Vic followed Heather into the bedroom. Daniel occupied a rocking chair in one corner, a book open on his lap. "Hey, Vicki."
Sitting up in bed, Helen smiled at Vic. Her eyes were clear, and pink color had returned to her cheeks.
Vic gave a sigh of relief. "You look much better."
"Partly thanks to you, dear." Helen raised her eyebrows. "In fact, I hear you gave me all your clothes and walked back to the village completely naked."
Vic‘s jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"
Helen‘s pressed lips didn‘t hide her smile as she glanced reprovingly at her son. "I had a feeling he embellished a bit."
"A guy can dream," he said. His grin was fast, the sparkle in his eyes wicked. "Vicki did give you all the clothes on top except for a bra."
Vic felt her cheeks heat.
"Now Daniel, you‘re embarrassing her," Helen scolded. "Vicki, come here."
When Vic reached the bed, Helen pulled her down for a soft kiss on the cheek. "I thank you for the gift of warmth. Aaron said I would have died if you and the boys hadn‘t patched me up so quickly and kept me from chilling."
Vic moved her shoulders. "Yeah, well, you look really good now considering how much blood you lost." Vic frowned. Actually, Helen looked too recovered.
"Daonain bounce back quickly," Heather said, handing her mother the bowl of stew. "Aaron sent this over with Vicki."
"Bless him. I‘m starving. You all excuse me while I rudely eat in front of you." Helen scooped up a bite. "Mmmmh, the man can cook."
"Any more of that?" Daniel asked with a pitiful look. "I worked hard today too, you know."
"Ah, poor baby. Did the wittle baby have to carry his mama who weighs at least a hundred pounds," Heather said in a syrupy tone.
"Fine, I‘ll get it myself." He stomped out the door. "And she‘s at least a hundred-twenty,"
came his voice from the other room.
Vic choked on a laugh as Helen and Heather broke into giggles.
"So, Vicki," Helen said. "Tell me about yourself. After you get adjusted to being a shifter, will you stay in Cold Creek?"
"I don‘t—" A knock on the front door interrupted her. Vic heard a murmur of voices, then Alec walked into the bedroom.
She gasped. He had spatters of blood on his face and hands, more on his shirt. She was at his side before she could think. "Where are you hurt? Show me."
He glanced down at his clothes. "Oh, damn. I‘m sorry, sweetie. I should have cleaned up first, but Calum was worried about you."
Vic tried to move his clothes to see where the bleeding came from, but he took her hands.
"It‘s not mine."
"Then—" Had he gone hunting and killed a deer? "Okay."
"Thank you, Alec," Helen said as tears filmed her eyes.
Heather was openly crying. "Thank you, Alec," she repeated.
Jesus fuck, he‘d done something more than kill a deer. Vic kept her grip on his hand and yanked him out of the room. Her jaw was set so tight, she had to force out the words, "Okay, I think it‘s time we had a talk. In private."
"We will." The lines in his face had deepened, making him look another twenty years older.
When they entered Aaron‘s cabin, it was empty. Alec left her, wanting to wash and change, so she curled up in a chair by the woodstove. She should be getting all her ducks in a row to yell at him, but her thoughts kept sliding back to that little chat in Helen‘s kitchen. Had Heather really implied that Alec and Calum might marry the same woman? That‘s why neither of them seemed worried about fucking around with her? Calum had said, “Alec and I often…share…our women. Alone or together.”
Wow. A weird feeling slid through her. She could screw them both, and no one would object? She idly braided a strand of her hair. It sounded pretty cool for sex and everything, but in a marriage? How bizarre must that be? Not like she‘d ever find out—she had enough trouble just hanging out with a guy. To marry more than one? Not in a kazillion years.
Neither man had mentioned marriage anyway. Why would they? If shifters didn‘t care who fathered babies, then guys probably ran wild when single. Vic realized her jaw had clenched again. She sat back and told her muscles to relax. She wasn‘t jealous of the guys—not really. She just didn‘t want to see bitch one and two get their claws in them. Not possessive, merely competitive.
When Alec walked into the living room, she frowned at the paleness of his face. "Want some hot chocolate?"
"Thank you, cariad, but I‘m not hungry." He dropped onto the couch across from her chair.
