Chapter
One
Freezing rain sliced out of the black sky,
turning the wet pavement to glass. Zoey stared out at the freakish
weather and groaned aloud. With less than two days left in the
month of April, the skies had been clear and bright all afternoon.
Trees were budding early and spring had seemed like a sure bet. Now
this. Local residents said if you didn’t
like the weather this far north, just wait fifteen minutes. She
gave it five, only to watch the rain turn to sleet.
Perhaps she should have asked more
questions before taking the job as editor of the Dunvegan Herald Weekly. She was getting the peace and
quiet she’d wanted, all right, but so far the weather simply
sucked. Winter had been in full swing when she’d arrived at the end
of October. Wasn’t it ever going to end?
Sighing, she buttoned her thin jacket
up to her chin and hoisted the camera bag over her shoulder in
preparation for the long, cold walk to her truck. All she wanted
before bed was a hot shower, her soft flannel pajamas with the
little cartoon sheep on them, the TV tuned to Late
Night, and a cheese and mushroom omelet. Hell, maybe just
the omelet. She hadn’t eaten since noon, unless the three faded
M&Ms she’d found at the bottom of her bag counted as
food.
As usual, the council meeting for the
Village of Dunvegan had gone on much too long. Who’d have thought
that such a small community could have so much business to discuss?
It was well past ten when the mayor, the councilors, and the
remnants of a long-winded delegation filed out. Zoey had lingered
only a few moments to scribble down a couple more notes for her
article but it was long enough to make her the last person out of
the building.
The heavy glass door automatically
locked behind her, the metallic sound echoing ominously. Had she
taken longer than she thought? There wasn’t a goddamn soul left on
the street. Even the hockey arena next door was deserted, although
a senior men’s play-off game earlier had made parking difficult to
find. Now, her truck—a sturdy, old red Bronco that handled the snow
much better than her poor little SUV had—was the only vehicle in
sight.
The freezing rain made the three-block
trek to the truck seem even longer. Not only did the cold wind
drive stinging pellets of ice into her face, but her usual
business-like stride had to be shortened to tiny careful steps. Her
knee-high leather boots were strictly a fashion accessory—her
bedroom slippers would have given her more traction on the ice. If
she slipped and broke her ankle out here, would anyone even find
her before morning?
The truck glittered strangely as she
approached and her heart sank. Thick sheets of ice coated every
surface, sealing the doors. Nearly frozen herself, she pounded on
the lock with the side of her fist until the ice broke away and she
could get her key in. “Come on, dammit, come on!”
Of course, the key refused to turn,
while the cold both numbed and hurt her gloveless fingers. She
tried the passenger door lock without success, then walked gingerly
around to the rear cargo door. No luck there either. She’d have to
call a tow—
Except that her cell phone was on the
front seat of her truck.
Certain that things couldn’t get any
worse, she tested each door again. Maybe one of the locks would
loosen if she kept trying. If not, she’d probably have to walk all
the way home, and wasn’t that a cheery prospect?
Suddenly a furtive movement teased at
her peripheral vision. Zoey straightened slowly and studied her
surroundings. There wasn’t much to see. The streetlights were very
far apart, just glowing pools of pale gold that punctuated the
darkness rather than alleviating it. Few downtown businesses
bothered to leave lights on overnight. The whispery hiss of the
freezing rain was all she could hear.
A normal person would simply chalk it
up to imagination, but she’d been forced to toss normal out the window at an early age. Her mother,
aunts, and grandmother were all powerful psychics—and the gene had
been passed down to Zoey. Or at least a watered-down version of it.
The talent was reliable enough when it worked, but it seemed to
come and go as it pleased. Like right now.
Zoey tried hard to focus yet sensed absolutely nothing. It was her
own fault perhaps for trying to rid herself of the inconvenient
ability.
No extrasensory power was needed,
however, to see something large and black glide silently from one
shadow to another near the building she’d just left. What the hell was that? There was nowhere to go for
help. The only two bars in town would still be open, but they were
several blocks away, as was the detachment headquarters for the
Royal Canadian Mounted Police. There was a rundown trailer park a
block and a half from the far side of the arena, but Zoey knew
there were no streetlights anywhere along that route.
A dog? Maybe it’s just a big dog, she
thought. A really big dog or a runaway cow.
After all, this was a rural community. And a
northern rural community at that, so maybe it’s
just a local moose, ha, ha . . . . She struggled to keep her
fear at bay and redoubled her efforts on the door locks, all the
while straining to listen over the sound of her own harsh
breathing.
The rear door lock was just beginning
to show promise when a low, rumbling growl caused her to drop her
keys. She spun to see a monstrous shape emerge from the shadows,
stiff-legged and head lowered. A wolf? It
was bigger than any damn wolf had a right to be. Jesus. Some primal instinct warned her not to run and
not to scream, that the animal would be on her instantly if she did
so.
