Nightfall (38 page)

“I know I've changed. I mean, I'm still me. But there's something else in me now, too. Other urges and instincts. It's hard to put into words. But ... I'm trying, you know?”

“I know,” he said. “And you're not going to do it by yourself. I promise you that.”

“More promises? For you they're like orders from on high.”

“I keep my word.”

“Yes.” She leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips. “Yes, you do. And if it turns out down the line that you've got a wild animal inside you, I'll help you deal with that too.”

She smelled of sweat and tasted of salty tears.
More
, his body said. But it would be some time before he could make love to her. Holding her, though—that he could do. It would be nice to cradle her in his arms and drift off to sleep. Let his body recover until spring.

“I want to see outside,” he said.

“Why?”

“I want to see that we did it. To rest, I gotta be sure they're gone. That we have a chance.”

“No way. I kept you from death, but it took damn near everything I had.” She extended a hand to show him how it shook. “You're not ready to be walking around. And Chris won't let you either. He padlocked us in, remember? For our own damn protection.”

“A pair of dumb animals.” He grinned, then pushed into a seated position. Dizziness stole his balance. Pain made him shiver. “But I
need
to see,” he said, breathing heavily. “Understand?”

She scrambled off the bed and looked ready to bar his way. Then she stopped. Their minds touched, saying hello again. He felt the wolf lingering inside her, behaving—not leashed but calm.

Gathering his strength, he opened himself and showed her what he feared. He feared relaxing when more work remained. He feared trusting that it was done—not over, because it would
never
be over. But with the station truly secure, they could hold each other through the remainder of the winter and prepare for spring. For the next chapter in a post-change world.

Jenna knelt, her hands enveloped by his. “Just to see?”

“Yes.”

“Then we can rest.”

“And eat. I'm starving.”

“Okay.” She hooked her shoulder under his arm and helped him stand. “Two minutes, and then back to bed.”

He laughed with a crazy sense of contentment. “Sounds good. But damn, we need a bigger bed.”

 

Twenty minutes passed trying to get John dressed, then even longer for him to summon reserves enough to stay on his feet. Jenna's head was spinning too. She needed a pound of steak and a week of uninterrupted sleep. Still, she didn't protest. For a little while at least, she'd let him have whatever the hell he wanted. She was just too grateful that he was alive.

Then she got on the walkie and rang Tru. Three words. “Let us out.”

Jenna kissed John with a leashed desire that left them both trembling.

The sound of unfastening locks drew their attention. Just Tru. He didn't have his rifle, and his pale eyes flicked over how John hung on her good shoulder. “Glad you're up and around.”

“Good to see you too ... kid.” Mason grinned as he added the tag that was guaranteed to rile Tru, but the affection in his voice was real.

“I'm not a kid, old man. But maybe now she'll stop crying so the rest of us can sleep.”

Jenna arched her brows. The walls were solid cement, and the doors were metal. “You
heard
me?”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “You need some help?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I'm not sure I can handle him by myself. I'm weak as a cub.”

Tru studied her hands. “You got blood all over you, too. Did you get stabby?”

“Kind of,” she answered, smiling.

Maybe she'd explain later. She might even tell Tru about their psychic link. He seemed to dig that kind of stuff. Of them all, he'd do well in the changed world. There would be all kinds of adventures, crazy things to see, magic to learn.

“I'm not going upstairs.” John leaned on the wall, giving Tru a chance to get on his other side.

“You're not?” Jenna asked.

“Nope. Outside. I want to smell the air. Then I'll go back to bed. Promise.”

She exchanged a look with Tru, who shrugged. Together they struggled to the ground floor and down the hall. Jenna didn't understand his drive to go out, except maybe he was feeling buried alive down there. The wolf in her could relate. She wanted a long run without the threat of being eaten, just the sweet crunch of snow beneath her paws, the wind in her fur, and maybe a rabbit in her jaws. Her stomach growled.

“I hear you,” John said. “Just give me a minute, okay?”

The kid unlocked the front door and shoved it wide. The wind howled into the hall, but it carried a fresh smell. Jenna didn't know if that had anything to do with the contagion, or the dissipation of the pack prowling their woods, but the early morning air felt fine on her skin, fresh and brisk and true.

The bloody snow had been covered with a pristine top layer, sparkling in the wan sunlight as if frosted with crushed crystal. The sky burned as blue as the waters of the Caribbean. Jenna had visited the islands once, years ago, and this cloudless sky brought the memory of warmth and sunshine back to her, despite the frosty cold.

John stepped outside and gazed toward the woods, where the trees still stood dark and abandoned. Nothing stirred in their depths. Jenna lifted her head, sniffing, but she couldn't find anything unwholesome on the breeze. And echoing from far away came the trilling call of the winter wren, a sign of life returning. She glanced at John, reading in his unchanged expression that he couldn't hear their song. If latent abilities as a skinwalker lurked inside him, he hadn't yet found the spark to bring those accelerated senses to life. Her wolf ears still held the advantage.

“How is it?” Tru asked.

“Quiet,” John answered.

Tru cocked his head, eyes widening. “You sure about that?”

There was definitely something different about the boy.

A vee of geese soared overhead, arguing vociferously—the first natural thing she'd seen in so many months. In wonder, Jenna watched them fly until their bodies receded into tiny black dots. The changed world would have real animals again. Wherever they'd hidden for the worst of it, they were back.

“Spring will come,” Tru whispered.

Jenna let out the long breath she'd been holding. They weren't locked into eternal winter. The seasons hadn't been toppled by the new world order. She could take comfort in that. Certain things were immutable, like spring after winter.

“Like how much I love you,” John murmured against her temple. “We're gonna make it.”