The laughter that always lurked in his eyes had disappeared completely.
He‘d called her cariad. Darling. She hugged the knowledge to herself. "Alec, you‘re exhausted. I can wait."
With an attempted smile, he shook his head. "I won‘t be able to sleep for a while, and I‘d enjoy your company. Calum said you had questions and weren‘t happy with his answers?"
Her anger rose again. "He wasn‘t making any sense at all."
"What‘s the problem?"
"Why isn‘t someone tracking this...feral person? I asked him to loan me a rifle, and he said no. And that he wasn‘t sending a hunting party out."
"Ah." Alec scrubbed his face with his hands. "Some of our traditions come down from the Fae."
Here we go with the traditions again. "And?"
"The Fae used bows and arrows only when hunting game." He moved his shoulders.
"Sometimes humans too."
"I‘m not getting this."
"Fae fought other Fae hand-to-hand or with knives. Bow and arrows—basically, long-distance weapons—were only used on animals."
"Oh." Vic frowned. "So shifters don‘t use guns or arrows on other shifters."
"Exactly."
"And a hunting party? You don‘t do that either?"
"If needed. But cahirs only."
Another fucking new word. She glared at him.
His lips twitched. "Sorry. We still use some bastardized Gaelic and Welsh from the old days." He gazed at the woodstove. Behind the glass door, a salamander, scales brilliant as the flames, spun in circles. "Cahir are those chosen to defend the clan. You‘d say maybe warrior?
Protector?"
Soldier. And Calum had said to Alec, “I"m sorry, cahir.” Alec was a cahir. "Your God supposedly gave Calum power—powers—whatever. Does a cahir get anything?" she asked only half-sarcastically, for she‘d felt that power in Calum, as if a fucking current of electricity had hummed through him.
"Anything?" Alec‘s finger traced the blue-tinted scar high on his left cheekbone. "A couple more inches in height, muscle, strength. All at once. I was a cop and in good shape, but I spent the next twenty-four hours puking my guts up and trying not to scream like a girl." Despite his light tone, his eyes held the memory of some serious agony.
Nasty. "Are you the only cahir around?"
"We have four in the North Cascades since we‘re fairly isolated. Rainier is fighting hellhounds and have seven or eight."
Hellhounds. Not gonna visit that subject right now. As she studied Alec, her mouth tightened. She‘d already known, there in Helen‘s house. The blood on him hadn‘t come from hunting any deer. She‘d recognized that soul-weary look; she‘d seen it in her own mirror. "You killed the feral, didn‘t you?"
He nodded.
That‘s why Helen had thanked him. "So the attacker is a shifter who went crazy. And you can‘t...uh, treat them or something?"
"No. There‘s no return once the door is shut."
"Door?"
"At the cabin, we told you about a portal in your mind—the one you open to trawsfur." In the lantern light, his eyes shone the green of deep forest.
"Well"—she smiled in relief—"there‘s no door in my head."
"Close your eyes and look around. It‘s kinda in the back somewhere. Glows just a tad." His expression held a challenge she couldn‘t refuse.
She shut her eyes. Yeah, okay, it was dark. Everything was black. She pretended her gaze tur
ned in a circle, from the front around to the... Oh, shit. Her spine stiffened like someone had yelled, Attention!
"Yeah. Thought so," Alec murmured.
“Oh. My. God.” Her eyes opened and she glared. "There is a fucking door-thing in my brain."
He tried to smile, but she could see how much of an effort it was.
Another realization twisted her guts. "Did you know him? The feral?" she asked softly.
He nodded. "Fergus taught me to hunt when I was growing up."
Oh, God, there was no comfort to be offered here. „To the legion of the lost ones, to the cohort of the damned." Vic moved to sit beside him, taking his hand between hers. "He was older?"
His fingers curled around hers as if to a lifeline. "About Aaron‘s age. He‘d never lifemated anyone, and his only family, a littermate, died last week."
"Are you saying he wasn‘t mentally ill? Depression made him go feral?"
Alec kissed her fingers and enfolded her hand in his. "If a shifter has no loved ones or family, no ties to pull him back to the human side, then some turn, and unfortunately, loneliness and grief warps them, driving them to mindlessly attack."
