have time for a rest. If Page settles into his den before winter, if the snow falls or we even get a rainstorm, his tracks will be lost for good. We won’t be able to start looking for him again until spring. What chance do you think we’ll have then?”
He gripped her paddle with his hands, holding tight so she couldn’t continue. “We have to rest, Noire. We’ll never make it if you keep going like this.” He took the paddle from her and then moved closer, running his hands up her arms, pulling her closer.
“We took a rest last night. That’s when the bird attacked—it knew we weren’t paying attention.”
“We won’t sleep this time.” He leaned in to kiss her.
“This is a mistake. It was a mistake to get involved with you at all, Cam, I’m sorry—but that bird could have killed us if he had wanted to. He could have ripped our throats out and then how many more people would die? Do you think the Toronto Police Department is really considering a skinwalker from Algonquin as one of their suspects? What are the chances of catching this asshole without us?”
“We’re going after him, sweetheart. But your arms are shaking and mine aren’t much better. We can’t paddle all day without stopping.”
She gave in and let him place both paddles at the bottom of the canoe. Looking around, she could still see land to the west and east of them, proud Algonquin pines stretching for acres past the lake. Behind them, however, the land was long gone. They’d been paddling for hours. And in front of them, there seemed to be only more water.
They shared what was left of their purified water and filled up the bladder from the lake. Noire added tiny white pills to kill off any harmful bacteria.
“Fawn never needed these,” she observed. “Anything she caught she could just shrug off with a quick change to deer form and back.”
“It’s the same with me,” Cam said.
They grew quiet. She tried to think of something else to say, but she felt awkward and strangely alone. The trashed campsite this morning had really shaken her, and for the first time she realized that one of them might not make it back from the trip. If she had to choose, it would be her, but she was scared that the choice would be Page’s and not hers. Cam tried to engage her in conversation but it faltered and she tried to hold her emotions together. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t be falling for him—they’d just met!
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Nothing important.”
“Come on,” he said. “That little psychic trick of yours goes both ways. I can tell you’re upset. What is it?”
“It’s silly. I was just thinking how close I felt to you, and was admonishing myself for it.”
“Why?”
“Well, for one thing, we just met. For another, we’re on a case, my sister is dead, and you live on the opposite side of the country.” When she said it out loud, it really did seem ridiculous that she had considered a relationship with him.
“Hmm,” he said, seeming to consider her words. “I suppose that all makes sense. But I would prefer not to throw away something potentially great because of fear. Why fuck it up before it even starts?”
“And do what, exactly, after we’re done here?”
“I don’t know.”
“I can’t move to B.C. This is my home. It’s my soul, and I’m not giving up a piece of that, no matter what. Not like my sister did. Not for a career and not for a man. Not unless you can promise me something serious, which you can’t.”
“Why can’t I, exactly?” He moved closer to her. They floated now, paddles resting in the bottom of the canoe, forgotten. She was very conscious of his body, of the smell of him, the sheen of sweat on his forehead and under his shirt from the strain of paddling for so long. “What if I could?” he asked.
She tilted her head and studied his face. His gray eyes were thoughtful. Possessiveness stirred behind them, his desire to call her his. She didn’t know whether that was his wolf speaking or the man. While the wolf had curled up on her lap last night and kept her close, the man had been distant all day. Was that her fault, or his choice?
She wondered what it would take for her to continue this partnership when they left the woods. But she knew—an admission of what he felt for her. I love you. It was within him, but his mouth never moved to speak the words. It swirled beneath the surface as her own words did.
She leaned forward and kissed him. Their tongues met hot and fast in a duel to say silently with their mouths what neither of them could say out loud. His hands wrapped in her hair, fingers sinking between strands of the braid, pulling her close.
She moaned into him and the canoe tipped to the left, nearly sinking them. Cam used an arm to steady the canoe and leaned to the right, rebalancing their weight.
“This isn’t a great idea,” he said.
“I think it is,” she replied. “You don’t want to?”
“I do,” he said, and the heat in his gaze told her he was speaking the truth. He wet his bottom lip with the tongue that had driven her crazy only yesterday. It felt as if it had been weeks since she’d touched him, and she wanted nothing more than to taste the sweat currently running down his neck. Then she saw his forehead wrinkle in frustration. “But if we tip over that’s one change of clothes gone already. We have no idea what’s going to be waiting for us when we make it to the bear’s den. We have no real proof there is even a den. We could be out here for days, weeks, and if we tip now—I can dry off as a wolf, but you’ll freeze.”
She smiled and licked her own bottom lip. “So I guess we’ll just have to be extra-careful that we don’t tip.”
