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“Oh.” Well. Now she felt stupid. Her gaze slid to Calum. “Sorry.” Belatedly she added, “Thank you.”
“You are welcome.” His eyes held amusement. “It’s partly self-interest. An unattached female werewolf would never lack for offers of shelter, but your remaining at the Wildwood will disturb my territory less than other alternatives.”
Shay snorted. “Discreetly put.”
“As for earning extra income, the Wild Hunt can always use a barmaid on Friday and Saturday nights.” His gray eyes were kind. “You’ve helped Victoria out for fun. Let me pay you for your time.”
She wasn’t going to win against him. Looked like she’d be here a while. Oh God, somehow she’d have to avoid Klaus. Her heart thumped hard at the blast of fear.
But, at the same time, she didn’t have to return to her apartment right away. Like a pendulum of emotion, relief blew through her. Being with Zeb and Shay was…safe.
And yet, she wanted to go home. My city, my friends, my job. The need to be surrounded by her comfortable routine shook her.
But until she managed to control the unexpected shifts to wolfy form, she couldn’t go back to Seattle. Just imagine her boss’s reaction if she suddenly had four feet and a tail.
Just imagine the Cosantir’s response. Turning into a wolfy in the wrong place wouldn’t just lose her some friends, but would be her death sentence.
* * *
That evening, Shay finally finished the paperwork. He gave a grunt of exasperation. By the God, the previous owner must have learned bookkeeping from the dwarves, who believed math was invented by demons. After stretching his cramped back muscles, he grabbed a hard candy from the dish on his desk. Maybe he’d help Zeb with caulking the bathtub upstairs.
As he left the office, he glanced over at the library area and paused.
Bent over a wide oak table, Breanne was working on a jigsaw puzzle. Her golden hair spilled over her shoulders, bright against her fuzzy blue sweater. Her lips pressed together as she concentrated.
Playing with a little wolf would be far more fun than caulking. He strolled over. “Can I help?”
She jumped and glared at him. “Would it hurt you to make a little noise? Warn a girl?”
“Ah, but sneaking up on vulnerable females is so much fun.” He stood beside her, close enough her shoulder brushed his. When she stiffened, he picked up a puzzle piece. Sky blue—the color of her eyes.
After a few seconds, she relaxed. “I wanted to talk to you anyway.” She fit a piece into what might eventually be a log cabin. “I met a woman today. She and her husband run a cleaning business. Jody said the previous owners handled the usual lodge cleaning—like you do—but would call the service for more rigorous stuff.”
“Rigorous?”
“Um. Yeah. For when someone drinks too much”—she wrinkled her little nose—“or has a fight and leaves blood everywhere. Do fishermen do that much brawling?”
Shay smothered his smile. Not fishermen. The records indicated the cabins filled every full moon with unmated shifters here for the Gatherings. Single males were always fighting, hoping to impress the females. “Hiring her might be a good idea. I’m not the greatest housekeeper in the territory. Not like Zeb.”
“You keep leaving the place a mess, and he’s going to wallop you one of these days.” Her sweet giggle grabbed Shay by the balls and squeezed. “I’ve been wondering—how did you learn to fight together?”
“You’re full of questions these days,” he mused. “I should charge you. Collect some thanks.”
She gave him a puzzled look.
“I showed you how a female thanks a male.” He set a finger under her chin, lifted, and kissed her. Soft, soft lips. A feminine scent with vanilla and cinnamon and as sweet as any pastry. He felt her stiffen…but not in fear.
Shay was being so gentle, Bree thought. His lips brushed over hers, then he licked her lower lip. A shiver ran down her spine and pooled into a warm lake at the base.
“Mmm, more,” he murmured. He nibbled on her lips until she opened her mouth, and then swept inside.
He tasted of peppermint and power. As her head spun, she gripped his arms, disconcerted by flexing muscles under her fingers. Anxiety ran through her, and she pulled back.
He smiled and turned back to the table as if he hadn’t made the floor shift under her feet.
She stared at him a second, then—heart still hammering—picked up a puzzle piece. It dropped from her shaking fingers.
