by T. S. Joyce
As I rode along, the houses changed from the upscale mansions with gables and stretching porches on pillars with perfectly manicured yards and winter rose gardens, to modest homes where small families worked their fingers to the bone to survive.
I lived beyond that.
When I’d ridden into town, I’d tracked down a room above a shop where the rent was cheap and the neighbors rowdy. Flickering oil lanterns on posts tossed shadows over the filthy streets and drunkards who lay passed out in shallow alleyways. And down the street from my temporary home was a brothel. Kristina never told me the name of her previous home, but I liked to imagine it was here, just a few buildings down from where I slept at night. Even if it was out of my way, I always rode an extra street to turn around and pass by the brothel after work at night. There was always a raucous crowd of drinkers, and the piano played at an almost constant volume, and it gave me comfort to envision being close to a place she’d touched.
One day. I frowned and rubbed warmth back into my cheeks with the palm of my hand as I passed the brothel. One day to plan what I’d wanted to accomplish for months. Avenging her torment had been the only thing to keep me focused on anything other than the gut wrenching agony that tore at me whenever I gave my loss a voice. A sliver of fear snaked through me. What if I accomplished my task, and all that was left was the heartache? What if I could never be happy again?
After handing the reins over to an underfed stable boy, I climbed the rickety stairs and opened the door to my cage. The room was small, simple, and square as many cages are. It smelled of wood rot and I could never quite get the feel of filthy moisture off my skin no matter how hard I scrubbed. A small, bug infested bed took up the corner under the window and a wooden chest rested against the foot of it, just waiting to be opened. Tonight was its lucky night.
The lid whined as I lifted it and when all of the clothes from my old life were laid across the bed, I touched the leather of my holster with a sense of relief that covered me like a warm blanket.
Finally, I’d feel like myself again.
Only after my pistols were belted to my hips where they belonged did the gravity of what I’d do become real.
Whatever happened tomorrow, I was either leaving this world or leaving this town.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Luke
That rat, Barron French, had lied.
The jingle of my spurs was the only noise in the still, snow dusted woods. Miles from any trace of civilization, he’d sworn on his unborn child’s soul that Evelynn French was escaping the city by way of back road tonight, but so far, the only ones in these woods were me and the McCalls.
Lennard McCall, father of the pack of ruffians, spat. “They ain’t coming, are they?”
Curses of disappointment sang out from the brothers behind us but as a low whistle sang out, the woods grew silent again.
“That’d be Eustis,” Lenard said with a gap toothed grin.
“I don’t have a mind to kill a woman, no matter what she’s done,” I said for the fifth time. “Scare her and be thorough about it but let her live.”
Lennard stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders. “You heard him boys. Unless Mr. Dawson here tells you, don’t kill her. It’s his hunt. We’re just here for the chase.”
The stagecoach that floated through the trees was as black as pitch but even from where I stood, bright pink silk like the first streaks in a morning sky pulsated from within. A high falutin’ coach for a high falutin’ lady.
With a wary ear on the woods, my skin prickled with goose flesh. If this was a trap, it’d be set any moment now. Instead, the coach pulled closer still until I stood in the road and pointed my Peace Maker at the driver.
“Whoa,” he told the four horse team.
“One of two things is going to happen tonight,” I said loud enough for him to hear over the rearing, prancing team. “One, you’re going to try and be heroic for a woman that don’t deserve it and you’ll die. Or two, you can drop Mrs. French and take the stagecoach, and your life, back to town without a word of what went on here tonight.”
The man lifted his arms slowly into the air. “Please, sir. I work for Barron. I knew you was going to be on this road tonight.”
I followed him with my pistol as he climbed down and opened the door to the coach. “I’m sorry, Miss,” he mumbled before pulling her bodily from the back.
I’d be damned. Barron French really gave over his own mother.
“I demand to know the meaning of this!” she shrieked.
“Ms. French?” I asked.
“Who wants to know?”
