Cat's Howl: A Macconwood Pack Novel (The Macconwood Pack Series Book 2) (8 page)

“Where will we go?,” she had no doubt that if anyone could
help her get though this it was Tate. Personal issues aside, he was a steady
and capable Wolf. Rafe trusted him. If she was being honest she’d admit that
she trusted him too. His deep voice broke through her reverie and she turned
ice blue eyes to meet his.

“Some place safe.”

They drove for what seemed like hours. Across back roads and
little used truck routes. In reality they had travelled for a little bit more
than an hour when Tate parked the SUV in what looked like a stand of trees.

It was actually a covered garage hidden in the woods off one
of the many forgotten roads that cut across that part of the state. Tall Trees
and a clever paint job hid the building from view. Cat was glad that they had
stopped.

A knot was forming in her stomach and she was getting antsy.
Werewolves didn’t usually like to be cooped up and the SUV was beginning to
feel cramped. Maybe it was Tate’s dominance silently warring with her own.
Maybe it was pent up sexual frustration from years earlier. Nope, she was not
going to touch that thought. She waited for Tate to speak.

“On the wall you’ll find a couple of backpacks, inside of
them should be some provisions, ammo, first aid, that type of thing.”

“You mean we’re leaving? Why can’t we just stay here?”

“You know better than that. We could’ve been followed. This
place is close to the main road. If the men working for Skoll are half way
decent they will find us by nightfall. So, grab anything else you need from the
car and let’s go.”

“Fine. Geez,” Cat didn’t much like the way he reprimanded
her. She
did
know better, but momentary panic made her speak without
thinking.

“Damn, you didn’t wear a coat, huh? There are a few extras hanging
up next to the bags. Put one on.”

“I’m fine.”

“Humor me, okay?”

Cat’s blue eyes narrowed as she watched Tate stuff more ammo
into his backpack. He added a choice selection of knives, guns, and other weapons,
stuffing them in pockets and belts around his person. The black backpack he
held was bulging to the limit by the time he had finished.

“Better safe than sorry I guess,” Tate grunted his reply.
Was that a smile? She couldn’t be sure. He rarely smiled and his head was
facing the wrong way for her to make that determination.

Cat took a deep breath. She knew the Pack had safe houses
all over the state, but she had never actually seen one. The prospect peeked
her interest and she switched into work mode.

Okay, Cat, game on.
Her police training kicked in as
she opened the back door of the SUV. She put the box of vanilla crisp protein
bars that she had just bought into the backpack Tate had told her to grab.

It was already heavy with supplies that he or someone must
have pre-packed and left there hanging on a large metal hook that was screwed
into the scarred wall. She smelled Werewolf and recognized that this was place
was used by Pack members.

She smelled a few different Wolves, but the scent that hit
her as the freshest belonged to Tate. Her trust in his ability to get them safe
allowed her to set aside her natural instinct to quarrel and obey his orders.

She rummaged through her shopping bag and added a box of her
favorite cinnamon toothpaste and a travel sized bottle of hand cream. She
waited until she knew he was looking at her and then she grabbed the pack of AA
batteries and put them inside the bag.

Cat managed to remain straight faced even when Tate raised
both eyebrows. He was rarely surprised and she silently congratulated herself
on her ability to shock. She closed the zipper with added oomph and turned her
head flipping her blonde hair to the side. 

The camouflage hunting jacket she donned was a little too big
for her despite her above average height. Cat didn’t care. It was warm and the
lining was soft. The outer shell was black which was good for camouflage and it
was waterproof too.

That would come in handy if the weather turned ugly as it
had all winter. And Tate had already predicted an ice storm earlier. He had a
knack for telling the weather. Maybe it was old Lenape trick. She wasn’t sure
and he rarely spoke of his native heritage.

She closed her eyes and inhaled in an effort to focus her
thoughts.
Well, crap, that isn’t gonna work
.

Tate’s scent was imbued in the fabric of her borrowed coat.
Pine
trees and snow. Sand and sun.
Only Tate’s scent could be so contrary and so
near perfect,
she thought
.