Noire moved forward again, being careful to keep her weight in the center of the canoe. She placed a hand on his chest and pressed him back into the canoe until he lay down. For a moment she watched him—his gray eyes searching her body hungrily, the bluish highlights in his hair that shimmered under the sun, the way his shirt clung to his stomach with sweat.
She placed her body on top of his, measuring the length of him. Their mouths found each other instinctively, with neither starting the kiss. Through his mind she could taste her own lips, and she could smell her own hair. She reminded him of home, of moss and pine trees and a slight taste of pumpkin, everything autumn.
His hands fumbled with the buttons at the waist of her hiking pants. They didn’t break the kiss and the canoe rocked side to side wildly as he lifted her up and slid the pants down her legs until she was free of them. She held out a hand on each side of the canoe, slowing the tilting until it remained still, then moved her mouth to his. For a moment they kissed, wanting nothing more than to share the moment and each other’s desire.
Then something broke inside her and Noire wanted to taste every part of him. She whispered in his ear, “Keep still,”
and nipped down the side of his neck. He moaned as she continued downward, pulling up his shirt so she could run small kisses down the trail of hair beneath his navel. In the distance, they heard the mournful call of a loon, and though she knew the loon was one of Page’s pelts, she didn’t care. Dipping her tongue into Cam’s navel, she listened as his breath quickened. His fingers teased at the black hair between her legs. One of his firm hands was wrapped tightly in her hair, and he pulled her up to kiss his mouth again, murmuring against her lips, “I want to be inside you, now.”
She freed his cock from his pants and, holding the sides of the canoe carefully, lowered herself onto him, straddling him. “Hold the boat,” she said breathlessly. He nodded and took hold of each side of the canoe, balancing it as she moved. He slid inside her cunt perfectly, filling her completely. She never felt warmer than when his cock was buried deep inside her. Their voices mixed together, gasping and wild, as they fucked on the glassy water of the lake.
Just as Noire thought she was about to come, Cam grasped her around the waist and lifted her. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and he moved them both so she was now at the bottom of the canoe, on her back. The boat rocked furiously and water splashed over the side. Noire felt drops of it on her face, so cold in contrast to her own lust. Cam was on top of her now, thrusting into her again and again. At the same time, she was Cam, on top, straining to hold himself together until Noire was close to orgasm. They came together, both shouting out to the lake and the birds, each lost in the other’s passion.
After a short rest, they dressed and began paddling again. Noire was more out of breath than she had been before their “break”, but she was also more content. “Is that normal?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Us—feeling each other orgasm.”
He looked surprised. “No, of course not. I’ve never felt that before. I’ve heard it’s normal between two shifters, but I haven’t experienced it.”
“You’ve never slept with another werewolf?”
“No. Sex within a pack brings too much drama. Not worth it, trust me.”
She had to smile at that. Noire was glad to hear that her issues still made her less drama than the competition. “It’s the first time I’ve noticed it too. Well, during sex, I mean. I felt you the moment you snuck up on me at the ferry, only I didn’t know what it was then. Guess it must be the half-shifter blood. The first time we had sex, in your hotel room, was when I really noticed it.”
“If that’s what sex with another shifter is like, I’m not going back to regular humans,” he said.
“But I’m not a shifter.”
“You’re pretty close to it.”
“Still.” She turned her head from him, not wanting to see his face. She concentrated hard on her paddling, telling herself it was just because she wanted maximum stroke efficiency. “It’s not the same, is it? This morning, when we saw what Page had done to our campsite, you were worried about me.”
“Of course I was.”
“No, you were worried about protecting me. I’m not an equal to you, am I? Because I’m not a werewolf, I never will be.”
“So what? Why should that matter? We’re different, that’s all.” He was getting frustrated with her, but Noire couldn’t stop herself from speaking. It seemed to be a bad habit of hers.
“I can sense it in you. I could with Fawn too—her yearning to be an actress, her curiosity about the city, her skittishness and fear when she arrived there for the first time alone. I could read her feelings as if I were reading the trails of a young deer venturing into a clearing in the trees. With her, she was chasing a dream, only to find the rifle of a hunter at the end of it. And even if he missed she would be back, a week later, that same skittish deer in that same sunny clearing, because you can’t kill her curiosity and she never learns from it. That’s what killed my sister, as much as any monster did.
“But you’re not a deer,” she continued. “You’re a wolf. Through and through. I could sense you dominating the other detectives on Ward’s Island, working your alpha male tricks, and I can sense you missing your pack so dearly it’s like you’re howling at your moon. Then I can sense you, the wolf you, turn your attention to me, looking for a mate, protecting me like a mate.”
“I’ll always want to protect you, Noire. Even if you were the most powerful woman on the planet, I would still want to keep you safe.”
“But I’m not your mate.”