The man didn't make empty promises.

They edged back inside. Jenna smiled when Tru locked up. He helped support John as they walked back down the hall, but her mate didn't lean on them as heavily. Walk it off. Sure. But maybe Mitch had gotten it right with all those truisms.

For the first time, she was grateful. Maybe she
would
write
The Dark Age According to Barclay
, if she ever found enough paper. All her life she'd just wanted to be normal with a dad who came home to his family. She'd never have that, but she didn't want it anymore. She was just happy to be alive. So much had been lost; so much more would be. But not then.

They settled John in the lounge. He didn't care to leave the light and she didn't blame him. Then she went to look for food. Chris met her in the hall, both excited and perplexed. The look sat on him like a jaunty hat. Instead of commenting on John's recovery, he poked a slide at her.

“He's got them too,” he said. “The weird glowing cells, like the ones we found in you.”

“What does that mean?”

“Don't know.” Chris paused, then offered an explanation he would have once considered unthinkable. Impossible. “Magic?”

Jenna lifted her brows. “You think so?”

“May as well be. Arthur C. Clarke said, ‘Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.'” He shrugged. “I'm not going to argue. Not after what I've seen. But I
am
going to test everyone, see what changes have occurred since you were bitten. Who knows. Maybe we all glow.”

“You're a dork,” she said. “I need to get some food.”

In the kitchenette she put together a tray. Penny handed her a plastic fork. She still didn't speak much, but Jenna no longer believed that shyness was because of trauma. This quiet seemed more like grief. She knew then that she would raise the girl to the best of her ability, hoping Ange would have wanted Jenna to step in. They were family now. Sometimes they would fight. But when it came down to it, they loved each other.

“You're okay now,” the girl said. “We all are. Finn said so.”

Jenna smiled. “Well, if Finn says so.”

“I used to read these nature books,” the girl said softly. “With my mom, about pack animals. They protect their own. We're like that, right?”

That was the longest speech Jenna had ever heard from the child. It gave her hope that one day Penny would recover. She'd led that ragged group away from Wabaugh and its inexplicable violence. And she had found that little cabin in the woods.

“We are,” she promised.

She felt John searching for her, restless now that she was out of sight. But she also felt the tug of their new bond, too new to sustain much distance. Not that she wanted to be apart from him ever again.

She knelt before Penny. Though she would never say so out loud, she thought the girl needed to spend more time with people, less time in her head. “I need to get back to John. Maybe you should look for Tru or Chris?”

The girl thought about it. “Tru. He's nice.”

Once she left Penny in Tru's company, Jenna went to the lounge, balancing the tray across her arm. First they ate. Then she repeated what Chris had said.

“I guess that means we're adapting,” she said. “Learning to use the magic.”

John kissed her, and she tucked her head against his shoulder. “If it's true, then we have a chance. Evil may be faster, but we're still here.”

They had more than a chance. They had hope. They had love. And it was enough.

TWENTY MONTHS LATER

 

Mason stacked the last of the split logs on the woodpile. He wiped his forehead with the back of his forearm and leaned against the side of the two-room cabin he'd built into a natural wall formation. The snug little structure was secured by rock on two sides, protected by a granite overhang and a bedrock floor—but with an escape tunnel out the back. Just the way he liked it. The site had taken him four months to find, there in the western foothills of the Rockies. Now he could breathe and rest, proud of what he'd accomplished.

What he and Jenna had accomplished together.

After tipping his canteen to dribble cool water down the back of his neck, he took a long, deep drink. The sun was bright and strong, slipping lower toward the west, but soon the winter snows would return. They had much to do before then.

He put his ax away in the underground tool and ammunition shed, then went to look for Jenna where she worked to harvest the potatoes. The Omega Gardens from the station weren't much good without electricity, and they'd weaned themselves from such luxuries. Instead, up and around the cabin, along terraces that were accessible only by ladder, their garden was thriving, full of vegetables and berries that would sustain them through the winter.

“Need some help?” he asked.

Jenna pushed her mud-encrusted boot down on the head of the shovel and yanked the handle back. A thatch of new potatoes erupted out of the fertile ground. She grinned.

“That bushel is full,” she said, kneeling to pull the potatoes from their earthen home. “You can take it down to the cellar for me.”

Mason nodded, but he didn't touch the basket. The sun played over Jenna's hair, the color lightened through time outdoors, not peroxide. Her skin glowed a healthy tan, slicked with a light sheen of sweat. Her compact body was lithe and toned. After nearly two years, he knew her body—knew her feel and her taste—but he never tired of watching her move. She still had that dancer's grace he'd admired so long ago, but her spirit animal laced every movement with savage vigilance.

She hadn't shifted for almost six months, but the wolf was a part of her now. Part of him too. The first time feral skinwalkers had threatened their kids—Penny and Tru—he hadn't resisted that power.

Two wolves now, mated for life. Defending their home.

He recognized that shared spirit in the way she watched the horizon, the way she eased across the ground with a nimble, preternatural calm, the way she cocked her head to listen when a sound might be more than just the wind through the pines.

And he loved her. All of her. Still, and forever. He hadn't thought he could feel like this about a woman, as if she were the whole world wrapped in skin and bone. The mate bond had only grown stronger. Tru was disgusted at the way they communicated in a look and finished each other's sentences.

The kids were inside doing schoolwork, something else that disgusted the boy. He wouldn't be around much longer, especially now that Welsh had set the example of setting out on his own. That assumption saddened Mason. But Tru was nearly a young man. He preferred solitary treks through the woods to being around people, even the ones who loved him. That he supplied most of the meat they salted and dried for winter had become a welcome luxury. Mason much preferred staying close, building their refuge—and stealing private hours with Jenna.