I’d seen black and white photographs of her plastered all over the paper so her acknowledgement meant little. It was her all right.
“Luke Dawson,” I answered.
The set of her mouth drooped into a grim line. She fluttered her hands helplessly as the carriage turned and escaped the way it had come. She was a statuesque woman with a railroad tie posture that said she’d been well-bred and well-kept. Her face was covered in the deep wrinkles of one who’d frowned much more than smiled in life. Her eyes were so dark you couldn’t tell where her pupil ended and she had the nose of a great eagle. Not the noble kind, but the kind that dined on the carcasses of the weak. Her dress was a deep red to match the tiny hat pinned to her dark curls, and the first signs of gray showed at her temples.
I could smell her fear and my wolf bathed in it.
“You remember Kristina Yeaton?”
“Oh,” she said with a clucking sound against her tongue. “Don’t tell me you’re the poor sod who’s fallen for the little whore. You’ve killed one of my men, and scared another into worthlessness and for what? A little trollop not worth her weight in pig shit.”
A snarl ripped from my chest as, for the first time in months, I didn’t push the wolf down. “Here’s how this is going to go, Ms. French. I’m a man of honor and I don’t like the idea of hurting women, so I’ll give you…what do you think boys? A ten minute head start?”
The grumble of agreement sounded from behind me.
I pointed east. “Chicago’s that way. Now run for your life before I let my dogs loose on you.”
“I see no dogs.”
Lennard stripped off his shirt to expose a chest full of mutilating scars. “You will,” he said in a voice not entirely human. Glowing eyes of a demon never left their quarry.
The brothers had already dropped to all fours and the crunching of bones could be heard over the whispering wind of the woods.
Evelynn stood still as a stone with wide, frightened eyes.
“I’d run now,” I advised.
She picked up her skirts and bolted in the direction I’d pointed and I leaned against the nearest tree to wait for the McCalls to make their change. Her panicked panting echoed off the forest and had the animal inside me howling to be released. I winced and doubled over as it ripped me up from the inside out. Staying human was imperative. I needed to finish this.
The McCall boys’ wolves were a myriad of colors. One was black, another gray, one a brownish red, and two were white. I hadn’t a guess what color Eustis was, but somewhere in these woods, he was changing to join the hunt. One by one they recovered and charged forward with excited yips. When the last one was done, I pulled my horse from the trees and kicked him into a run.
The fresh trail the pack left was pungent and mixed with Evelynn’s own scent. If I hadn’t my nose, I’d have an easy enough time seeing their newborn tracks against the thin layer of snow. She’d made it about a mile when the howls broke the silence of the forest.
True to their word, the McCalls hadn’t mauled her, but it was close. She was pinned against a great oak and inch by inch, the wolves came closer as if their human sides were slowly losing the battle to their bloodlust. The snarling snapping predators lashed out at her ankles as she scurried closer to the tree. Out of the dark I came, walking between two wolves without an ounce of fear, only knowledge that it would be done soon. I knew
what my eyes looked like to her as she stifled a scream at my approach. They weren’t human eyes anymore, but there was little to be done about that. She was meant to see her doom before I released her.
Wrapping my hand around her neck, I pushed my hat out of my face so she could see how badly she’d underestimated me. Her face morphed from frozen fear to grim acceptance. And then the corner of her mouth curled up.
“You’re dead and you don’t even know it yet,” she whispered through rasping breath.
The hairs rose on the back of my neck and a growl sounded long and low from my chest. “Why were you fleeing Chicago?”
“I was running from you. I got your message that you’d kill me if I came after you. I knew you’d make good on it.”
I slid my knife out of its leather sheath and pressed it against her neck until her pasty flesh dripped red. “Speak English.”
“I always know my opponents, Mr. Dawson. It wasn’t hard to figure out what you were. Even after you kill me, I’ll still have my revenge. Your entire bloodline will burn for you protecting that little whore from my reach.”