With amusement in his blue-gray eyes, he handed it to her and answered her question. “I was in the Sawtooth Territory when I felt the pull of Herne, calling me to Rainier Territory. Ailill Ridge has more hellhound activity than here, and they’d lost a couple of cahirs. Zeb had already been there about a month.”
“Wait. The pull of Herne. What does that mean?” When he reached for her, she dodged. “Hey, you haven’t answered my question yet.”
“As a lodge-owner, I’ve learned to get payment in advance.” The sound of his smooth husky voice increased the heat rising in her veins. He slid a hand around her waist and pulled her to him. His chest was big, wide, and she rested her forehead against it, trying to think.
“Breanne?”
When she lifted her head, his mouth claimed hers. No light kiss this time. His tongue swept in, taking possession. His arm around her waist kept her pinned against him, and his other hand squeezed her bottom.
A hurricane of sensation crashed over her. Her arms wrapped around him, and she could only hold on. The place between her legs woke up, tingling, needing.
He finished with a light nip to her lower lip. Before she could get out of reach, he cupped her chin in a big hand and studied her face. His lips curved as if pleased.
“My answer?” she asked, breathless.
“Years and years ago, I vowed to fight hellhounds for the God of the Hunt. Herne.” He traced the mark on his cheek that resembled blue-tinted antlers. “Being oathbound creates a kind of trail between him and me. Of course, it’s nothing like the highway to the God that the Cosantir has.”
“Oh, sure.” Her laugh died when she remembered the shimmering air around Calum, how power had flowed into her when he forced her to shift. “Go on.”
“Now, Zeb likes to move around. No real direction, just whatever place has hellhounds. Since I’m oathbound, when Herne needs me somewhere, I’m pulled in that direction. I pack up and follow the call until I arrive.”
Pack up and leave? Just like that? Years of various foster-homes had taught her what moving was like. Never belonging, always the new girl. And all Shay had to look forward to was blood and death? She wanted to give him a hug.
“When I got to Rainier Territory, the Cosantir assigned me to work with the newest cahir—Zeb. Said he was an evil-tempered wolf.”
Bree choked on a laugh. “So true.”
“Aye. At first, we fought more than we cooperated.” Shay grinned. “He didn’t like taking orders.”
“And Shay never stopped giving them,” came a rough voice.
Bree looked around. Zeb leaned on the wall, his arms crossed. His hair was loose, a black curtain over his shoulders. He looked angry, sounded angry, but she knew him now. That tiny crease in his right cheek meant he was trying not to smile. “So how did you work it out?” she asked.
“Well—”
“Wait.” Shay tugged her hair lightly. “This little wolf is earning her answers with kisses. She pays in advance.”
“But…” Her voice faded to nothing as Zeb’s eyes darkened. He stalked forward, all predator, making her feel like a defenseless rabbit in an open field.
He was taller than Shay, she realized, when he took her wrists and put them around his neck. His scent was as dark as his deeply tanned face. Studying her with black eyes, he pulled her inexorably closer until she was up against his hard body. His voice was a low rumble. “You will earn your answers.” He took her mouth.
Firm, demanding, a little rough, yet gentling immediately
. When her lips relaxed, he took more, wet and deep and urgent, until all the blood in her body slid down to her lower half. As her breasts rubbed on his chest, her nipples tightened as if someone were pinching them.
Her arms tightened around his neck.
When he finally pulled back, he had to steady her. Shay gripped her waist to help. Two sets of men’s hands were holding her, and somehow she wasn’t afraid. All she could see was the fire burning in Zeb’s eyes as he looked at her.
“She paid, so answer her question, a bhràthair,” Shay said, amusement plain in his voice. His huge hands massaged her waist, and she held her breath, wondering if he’d move them elsewhere.
The gravelly sound of Zeb’s voice rubbed over her nerves, like the sandpaper that lights a match. “A hellhound was chasing a little girl. Too close. I emptied my pistol to turn it around. Figured I’d die. But that idiot”—he glanced at Shay—“shifted to animal form, even though no wolf can win against a hellhound. He ripped at it from the rear.”
