Frostbitten (36 page)

“You say these pack leaders were upset with the body being left out and found,” I said slowly. “Very upset. Maybe, if it continued, they’d get upset—and nervous—enough to leave.”

“Yes, but they did not.”

“Because they knew they weren’t responsible and, being clueless about normal wolf behavior, they presumed it was wolves and ignored it. So your plan failed.”

The Alpha nodded… then stopped, as he realized what he was admitting to. He blustered then, not denying it, but pointing out that the two men
they’d
killed were poachers and trappers, stealing animals meant for sustenance and taking only the skins.

“And animals aren’t the only thing they kill,” Eli muttered.

His father tried to shush him, but halfheartedly, his gaze averted, eyes filled with grief.

“Poachers killed one of you,” I said. “In Shifted form. They mistook you—”

“They mistook him for nothing,” Eli snarled, spittle flying. “He wasn’t Shifted. The guy shot him and tried to hide his body, like he’d killed a deer out of season.”

“My other son,” Miles said. “Eli’s litter mate.”

Eli’s twin brother, accidentally shot in human form. That would explain the animosity toward us—probably toward werewolves, wolves and humans alike, running them off his territory with all the single-minded rage of a grief-stricken teenage boy. Sure, he’d been trying something else in the grove a little while ago, but that was pure instinct. My scent at work on his teen hormones. Even now, when he slid glances my way, checking me out, contempt warred with attraction.

“But what we did, it was not revenge,” the Alpha said.

Not consciously, I’m sure. But subconsciously, it would play a role. While Eli acted out his grief by chasing every predator off his turf, his elders found an excuse to do the same with poachers and trappers, men they would now consider a threat. To them, the killing of those two humans, while regrettable, could be justified by their actions and the necessity of stopping the greater threat: Tesler’s mutts. And while I could strenuously argue the logic of this, it made perfect sense to them, and that I couldn’t dispute.

But all that still didn’t answer one question. There was another way to handle their problem. One that was far more reliable—and ethically justifiable—than framing them for murder.

“You want Tesler and his gang dead,” I said. “So why not do it yourselves?”

“It is forbidden.”

“Maybe, but—”

“No. Killing werewolves is
forbidden
.”

His tone said this was an unbreakable and unquestionable law. So they could kill humans, but not werewolves? That made no sense.

Or maybe, to them, it did. They’d chastised Eli for disrespecting me. He’d hinted they feared us. Fear and respect. Feelings one might have toward, not a fellow supernatural, but a superior being. Even Eli, while he’d been quick to terrorize us, hadn’t done more than smack us around, trying to scare us off without breaking that commandment.

“You will do this for us,” the Alpha said. “You will kill them.”

Before I could answer, he whistled. Tramping footsteps and muffled oaths sounded at the cave entrance. In walked the missing fourth Shifter, pushing before him a slight figure in an oversized parka, arms bound behind his back. The figure struggled and the hood fell back. It was Noah, gagged with a strip of leather, eyes blazing with fury and humiliation.

“He is yours?” the Alpha said.

“Yes,” I said. “He’s ours.”

“Then do this for us and he is yours again.”

Thirty minutes later, I was tramping through the snow, ready to sell my soul for a snowmobile. What kind of Alaskan backwoodsmen—even shape-shifting wolf-beasts—didn’t have snowmobiles?

I knew I shouldn’t complain. At least they hadn’t shoved me out right away, cold, exhausted and battered, to find my way back to civilization. They’d insisted I rest and eat, even when I’d argued I was fine. They’d served me a surprisingly good stew of venison and root vegetables, and a thick brick-like bread that hadn’t been nearly as tasty, but I’d eaten it anyway.

I drank the tea they brewed, too, some herbal blend to ease my aches and pains. They’d said it was willow bark, but I suspected it contained something a lot stronger. It reminded me of the Tylenol 3 Jeremy made me take after bad fights. I was feeling no pain and a little light-headed.