Cat’s Wolf purred in her mind’s eye. She had never heard of
a Wolf that purred before. No one had until the night of her first Change. She
had just caught her very first rabbit, a small gray one, and her medium sized
buff colored Wolf purred her contentment.

Rafe told her it must be her name that caused her Wolf to
make such an un-wolf like sound. Whatever the reason, Cat couldn’t seem to help
it.

“Well, if you can’t help it, own it,” those were her
brother’s words to her after that night.

And she did. As far as she knew no other Wolf purred. Just
her. Right then she was glad that only she heard her Wolf inside her head.

Scent was important to Werewolves and Tate’s scent just
about drove her wild. She resisted the urge to bury her nose in the collar, but
not without some serious effort on her part.

“So, you come here a lot then?”

“Sometimes.”

“Well, then you know where we’re going.”

“Of course I do.”

“Well?”

“My cabin,” he answered without looking at her though Cat
had the distinct impression he knew the exact expression she wore. The slightly
raised corner of his lips told her that much. Great. She amused him.

“Your cabin?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect, just perfect. Don’t you think they can find a
vacation spot?”

“It’s completely off the grid.”

“Meaning what exactly?”

“There are times when my duties as Wolf Guard get to be a
lot. Whenever I feel like that I try to get in touch with nature and the
elements without all the traps of modern technology.”

“I’ve never heard you mention it,” cat’s curiosity was piqued.
She thought she knew everything about the man in front of her.

“That’s because I don’t talk about it.”

“Why not?”

“Cause then people ask questions. They don’t understand why
anyone would want to live without WIFI I guess”

“Oh.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re panicking?”

“Of course not, I-”

“I suppose to a modern girl like you it seems impossible to
survive a few days without social media.”

“I can last more than you can! Besides you’re the one with
the twitter account!”

“How’d you know that?”

Cat gave him a scathing look and headed for the door. She
knew he was goading her, but she always rose to the bait. Maybe it was a throwback
to when she was a kid. Always in competition with the boys.

Anyway she didn’t care. She was every bit as tough and as strong
as Tate or any of them! She’d show him.

By the fourth hour of their hike through the semi-frozen
pine forests of South Jersey, Cat was beginning to lose her patience. Tate was quiet
as ever and focused on wherever the heck they were going.

Most Werewolves had a great sense of direction. There was
some innate knowledge of your whereabouts that was amplified after the Change. After
covering miles and miles of ground in rapidly decreasing temperatures, Cat was
beginning to question hers.

She was absolutely positive they were going around in
circles. The sounds and smells surrounding her told her so. Didn’t they pass
that same sun-bleached red cedar at least three times? Maybe Tate was losing
it, she thought. But even in her mind that didn’t ring true. He was, to put it
simply, the most talented Werewolf tracker she had ever seen.

Cat was ready to burst from wanting to scream at him when suddenly,
he lifted a hand. With two long fingers he signaled her forward, toward a stand
of short pines.

The air felt thicker as she neared them. Her Wolf recognized
magic. It was similar to the type of magic that bound each Werewolf together
within a Pack. The Alpha’s connection to the Pack was always the strongest and
so on and so forth according to rank and dominance.

This felt slightly different. It seemed to come from the
earth itself as opposed to any one being. Cat tensed. The human half of her
didn’t exactly trust magic. Except for her beautician. Sherry was simply a
marvel when it came to Werewolf skin and hair care. Not to mention nails.

Tate turned his head, a question in his dark eyes. He was at
least ten feet ahead of her. She had stopped the second she sensed the magic. Before
she could speak he held his right hand to his lips and motioned for her to follow
him.

Whatever her objections, Cat swallowed them. She was used to
being independent, but in this situation she was the less dominant Wolf. Plus,
she trusted Tate to lead her to safety. It was as simple as that.

The rocky path was covered in snow and ice. She frowned as
she circumnavigated her way over tree roots and slick rocks. This winter was by
far the coldest she had ever seen.

The weather had turned nasty early that fall. And that was after
a summer with daily temperatures in the high nineties. It had gone from one
constant heat wave to unseasonably bitter weather almost overnight.