She backed away slowly, trying not to
slip, trying to put the truck between herself and the creature. Its
eyes glowed green like something out of a horror flick, but this
was no movie. Snarling black lips pulled back to expose gleaming
ivory teeth. The grizzled gray fur around its neck was bristling.
Zoey was minutely aware that the hair on the back of her own neck
was standing on end. Her breath came in short shuddering gasps as
she blindly felt for the truck behind her with her hands, sliding
her feet carefully without lifting them from the
pavement.
She made it around the corner of the
Bronco. As soon as she was out of the wolf’s line of sight, she
turned and half skated, half ran for the front of the truck as fast
as the glassy pavement would allow. Don’t fall,
don’t fall! It was a litany in her brain as she scrambled up
the slippery front bumper onto the icy hood. With no hope of
outrunning the creature and no safe place in sight, the roof of the
truck seemed like her best bet—if she could make it. Don’t fall, don’t fall! Flailing for a handhold, she
seized an ice-crusted windshield wiper, only to have the metal
frame snap off in her hand. She screamed as she slid back a few
inches.
The wolf sprang at once. It scrabbled
and clawed, unable to find a purchase on the ice-coated metal. Foam
from its snapping jaws sprayed over her as the beast roared its
frustration. Finally it slipped back to the ground and began to
pace around the truck.
Zoey managed to shimmy up the hood
until she was able to put her back against the windshield, and
pulled her knees up to her chin. She risked a glance at the roof
behind her—she had to get higher. Before she could move, however,
the wolf attacked again, scrambling its way up the front bumper.
Vicious jaws slashed at her. Without thought, Zoey kicked out at
the wolf, knocking one leg out from under it. It slid backward but
not before it clamped its teeth on her calf. The enormous weight of
the creature dragged at her and she felt herself starting to slide.
. . .
One hand still clutched the broken
windshield wiper and she used it, whipping the creature’s face and
muzzle with the frozen blade until she landed a slice across one
ungodly glowing eye. The rage-filled snarl became a strangled yelp;
the wolf released her leg and slipped from the hood. This time Zoey
didn’t look, just turned and launched herself upward for the roof
rack. She came down hard, adrenaline keeping her from feeling the
impact of the bruising metal rails. She was conscious only of the
desperate need to claw and grasp and cling and pull until she was
safely on the very top of the vehicle.
Except she wasn’t safe. Not by a long shot. Crap. She could plainly see that she wasn’t high enough.
Crap, crap, crap. The enraged wolf leapt
upward in spite of the fact that its feet could find little
traction on the ice-coated pavement. What it couldn’t gain in
momentum, the wolf made up for in effort, hurling itself repeatedly
against the Bronco. Its snapping jaws came so close that Zoey could
see the bleeding welts across its face, see that one of its hellish
eyes was now clouded and half-closed. She slashed at it again,
catching its tender nose so it howled in frustration and pain as it
dropped to the ground. Snarling, it paced back and forth like a
caged lion, watching her. Waiting.
The wind picked up and the freezing
rain intensified. Huddled on her knees in the exact center of the
icy roof, Zoey’s adrenaline began to ebb. She was cold and
exhausted, and parts of her were numb. But she wasn’t helpless; she
wouldn’t allow herself to think that way. The thin windshield wiper
was badly bent with pieces of it missing, but she’d damn well punch
the wolf in the nose with her bare fist if she had to. If she still
could. . . .
The wolf sprang again.
Dr. Connor Macleod cursed himself for
the hundredth time for not bringing another veterinarian into his
practice. His family and friends, and particularly his
receptionist, had been on his case about it for the past two years.
He’d always handled everything himself, but it was time to face
facts—his practice had grown too large.
The second calving season of the year
was in full swing, and Connor had been out on farm calls since five
o’clock that morning. He wouldn’t have minded except he’d gotten
only an hour of sleep after performing an emergency cesarean on a
heifer. That case had been touch and go for most of the night. He’d
had a few choice words for the farmer who had bred the young animal
to a bull of a much larger breed, creating a huge calf that
couldn’t possibly be born on its own. The man had been defensive
and angry, but Connor didn’t care. He had every patience with
animals and none at all for those who deliberately misused
them.
Right now he had no patience left for
anything, and the unseasonal weather didn’t improve his mood. He
needed coffee. And food. And sleep, but that was less likely than
the other two. Fortunately he wasn’t human and as long as he ate
enough, his body could deal with a serious sleep deficit—at least
for a while.
As the lights of Dunvegan came into
view, uneasiness twisted his gut. The ice storm had been far more
intense here. The road was glassed over and treacherous, yet his
feelings had nothing to do with the driving conditions. He switched
off the radio and pulled to the side of the road for a few moments,
needing to think, to focus and unravel the sudden surge of energies
he sensed.