One thing was for sure—this was a night I wouldn’t forget. Life as a werewolf means a lot of fights and chases, and in the last few hours, I’d done more than my share of both, but with new twists. Falling through the ice. Fending off an eight-foot brown bear. Being taken captive by a werewolf precursor race. Someday, I’d be sitting in my rocking chair, telling my grandkids about this night. Right now, I just wanted to get through it.

The Shifters had given me all the clothing I needed, from a parka to boots to doubled-up work socks. But with size nine feet in size gazillion boots, I might as well have been wearing snowshoes. In fact, I’d have been better off wearing snowshoes. Worse, I could have been. They’d offered me a pair, but after a few awkward steps and a face-plant, I’d said boots were fine.

They’d escorted me to a road. At least, they said it was a road. But after twenty minutes hiking through boot-deep snow, seeing only a thin swatch of white ahead, winding through the trees, I was uncomfortably reminded of the last untraveled “road” I’d taken… the one that turned out to be a river.

The Shifters swore the highway was only three miles away. They’d even offered to have Eli escort me, though hadn’t seemed surprised when I said no. I’d had enough of teenage lust to last me awhile.

I suppose I should be flattered—all that attention from guys half my age—and I would be… if I didn’t know that without my unique scent, I wouldn’t get a second glance. And, really, that would make me much happier. I knew now how Clay felt, getting checked out by twenty-year-old girls. Eww.

Even as I bitched about the situation, I knew I should be overjoyed just to be warm and rested and free. How many times tonight had I thought I’d never see morning? And there it was—the faintest streaks of red cresting the valley between two mountains behind me. I hadn’t been killed, hadn’t been raped, hadn’t even been seriously injured. I should be dancing down the moonlit road, singing to the stars. But if I was, I’d know whatever was in that tea was more than a painkiller.

So I trudged. And I bitched. And I dreamed of a cozy bed, hot food and Travis Tesler’s head on a pike… not necessarily in that order.

I was following that seemingly endless road when I heard the faint squeak of snow under a boot. I stopped. Everything around me was still. Then a figure stepped onto the road. I tensed, but he only lifted a hand in greeting and started toward me. He was tall and slender, dressed in one of those parkas with the long, tubelike hoods, his face lost within its shadows. As he approached, though, his smell hit me. And I didn’t believe it. I inhaled more icy air so fast my brain reeled from the shock. The scent stayed the same. But it couldn’t be. Couldn’t possibly be.

The man pulled down his hood and I saw his wavy dark hair, big brown eyes, olive-skinned face, swoon-worthy grin… and still I couldn’t believe it.

“See,” he said. “Clay was worried we’d never find you out here, but all I had to do was follow the bitching and moaning, and here you are.”

“Nick…” I said.

“You can’t be too cold, then, if you remember my name. I swear, another hour out here and
Yd
have forgotten it. Love the clothes. Seems we shop at the same designer.” He looked down at his parka with such disgust that, at any other time, I would have laughed.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” I stammered.

“Good to see you, too.”

When he stepped toward me, I fell back.

He paused, frowning, then nodded. “Blaming snow blindness? Some funky mojo from these weird woods? Don’t worry, I’m real. And just to prove it…”

He leapt forward before I could back away, snatched me up and kissed me. As usual, it wasn’t the kind of kiss you should give your best friend’s wife. As I gasped for air, I said, “Nick,” and he grinned.

“I knew that’d work.”

My eyes prickled, throat tightening. I’d been holding up so well, but now, seeing Nick, knowing I was safe, it was like popping the cushioning bubble that had kept me going.

He put his arms around me and pulled me against him, grip only strengthening when I murmured that I was okay and to put me down. After a moment, I gave up and let him hug me. A tear or two might have stained his parka, but we both pretended not to see it. When his arms loosened, I stepped away.

“How did you get here?” I asked.

“Hold on, let me try Clay again while I explain.” He fumbled in his pocket. “Last night, when Joey drugged Clay—I can’t believe he—” He shook his head. “Anyway, Jeremy knew something was wrong. You know Jeremy.”