“No one realized that our fangs could get between the smaller leg plates. I was just trying to keep Zeb from getting killed. Actually getting through the armor was a surprise,” Shay said. His arm slipped around her waist, and he pulled her back against his chest. She felt something—he was erect. Oh my goodness.
Zeb ran his knuckles over her cheek, drawing her attention. “Before that, he’d tried to talk me into using diversions and teamwork. But I wasn’t interested.”
“You’re more stubborn than a moose in rut.”
“But when the demondung went after Shay, I used one of his fancy ideas. Dove, gutted it, rolled out.” Zeb stroked his lips against hers again, as if he couldn’t get enough. “His plan worked.”
Shay snorted.
“So we’re partners,” Zeb finished. “I still feel like killing him sometimes.”
“You and what pack?”
Zeb stroked around her ribs until his knuckles rubbed the lower part of her breasts. Shay’s hands were still curved around her waist. The feeling was…indescribable.
With a slight smile, Zeb glanced over her head at his brother and then whispered in her ear, “Ask us more questions, little female.”
Chapter Seventeen
Early the next week, Bree scowled as she walked the mile to town. Walked. Not much choice since the car made her itch. Shay had laughed and said, “Shifters and metal don’t get along.” Good to know, but darn it.
Then again, she might as well walk. She sure didn’t have much else to occupy her time, aside from wolfy lessons. She’d stopped her target practice. What was the point? Bullets wouldn’t kill hellhounds and cost money she didn’t have.
Living in the lodge meant she could use the game room, weight room, and TV room, but even those diversions grew old. She was used to working. She liked working.
Sure, Calum needed a barmaid for a few hours on the weekends, but that wasn’t a career. She lived at the lodge for free, but what about food? Clothes? Even books? I need a job.
The few days of warmer weather had melted most of the snow and left the air moist and sweet. As she entered town, she saw a few daffodils were trying to open quickly, as if knowing there’d be more snowstorms before the winter ended. She sighed, missing Seattle.
On the plaza island between traffic lanes, she turned a circle, frowning at each shop in turn, this time with an eye to employment. So few people, such small stores. Maybe the Victorian bed and breakfast needed a maid?
Or… Her eyes narrowed. Next door to the B&B was Angie’s Diner. Hmmm.
When she walked in, she decided the place was exactly what she’d thought a country diner should look like. With a wooden floor, high ceiling, and square tables covered with blue checked tablecloths, it had a friendly atmosphere. The kitchen was through a door on the left, behind a long counter. The glass-fronted shelves held baked goods. She studied the pastries. The pies, obviously, came straight out of a box. No cake or cupcakes or cookies. Oookay, here we go.
A middle-aged woman with faded blonde hair and sharp blue eyes walked out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a white apron over her jeans. “Would you like a piece of pie?”
She looked familiar. “Do I know you?” Bree asked.
“Not exactly. I’m Angie, and ashamed to admit that I’m part of the pack.” The woman’s lips drew tight.
Bree’s cheeks heated. Had everyone in town seen her naked? Seen her on the ground on hands and knees? Darn it. “You’re the one who yelled, ‘Leave her alone’.”
Angie shrugged. “Like I did any good. Those two cahirs were a lot more effective.”
Thank God for that. “Yeah.” Bree stopped, unsure how to move on.
“So, want some pie? Coffee?”
She got a good feeling from the woman. Blunt, good-hearted, self-assured. Bree wiped sweaty palms on her jeans. “Coffee if you’ll join me. I’d like to discuss an idea with you.”
Angie raised her eyebrows. “Well. Let me get cups.”
They settled down at a table close to the counter in case Angie had to get up.
“Do you run this place yourself and make all the meals?” Bree asked.
“Pretty much. You looking for a job?”
“Not exactly.” Bree took a slow breath. “I was a pastry chef in Seattle, but Calum says I have to stay here for a few months.”
“Long commute,” Angie commented in a dry voice.
Bree grinned. “I noticed your pastries aren’t homemade. And there isn’t much variety.”
“I might be insulted, but I think I see where you’re going with this. Go on.”
“Maybe you’d be willing to try offering donuts sometimes, or cakes, or fresh pies? I’m a really good baker.”