Suddenly the darkness brightened as
everything around him—the dashboard, his hands on the steering
wheel, the road signs—began to glow with a silvery light. It was a
phenomenon that only he could see, a precursor to farsight. . . .
He yelled out. He couldn’t help it. A
hideous premonition spawned a violent and bloody image in his mind.
A woman was in terrible danger, and what was threatening her was no
more human than he was.
In the blink of an eye the image was
gone and the otherworldly light yielded to the natural darkness.
Connor pulled back onto the deserted highway and sped toward the
village, heedless of the glaring ice. The truck had studded tires
and four-wheel drive, both necessary in harsh northern winters and
unpredictable northern springs, and Connor was a skilled driver.
Nevertheless, his pickup stayed on the road largely because he
willed it to. As he drove into town, the
vehicle fishtailed repeatedly but recovered each time. Then he
turned onto a side street.
Close. He knew he was close, he could
feel it. Suddenly, as he swung the truck hard onto Hemstock
Avenue—he saw a huge wolf leap at a parked truck. He leaned on the
horn and stepped on the accelerator as the snarling creature fell
back into the road. One of its eyes flashed green in the bright
headlights, as it turned to look at the oncoming
truck—
—then vanished without a trace. But not
before Connor recognized it: a Changeling.
Like himself.
He slowed his pickup and pulled up
behind a red Bronco that had seen better days. He scanned the
ice-covered windows, expecting the woman to be inside—until a faint
movement drew his eyes upward. His mouth fell open. She was on the goddamn roof. Slippery as it was, it was
only a matter of moments before the wolf would have reached her,
killed her. Or worse.
She was soaked and pale, her long hair
plastered to her head and caked with ice. Her amber eyes
overwhelmed her white face, but they weren’t tearful and
frightened. Instead, her direct gaze took him by surprise. A
creature out of legend had just attacked her, yet instead of
falling apart, she was taking Connor’s measure. He was suddenly
reminded of a falcon he had treated last year. The small predator
had showed a fierce courage out of all proportion to its
size.
And it nearly took my thumb off, he
reminded himself. Best to step carefully here,
Macleod. “I don’t know what you said to that wolf to get him
so riled up,” he ventured. “Do you always insult the local
wildlife?” The deliberate absurdity of the question surprised a
small grin from her.
“I just can’t help myself,” she said, a
little thickly. “You shoulda heard what I said to the grizzly and
the moose that were here.” Her lips and face were obviously numb,
making it difficult to shape the words.
“Let me help you down from there. I’m
betting you could use some coffee.”
“A hot tub full of it.”
He held out his hand to her as she
shifted to swing her legs around. The cold had made her movements
awkward, almost wooden. She paused and glared at Connor. “Don’t you
dare be an ax murderer.”
“I won’t. I’m not.” He dared to smile a
little—but only a little. Damn, but her expression reminded him of
that falcon. Beautiful and downright ferocious. If she was ever
truly pissed off, he’d bet she could nail someone to the nearest
wall with only a look. “I’ll remove that from my résumé, pronto. In
fact, let me take off serial killer and
stalker while I’m at it.”
Her face relaxed into that grin as she
took his outstretched hand. He immediately grasped her other hand
as well, willing his body heat into her frozen fingers. He was
about to lift her down when the tang of fresh blood snapped his
senses into high alert.
“Hold on a minute.” Connor began
inspecting her right leg. The lower pant leg was shredded, the tall
leather boot beneath it full of holes. Blood welled from the
punctures, dripping to the ice-covered sidewalk below, where it
quickly congealed. His own blood chilled. It was all he could do to
compose his face, keep his tone light.
“I think we might need a little
first-aid here. Are you okay for a minute while I do a fast field
dressing?”
She nodded and he fumbled in his coat
pocket, producing a bright roll of elastic bandage which he set in
her lap. As he did so, something clattered to the
pavement.
“Sorry.” He picked up a windshield
wiper, or what was left of it. She held her hand out, but it was a
long moment before Connor recovered from his astonishment enough to
give it to her. Scent told him there was blood on the thin strip of
metal, and it wasn’t human. His exquisite night vision showed him
bits of fur stuck to it as well. Wolf fur.
Christ.
Grown men, strong men, often
surrendered to terror against creatures like her attacker. Yet this
woman had battled for her life with the most meager of weapons and
had actually held the beast at bay. Connor handed back the wiper as
solemnly as a warrior might award a sword.
She took it and shrugged. “The damn
thing had hold of me. I had to make it let go.”
“Good job,” he managed. What an
understatement. She had no idea what she’d done, what she’d saved
herself from. An ordinary wolf could exert enough bite force to
crack the heavy thighbones of moose and bison. But the creature
that had attacked her could have taken her leg off.
Easily.
Still, what had
happened was bad enough. He turned his attention back to the wound.