He stopped fumbling, yanked off a glove and pulled his cell phone from his pocket, checking it as he talked. “Jeremy called. No one answered in your room or on your phones. So he talked the hotel staff into opening the door and checking. Having a stranger walk into his room woke Clay up better than any phone call.” He shook his phone, cursing. “Still no reception. I bet the radio isn’t working either.”

He exchanged the cell phone for a walkie-talkie, still talking. “We knew you guys might need emergency help, so by the time Clay woke up, Antonio already had a buddy’s company jet on standby. We were on the plane with Reese.”

He tried the radio. Swore. Shoved it back into his pocket and kept talking. “Jeremy is on his way, but he didn’t want us to wait for him. He’s taking a regular flight and leaving the kids with Jaime. Karl’s supposed to be coming, but I’ll believe it when I see him. They’ll be awhile, though. We just got here ourselves. We managed to get in touch with Clay, who was already up here searching. We found him and split up—me with Clay, Antonio with Reese.”

“So where’s Clay?”

“Took off. I wasn’t keeping up. Next thing I know, he’s gone and I’m trudging through snow up to my knees, searching for a path, a road, anything. Then I heard you.”

“In other words, you got lost in the woods. Again.”

He shot me a mock scowl. “No, Clay
lost
me in the woods. Again. And he’s probably lost himself by now, the way he was going. Do you want to hunt for him? Or keep going and hope for cell service?”

I wanted to find Clay. Even the thought that he was out here was enough to make my eyes prickle again. Nick was a decent substitute, but I needed Clay—to see him, know he was safe, show him I was safe, tell him everything, then get to work.

And I wanted a hug. A long one, inhaling his scent, proving to myself that everything really was okay. There was a time I wouldn’t have admitted that, much less planned to act on the impulse. Today I would.

What I had to do, though, was option two: trust that Clay was okay and keep going until we could make radio contact. If both Clay and Antonio were out of range, then I’d contact Jeremy or Karl—maybe even Hope—and have someone keep trying Antonio and Clay for me while we headed back into the forest to search for them. That was the sensible plan, so that’s the one I told Nick. He didn’t argue; he never did.

So we walked. I took the radio and he kept the cell phone, and we continued checking for service as I explained everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

Nick accepted the existence of Shifters with little comment. It interested him no more than any minutiae of the greater supernatural world. What did get his attention was the tremor in my voice each time I mentioned Travis Tesler.

“What did this Tesler guy—?” Nick stopped himself. “No, I think I know what he did. Or
tried
to do, because if he’d succeeded…”

“I’d be an emotional wreck?”

“No, I was thinking more ‘covered in blood and bits of the bastard.’ But, yeah, after that settled, you’d be in rough shape. You’d get through it, but I’m glad you don’t have to.”

He tucked his glove into his pocket, and slid his bare hand into the massive mitt over mine, taking my hand inside it, that last bit of chill vanishing as my fingers entwined with his warm ones. We walked in silence, hand-in-hand. I’ve always liked this about Nick, a physical closeness I don’t allow myself with anyone except Clay. It’s a safe intimacy that some part of me craves.

It’s not asexual—nothing is asexual with Nick—but it’s completely nonthreatening. I’m his friend and his best friend’s wife, and while that doesn’t stop him from kissing me or slipping into our bed and getting friendlier than a friend should, he means nothing by it, would never push the boundaries. If Clay isn’t threatened, then I know I don’t need to be, because it’s nothing more than it appears to be—another level of the physical play and intimacy that cements Pack bonds.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he said after a few minutes. “I know you’ll talk to Clay but… maybe there are things you’d rather discuss with me?”

I nodded. “I might. And I probably will. Later. For now, I’m holding up. It just… It made me so…”

“Angry.”

“Sure. It pissed me off. That’s part of being a woman, I guess. If some son of a bitch wants to hurt us, he knows how to do it, and there’s really nothing we can do in return, nothing on that scale.”