The reason for that wasn’t global warming, cow flatulence,
or holes in the ozone layer. It was dark magic and the evil that came with it.
After a nasty battle just weeks ago, one that Cat had participated in, the dark
Witches’ forces had been cut down. Only now was the temperature beginning to normalize.
But even so, January in New Jersey was still cold.

Cat was grateful for the borrowed coat and the fact that her
boots had thick rubber soles. She silently applauded her footwear choice. It
was a good thing she didn’t go in for flimsy footwear. Stiletto heeled boots
and the like. Being a cop made her shy away from the impractical. Besides she
was taller than most men she knew and didn’t need heels.

They rounded a steep bend that was covered on either side
with oaks and pines. Icicles hung from the lower branches and muddy snow
covered the ground. She watched the path and kept her footing sure and steady.
She raised her eyes when Then she saw it. Tate’s cabin.

It was tucked away in the back of a ridge. Huge pines, oaks,
and beeches surrounded it. Cat’s eyes were big as saucers. This is not what she
had expected at all.

It was a log cabin, but not the kind of run down little
shack she had anticipated. This structure was huge and had multiple levels.

The first floor had an arched walkway and a slanted roof.
Icicles and snow hung from the gutters and windows and reminded Cat of the
frosting on a gingerbread house. But that was the only resemblance.

The cabin was in no way girly or childlike. It was powerful
and solid and yet, it seemed to flow into the land and not take anything away
from the natural beauty of the surrounding woods. Cat admired the thorough
planning that went into building it and wondered who his architect was.

She followed Tate up the walkway. He purposely left large
rocks and tree roots in the path. It made for a more natural setting and
discouraged visitors. She smiled as she carefully stepped where he did. Tate
always had an odd sense of humor.

He moved with the practiced ease of someone who knew their
way well. Cat counted the times she would have slipped if she didn’t have
Werewolf reflexes.
Thirteen.
Her lucky number.

She marveled at the beauty of her home state. Leave it to
Tate to find the most perfect section of the woods and claim it for himself. As
if the area wasn’t beautiful enough, Cat’s breath left her when she got a
glimpse of the enormous entryway door. It was absolutely stunning.

The wood matched the round logs that made up the walls. The
difference was in the scene that was carved into it. A huge Werewolf, head
thrown back in an eternal howl at an invisible moon. The Wolf looked familiar,
but surely her eyes were mistaken.

At the very least, she recognized his handiwork. Tate was a
master wood carver and was in fact responsible for the aged wizard that sat in
the middle of the Manor garden where an old oak had fallen three winters ago after
being struck by lightning. She walked through the mini-botanical garden often
just to catch a glimpse of it.

“Inside,” the softly spoken word interrupted her thoughts.
She was embarrassed to see he’d been standing with the door open for at least a
minute.

Get your head on straight, girl,
she thought to
herself. The sight that greeted her next was almost better than the door.
Inside the log cabin was huge. There were multiple floors visible from the
large octagonal living room area. Exposed ceiling beams made the room feel airy
and bright despite the fact that it was already night.

The upper floors had wide glass windows with shutters
instead of blinds or curtains.
Bulletproof
, she guessed. There was both
a fireplace and an old fashioned wood stove. It was breathtaking in its complex
yet utterly rustic design.

“How long have you had this place?,” Cat didn’t even bother
trying to hide her astonishment.

“Huh, oh, I started building ten years ago.”

“You built this? Like with your own two hands.”

“Most of it, yes.”

“Wow. Some hands you got there,” she said in low voice, but
not low enough.

“You have no idea,” his answer surprised her, but she played
it off. Maybe she was cold and her brain was indulging in some sort of
hallucination because to her ears it sounded like Tate was flirting
with
her
.

She dropped her backpack and pulled off her damp jacket.
Well,
his jacket,
she
hung it up on a hook near the door Fifteen
minutes later she was convinced it was a hallucination after all. Tate was all
business, starting the generator, lighting a fire, and securing all the windows
and doors.

Cat was glad to remove some of her layers. Especially her
shoes. She scrunched her toes in the deep carpet that sat in front of the fire
and purred in her throat. Boy oh boy, did it feel good!