Holy fuck. Fear shot straight to her insides and clung there, claws digging in deep. She didn‘t have any family. No loved ones. So if she shifted, she might not come back. Helen must have known Fergus too—and he‘d savaged the sweet woman. She shivered.
"Vicki, it‘s not really—"
"Oh hey," she said. "I‘m supposed to help Heather make cookies." She rose and smiled down at him, her heart aching as if she‘d already decided. "I‘ll bring you back some sweets."
*
After helping Heather bake, Vic had been dragged away by Jamie to play cut-throat Monopoly with her friends. Vic had gone bankrupt, and she wasn‘t sure if she was pissed-off at losing so badly or proud of the munchkin for doing so well. "You have a head for business, kid,"
she told Jamie on the way back to Aaron‘s.
"I know." She gave Vic a smug look. "Daddy‘s teaching me to do the books for the tavern."
"Ugh. Better you than me." She‘d rather fight a nice bloody battle any day. In the house, she stopped, staring across the room.
Sarah sat beside Alec on the small couch—where he and Vic had talked earlier. Cleavage was snuggled up to him so closely she was almost on his lap. Her dark head rested on his shoulder as they talked together in low voices.
Vic swallowed and followed Jamie to the kitchen where Aaron had his hands deep in bread dough.
"Where‘s Daddy?" Jamie asked, snatching a tiny piece of dough and stuffing it into her mouth.
Aaron pulled the ball of dough closer to him and continued kneading. "Gretchen came to get him a while back. They haven‘t returned."
Vic‘s lungs weren‘t getting enough air, and her hands felt colder now than they had outside.
"Why don‘t you stay and help Aaron, Jamie? I‘m going to take a break."
"Sure."
Vic ruffled Jamie‘s hair and left the room. Okay then. Apparently that was that. Her decision was made.
So why didn‘t she feel good about it?
Chapter Sixteen
Calum covered a yawn as he walked into the kitchen early the next day. He and the Elders had stayed up most of the night, hammering out contingency plans in case the Daonain were exposed by the arseholes trying to catch shifters. Although well hidden, the Elders were the least mobile of the clan. Part of the reason he‘d visited was to ensure they understood the seriousness of the threat and were prepared to run if needed.
Beside Alec at the counter, Jamie grinned over her shoulder. "We‘re making pancakes."
"Impressive accomplishment." Calum kissed the top of her head, smiled at Alec, and looked around. Aaron liked to sleep late, but Victoria seemed like a dawn riser. "Did you leave Victoria sleeping?"
Jamie had her lip tucked between her teeth as she concentrated on pouring the perfect amount of pancake dough into the frying pan. "She‘s already up."
"Ah. She probably went out for a walk."
The batter sizzled as it dropped onto the hot skillet, and the scent of pancakes filled the kitchen. Alec‘s stomach growled audibly. "I get the first one."
Calum tilted his head. "I believe that reputable cooks serve others first."
"But Jamie wouldn‘t let her beloved uncle starve, would she?"
She frowned from one to the other, and a sly smile spread over her face. "I don‘t want you arguing with Daddy, so I‘d better eat the first one."
"Even in an emergency, she keeps her head." Calum grinned at Alec, his pride making his heart swell.
The breakfast, although he didn‘t get the first pancake, tasted very good. "You‘re turning into a fine cook, Jamie," Calum said. "Since you did most of the work, Alec and I will clean up.
Meanwhile, you can pack. We‘ll leave soon."
"Oh, Daddy. Do we have to go?"
"I have a business; Alec is sheriff." He gave her a stern look. "And you have school."
"Well, poop."
As Jamie trotted to her room, Calum poured himself another cup of coffee, then studied his brother whose face was still lined, eyes weary. They‘d both had to kill clanmates; it never grew easier. "Are you all right, brawd?"
Alec shrugged. "It‘ll take a while. Talking with Vicki helped."
Hoping to divert Alec from his grief, Calum asked, "Was Sarah as helpful?"
"You bastard, abandoning your own littermate like that. By the God, I‘d rather put a leg in an iron trap than be alone with that female. Would you believe she bawled over Fergus‘s death, and a second later climbed in my lap?"