I pressed harder on the knife and she gasped before a bone chilling cackle left her mouth. “I’ve sent Hell Hunters to your home, Mr. Dawson. They left on the train yesterday. As we speak they’re headed to Colorado Springs to burn your home and hang your family.”
I shook my head in denial of the vial thing she said. “Jeremiah can take care of himself.” I said it to sooth myself as much as to deny the woman her treachery.
“Maybe. But can your whore?”
“No. She left months ago. I let her go. She’s not there anymore.”
I’d never seen a more satisfied look on any human being’s face than the one that settled on Evelynn French. “That’s not what my spies tell me.”
“No!” I yelled, standing up.
My body went numb, like I’d been covered in snow for too long. I knew all about Hell Hunters and what they did to families accused of being supernatural. Women and children burned alive in their beds while men, good men, were dragged to the nearest tree and hanged for what they were.
And Evelynn had sent a hoard of them for my home.
I’d never seen true evil before, but standing here, with her laughter filling every thought, I knew the Hell Hunters were hunting the wrong kind of villain. Tears of happiness filled her eyes as I stood there looking down on her, and her crowing stretched on and on.
“Kill her,” I said and the laughter turned to screams as I ran for my horse.
Telegram would be the fastest way to reach them but what could I say that wouldn’t tip off the town what we were? Winter months meant long stretches of time where the roads were inaccessible. How could I be sure Jeremiah would even make it to town to receive the telegram before the Hell Hunters were in his backyard? If there was a chance for me to catch up, it wouldn’t be by rail. Not from a day behind them. The trains made stops in every town to load and unload, and I needed that time to reach home.
It would be close but it was doable.
I had days of travel ahead of me and though my horse was fresh, he wouldn’t last forever. Not at the speed I needed him to.
“Hyah!” I yelled as I hunched down against the saddle. I’d try to spare his life, but I’d have to trade horses in the small towns I came across.
The wind wailed against the exposed skin of my face. You’re too late, it sang. Too late, too late. Too late to save them.
Kristina had waited for me. She’d waited all these months for me to return, and I’d left her unprotected. I’d left my brother without a pack to fight the ones hunting him. Faster, my wolf pushed, as we flew through the woods.
Branches and trees sailed by as the full moon lit our way and soft, powdery snow flew up around my horse’s thundering hooves.
Hold on, Kristina. I’m coming.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kristina
I couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t the feeling of drowning, but rather of having run a great distance without rest. Tree branches whipped at my face, and though warmth trickled down my cheeks, there wasn’t any pain. A scream was lodged deep in my throat but when I opened my mouth to release my fear, I wasn’t able to make a sound. A wolf chased me, snapping at my heels and snarling. I fell, and in terror I looked into the eyes of my murderer. Hold on Kristina. I’m coming.
I sat up to the crack of a gunshot and gasped. Cold sweat trickled between my breasts as I kicked free from the heavy blankets that’d ensnared me. I couldn’t remember the dream but it had to have been a bad one to wake up like this.
Another gunshot echoed across the clearing.
“Hells bells,” I grumbled, lunging for my warmest dress. The laces weren’t even done up by the time I was running out the door, hopping on one foot as I pulled my other shoe on.
The snow was up to the middle of my calf and I trudged through it, half hopping with experience. Jeremiah’s horse skittered constantly as he shot at the full grown black bear that was raiding our smoke house. Trudging faster, I took my shot as the bear turned for Jeremiah. Holding the pistol as steady as I could manage in the howling wind, I closed one eye, held my breath and pulled the trigger as lightly as the brush of a butterfly wing. The blast before impact gave a short echo as the enraged bear turned on me. The hammer was hard to pull even if my hands weren’t numbing from the cold, and he bore down on me faster than a falling tree.
Jeremiah was doing his best to distract the bear, screaming and firing, but in one smooth motion I lifted the cocked pistol and aimed to kill. The bear fell and slid across the ground until it lay inches from my feet.