“And I hate baking.” Angie pulled a pencil and paper from her apron. “No reason not to give it a try. Let’s throw some figures around.”
An hour later, Bree stepped out of the diner and took a deep breath. Pine from off the mountains, narcissus from the B&B’s round planters, coffee wafting from the bookstore’s open door. What a lovely world.
She had her first order. The thrill bubbling in her veins mingled with anxiety. She wouldn’t have a steady paycheck coming in. Don’t think about that.
Where to start? Supplies. Good, her brain was working…kind of. Flour, butter, fruit, sugar. Given the quantities Angie had specified, maybe the grocery owner would give her a discount. Any little bit would help.
She’d pick up some food for meals as well. The guys sure didn’t know how to stock a kitchen. Until now, she hadn’t cared. Between healing and long runs as a wolf, she’d been too exhausted to cook more than a can of soup, and sometimes fall asleep before finishing it. But she’d adjusted. Last night, she’d wanted to bake, but hey—no decent fixings.
As she headed toward the grocery store, a gnome peered up from under the curb grill, its stubby fingers waggling impertinently.
Gnomes were so—“Oomph.” She hit a body and staggered back, realizing she’d almost knocked a woman over. “Sorry.”
“Well, if it isn’t our newest member—the baby rabbit who had to be rescued by cahirs.” Blatantly sneering, a tall, dark-haired woman stared down her nose at Bree.
Wow. Who spat in your coffee? Bree wondered, then frowned. This was the person who’d shoved her at the pack meeting. Bree tried to shake off her animosity. “Hello.” Was there some etiquette for greeting other shifters?
Silently, the brunette walked in a circle around Bree.
Hackles rising, Bree turned to keep her face to the woman. “What is your problem?” Bree finally snapped.
The woman got right up close, her upper lip rising. “Don’t get bitchy with me, rabbit, or I’ll rip you into stew meat.” She shoved Bree.
Without thinking, Bree returned the favor. Her palm impacted the woman’s sternum and knocked her back a step.
Shock, then anger turned the woman’s sultry beauty ugly.
Great. Way to make friends. “Look, I don’t want to—”
&n
bsp; “Is there a problem here?” That voice.
Bree spun around. Klaus stood in the door of the grocery. When his gloating gaze lingered on the fading bruises on her face and neck, bile rose in her throat. She swallowed hard, then lifted her chin and deliberately stared at his still swollen nose.
Rage flashed in his eyes. “What’s up, Thyra?” he asked.
“Did you see, Klaus?” Thyra waved her hand. “She struck me—she disrespected me.”
“I saw. You want to call a meeting?”
“Oh, get real,” Bree said, dismay edging her voice. “You pushed me, I pushed you back. What are you, a five year old?”
“Insolent bitch,” the woman hissed. “You’ll learn your place. I’ll deal with you at the pack hunt.”
“Can’t,” Klaus said. “Gerhard called off the run since we just had one.”
“Then right now. The park’s empty this time of the year.” Thyra pointed toward a half-hidden park running along the slope behind the stores. “I’ll round up some pack females. Klaus, make sure the rabbit doesn’t run.”
“Will do.” The man licked his lips. “It’s always a pleasure when you discipline your females. This one especially should be fun to watch.”
As Thyra stalked down the street, Bree’s stomach churned like a blender set on high. She started to move away. Get out of town.
“Go ahead, rabbit,” Klaus said from behind her. “Gerhard hopes you’ll screw up and give him a reason to order you out of the lodge. To put you under stricter supervision.”
The idea sent a bolt of ice through her. So…what was the worst Thyra could do—yell at her in front of everyone? Straightening her shoulders, she crossed the street.
The little park was cold with mounds of snow under the bare branched trees. The empty swings creaked in the rising wind. Bree shivered, staring at the dull gray clouds over the western foothills. Another storm was coming in.
Klaus stood under a tree nearby. Zeb had called him a scat-head—a shit-head. Very appropriate.
As women trickled into the park, a few greeted Bree with a nod. Most avoided her gaze, and two of the younger ones grinned savagely. When Angie failed to arrive, Bree’s last hope of reprieve died.