“No. Maybe I’d like it if you were some day. The wolf wants you now, but the human can wait until you’re ready. And I hope you will be. Your sister wasn’t a deer completely, though, was she? You could feel her deer side, that part of her that was curious but terrified of the world.”
Noire nodded, confused at where he was heading with this.
“But what kept her in the city, then, if she felt alone and scared?”
Noire replied, “Fawn always said she wanted to be an actress more than anything. And you can’t do that from the inner reaches of the forest.”
“Fawn always said—you mean, you talked to her about it.”
“Yes.”
“So you couldn’t feel it.”
Noire furrowed her brow. She realized he was right. She could picture her sister’s wide brown eyes hidden beneath a fringe of brown hair, like a deer peering out from the foliage. She could almost taste her sister’s fear, and it had churned like a whirlpool inside Noire when she first set eyes on Fawn’s body. But she had never understood the human side of Fawn, the part that persisted in staying in Toronto, following a dream long after she should have woken from sleep.
Cam’s gray eyes searched her face. His face was so serious. She took one hand off her paddle and ran a thumb along his lower lip and managed a small smile, showing him that she was going to be okay. Maybe.
“So what you’re saying,” Noire said, “is that just like my sister wasn’t completely a deer, you aren’t completely a wolf?”
“Exactly. My wolf may want to run home to my pack and celebrate that I’ve found a mate, and my wolf may want to drag you back there with me. But my human side—and I am shaped like a human most of the time, you’ll notice—is willing to wait until you’re ready. And he’s willing to start a new pack, wherever his mate wants to live.”
Chapter Eight
They stored the canoe on the northernmost bank of the lake and continued on foot. They weren’t sure where they were going but knew the bear had to be close. Noire noticed the sounds of the forest had almost completely disappeared. While the slight wind still shushed through the trees, it was accompanied by no bird song, and no squirrels or mice darted at their feet. They headed for a series of caves that Noire had heard about, but had never visited. They walked for over an hour in the eerie quiet, until Cam paused and said he’d caught a strange scent.
He motioned her to be quiet, and leaned in to whisper in her ear, “It’s him.”
“Are you sure?” she mouthed back.
“Either that or we’ve got more than one of them. Let’s hope it’s Page.”
Emboldened now by knowing they were on the right track, they began to jog. Cam took Noire’s pack, shouldering the burden so she wouldn’t fall behind.
They lost Page’s scent at a fork in the path. Cam held up a hand, asking Noire to pause, while he hunched over slightly and inhaled. Noire tried it herself, but the spruce trees towering around them were the only thing she could smell.
Once they had smelled like home, the sticky sweet sap, but now she saw the never-ending forest as an obstacle to finding the monster that killed her sister.
They would find him. And then he would pay.
She caught Cam looking at her with concern. He reached out a hand to touch her face, attempting to comfort her, but Noire moved out of the way. Fucking him these past few days had been amazing, but now they were too close. She couldn’t give in to her desires. When the bear was dead, she would take him every which way she pleased.
To
distract herself, she took another deep breath, ignoring the scent this time, and thought of how she’d track a non-supernatural animal. Sharpening her focus, she peered into the underbrush of the forest around her—looking for broken-off branches, slightly trampled weeds and any softer moss or mud that might retain prints.
“This way,” Cam said, pointing. He turned to head into the brush.
“Wait,” Noire said. When he stopped, she clasped his hand in hers. “Why that way?”
“I can smell him down here. It’s strong.”
Noire took an experimental sniff and couldn’t smell anything; but then, she didn’t expect to. She believed him though, trusted absolutely in his abilities. But…
“Cam, there’s some vegetation broken down this way too,” Noire said as she gestured to the northwest. “Can you smell anything here?”
The werewolf furrowed his brow thoughtfully, and she saw his nostrils flaring again. “Just a little. Very faint, compared to the other trail.”
“Ah, guess you were right then,” she said, though it went against her intuition. She frowned.
He reached out and touched that frown, pressing into her lips. She deftly bit down on his finger, a puppy’s love nip, eager to get going.
“Nope,” he said. “You were right.” Campbell breathed in deeply, and Noire’s gaze caught on the rise and fall of his powerful chest. “It’s urine,” he declared. She must have looked confused, because he smiled playfully, baring his teeth like a wolf. “He walked that way awhile and then marked a tree with his piss. Then he retraced his steps and headed back, and continued on the trail you found—northwest. He thought the strong scent eastward would throw me off, but you outsmarted him.”
He leaned in and kissed her, just once, quick and hard.
“Lead the way,” he said.
She turned and started off after the northwest trail, then paused.
“What is it?”
“I figured you out,” she said. “You just want me to go first so you can look at my ass.”