"For a cahir, you certainly get trapped easily."
"And you didn‘t?" Alec smirked.
Calum winced. Overly sweet females made his fangs hurt. "I eventually managed to scrape Gretchen off by siccing Maude on her."
A door slammed, and Jamie ran into the kitchen, waving a piece of paper. "Daddy, all Vicki‘s stuff is gone! This was on the bed."
His blood stopped in his veins. Calum opened the note as Alec read over his shoulder.
I‘m returning to my normal life. I can‘t risk being a feral.
Please don‘t come after me.
Give Jamie a hug for me,
Vic
Calum‘s hand crumpled the paper as an icy blizzard lashed at his soul. She left us.
Alec‘s expression held the same devastation. "My fault," Alec said, his voice hoarse. "I didn‘t explain well enough. Why would she think she‘d go feral?"
"You did your best, as did I. It is her decision to make."
"Did Vicki go away? Without saying goodbye?" Jamie‘s eyes filled with tears, and Calum pulled her into his arms.
"She did. She returned to her own home, and I think it‘s time we went to ours."
*
Swane walked through the shack he‘d rented close to Cold Creek. Since Vidal couldn‘t leave his business in Seattle, it was only him and the old woman he‘d snatched. What a shame—
for her—that she and her fat dog had chosen to walk in the deserted park.
Although he‘d had a tranq gun ready, she hadn‘t transformed when he‘d kicked her dog or grabbed her, so she probably wasn‘t a shifter. Even so, the nosy biddy was friends with everyone in town. If any of those monsters lived in Cold Creek, she‘d know.
He shoved open the door to the bedroom. Wasn‘t she a nice sight, tied so neatly in the straight-backed chair? "Hello there." He tossed his bag of tools at her feet, then ripped off the duck tape that had covered her mouth. Some skin came with it, and blood oozed.
She blinked away tears. "Wh-what do you want? I don‘t have much money, but you can have it. J-just let me go!" Her eyes were terrified in the wrinkled face.
Swane‘s breathing sped up. He got a better rush out of anticipation than from snorting coke.
Fuck, he‘d missed interrogating prisoners. Maybe wereboy‘s resistance had been an ego blow, but this old bitch‘d spill her guts within an h
our. Not that it would do her much good.
"I don‘t need money, Mrs. Neilson." Considering he‘d earn a cool half-mill once his boss learned to shift. He dragged over a chair and sat in front of her, knee to knee. "That‘s your name, right? Irma Neilson? You don‘t mind if I call you Irma, do you?"
She shook her head frantically. "But—"
He slapped her, open-handed across the face. "First—the rules. I don‘t hear your fucking voice unless I ask a question. Got it?"
A trickle of blood ran from her lip. Her eyes were shocked.
Probably never been hit in her secure life. And nope, she wasn‘t a werecreature or she‘d have changed into a cat by now. "We‘re going to talk about monsters, Irma. People who turn into mountain lions. Know what I mean?"
From the slight widening of her eyes, the twitch of her fingers, she knew exactly what he meant.
"Tell me who they are." He picked up a pair of pliers from the bag. "Then tell me who they love."
Chapter Seventeen
Winter camping for days. This had to be one of the stupidest stunts she‘d ever pulled. Vic‘s hood brushed against a pine branch and dislodged a flurry of snow onto her shoulders. Taking a moment, she oriented herself to the four gray, bare patches on a high, white-covered peak. They looked like claws, she‘d thought, when they‘d hiked to Elder Village.
That time seemed a lifetime ago. The first day had been sheer misery...and mourning...but then, she‘d done better. It was as if the surrounding snow had drifted around her heart also. Soon, her life would go back to the way it had been before without the impossible dream of having a family. A place to fit in.
Maybe if the danger was only to her, she might have stayed. But the memory of Helen‘s blood splattering the snow made Vic‘s stomach tighten. If I turned feral—what an ugly word—
then I"d hurt others, not just me. The risk that she‘d turn into one seemed way too high. She had no home. No family. No ties to keep her human. She‘d never really belonged anywhere besides the military. Although she‘d briefly hoped to be one of the shifter clan, visiting Elder Village had taught her the futility of that—half the time she hadn‘t understood what they were talking about.