“This might hurt a bit.” She hissed in a breath but said nothing as
he unzipped the boot and eased it off.
Pushing back the shredded pant leg, he
sucked in his own breath as he surveyed the damage. There were the
deep prints of a monstrous wolf’s teeth on both sides of her
shapely calf. The front incisors had only dented the skin but the
fanglike canines had driven through both leather and soft skin like
nails. And following them were the savage stabs of the pointed
molars. A wolf’s molars weren’t meant for chewing and grinding like
a human’s. Instead, they were carnassials,
designed to shear flesh. The boot’s leather had protected her to a
degree. But had the wolf had a better grip; if it had jerked its
head to one side or the other. . . .
Connor shook off the grisly thoughts as
he tore strips from the hem of her jeans. Deftly, he folded them
into pads and placed them against the worst of the wounds, wrapping
her leg with the bandage so the thick cloth pads put some pressure
on the torn flesh. “This should slow the bleeding,” he
explained.
She surveyed his work, clearly puzzled.
“Orange isn’t really my color . . .”
He laughed a little. “These bandages
only come in fluorescents for some warped reason. You ought to see
this orange stuff on a black cat. It’s like some bad Halloween
joke.”
“A cat? Why would you—”
“—wrap up a cat? Because I’m the local
vet. I wrap up cows and horses too. Had to put a cast on a lizard
last week.”
“I thought you were a paramedic or
something.”
“Sorry. The EMTs had a previous
engagement.” He placed his hands gently around her waist and then
lifted her down to the icy sidewalk. He was about to release her
when her knees suddenly buckled and he found himself supporting
her.
“Am I drunk?” she asked as she
struggled to get her feet under her, her hands hanging onto his
coat. She looked surprised, almost bewildered. “I don’t remember
drinking anything. I was going to make an omelet, not a margarita .
. . I’m so sorry.”
“No need to be sorry. You’re not at
your best right now.” Her sudden confusion worried him. “Come on,
we’re going to sit in my truck for a while and warm
up.”
“But I don’t know you.” She tried to
push away from him, might even have succeeded if he’d been less
determined—and human. But her legs were unsteady and so he kept his
hands firmly on her waist. “I can’t get in a truck with a
stranger!” she protested.
Uh-huh. “Okay, I’m Connor Macleod, and
I’m the guy who’s presently holding you up.” He studied her face
with growing concern. “As I mentioned, I’m the vet around here and
I just finished delivering a calf out at Peterson’s. I was going to
stop at the corner store for some hot coffee before I went home and
then I saw you out here playing with wolves. So now I’m not a
stranger.” He turned a mock suspicious eye on her. “Say, I don’t
know you either. Maybe I should ask who you
are before I let you in my vehicle.”
“Zoey Tyler,” she murmured, then
frowned. “I shouldn’t tell you that. Have I been drinking?” Her
words were definitely slurring now, her eyelids fluttering down. “I
just need to get into my Bronco and I’ll be fine.”
Connor shook his head. “Good survival
instincts, but a little misplaced right now. You can sue me later,
Zoey Tyler.” She mumbled a brief objection as he scooped her up and
carried her to his truck.
The vehicle had been left running and
the heat was thick and heavenly. Connor was seldom bothered by cold
but pins and needles heralded the return of feeling to his fingers
and toes. How much longer had Zoey been outside in the freezing
rain? He regretted his decision to dress her wounds—he should have
gotten her out of the weather first. Her eyes had opened for only a
moment when he put her in the truck and hadn’t opened since. She
was shaking now, her teeth chattering. Carefully he worked at
getting the soggy jacket off her as her head lolled forward, water
dripping from the curtain of her long, thick hair.
Connor reached behind the seat for a
big plaid blanket. He wrapped it around Zoey like a shawl, taking
care to cover her head to prevent further heat loss from her body.
She was barely conscious. Exhaustion probably. Delayed shock
likely. Even hypothermia was a strong possibility. There was no
hospital in the village and he couldn’t take her to the medical
clinic. He’d heard the dispatcher over his radio talking about a
nasty accident earlier with three cars involved. Both of Dunvegan’s
doctors had accompanied the injured to the city. Well, it wouldn’t
be the first time he’d filled in for the human medical
professionals in an emergency. Although this was a bit different
from splinting a broken arm or stitching up a gashed
thumb.
Shoving back the driver’s seat, Connor
tilted the steering wheel out of the way, then sat with his back
against the door. He opened his coat and pulled Zoey inside it,
onto his lap. It took some maneuvering—and some cussing—in such
tight quarters but he finally managed to get her feet to rest on
the dashboard above the glove box. Elevating them would keep blood
in her internal organs, standard treatment for anyone suffering
from shock. It would help her wounded leg to stop bleeding
too.
Now if he could only get her warm. . .
.