“Ho!” I exhaled, expelling all of the air from my lungs like it would rid me of the fear that throbbed through my veins.
Jeremiah looked nothing short of furious and I smiled brightly. “Now we’ve got bear meat.” I turned and trudged back into the house while his eyes likely bore holes through the back of my head.
Back in my room, I took my work dress from the tiny closet and pulled on the boots Trudy gave me for Christmas. After my hair was pulled tightly out of the way with a thin strip of leather, I slid into my jacket and turned to find Jeremiah leaning against the door with wolf-bright eyes.
“What in the hell am I supposed to tell my brother when you get yourself killed by a bear?” His voice was too quiet and set me on edge.
“Easy. You tell him he should’ve showed up earlier and prevented it.”
He scratched his bottom lip with a thumbnail before saying, “You were screamin’ a lot last night again.”
“Bad dreams.”
His dark eyebrows lowered. “You know my rule.”
In a deep, very Jeremiah-like voice, I said, “Harvest what you take.” I slid the top part of my hunting knife out of my pocket and arched my eyebrows.
Sighing, he said, “Let’s get to it then. And thank you for bringing the pistol this time instead of your little pea shooter.”
“My little pea shooter’s going to save your life someday, Jeremiah. Just you wait and see.”
He stopped so suddenly in front of me, I ran into the back of him. On his face was the most peculiar look, like he’d never seen me before. “Did you feel that?” he asked.
“Yeah, that was me running into the back of you.”
“No.” He shook his head slightly. “I just got the strangest feeling.” He rubbed the back of his neck like he was putting warmth back into it.
I shoved past him and grumbled, “You’re turning as crazy as your wolf.”
His horse didn’t like dragging the bear to the hanging post outside of the barn, but he did it anyway. I still remembered that feeling of uncertainty when I’d made the first cut fileting the fish Luke gave to me months ago, but the hesitation had disappeared with experience. His brother, determined to do it right, made me watch him harvest every animal I had the time to. And when I didn’t gag at the sight of blood anymore, Jeremiah stuck a knife in my hand and told me to do it myself.
“I’m glad it’s dead,” I quipped. “He’s raided us more times than I can count. We can’t keep feeding a bear if we’re barely feeding ourselves.”
“Well, I’m sure he feels differently about the whole thing.” Jeremiah tied a rope around the bear’s legs and hoisted him up with a pulley system with one strong yank. Werewolf strength really was beneficial at times like these. “I’m going to round up the horses. Holler when you’re done.”
“I can’t reach the top of him.” It wasn’t an excuse. I really wasn’t tall enough.
“There’s a step stool over yonder. Hurry up, I feel like bear for lunch.”
I glared at the back of his receding duster jacket. We’d been bickering a lot lately, probably due to the fact that we’d been snowed into our homestead for a week and a half, and our starkly different personalities tended to get us fighting even in the best of situations. He didn’t appreciate my filthy humor, which only made me try harder, and made him get madder. His patience with me had officially worn thin as spring ice. I suspected it had something to do with his unanswered advertisement for a wife, but I couldn’t mention it to him anymore without him biting my head off. That man needed a lady like the crops needed rain.
With a growl I’d adopted from the constant noise coming from Jeremiah’s throat these days, I stabbed the bear and pulled down with all my might. And for the four-hundred-thirty-seventh time, I missed the way Luke smiled with his eyes when I was being sassy.
I took my time on the bear, careful to tan the inner hide to make a blanket. It was tedious work, but in the end it was worth it to have a warm material of such high quality. It would fetch a pretty price at the general store next time we were in town.
“Finished,” I said in a quiet voice. I’d learned my way around the ears of a werewolf long before now. He’d hear me.
Like magic, Jeremiah appeared around the corner of the barn and dismounted his horse. “That was fast.”
“Funny.” It had taken hours but the meat was just about frozen by the end, making it difficult to cut. “Haul this out to the smoke house but leave a leg for the kitchen, all right?”