Chapter
Eleven
Zoey dumped her bag onto the bistro table in her
kitchen. Didn’t even bother to check the fridge—as
if there would be anything interesting in it anyway—and
headed straight for the couch. She was tired, dirty from head to
toe, and smelled like smoke after spending the afternoon watching
the Dunvegan Volunteer Fire Department battle a tractor fire that
had spread to a farmyard and several outbuildings. She’d gotten
some good photos and some useful story material but all she wanted
right now was to get off her feet. That, and close her stinging
eyes for a while before the migraine that was brewing on the right
side of her head could erupt. . . .
The dream ambushed her at once. The
gray grizzled wolf burst through the balcony doors in a shower of
glass. She leapt from the couch, hoping to make the hallway door
but the creature cornered her effortlessly in the kitchen, glaring
at her with those damn glowing eyes and snapping at her with
foam-flecked jaws. Zoey held one of her metal bistro chairs in
front of her, with thoughts of clubbing the monster with it, but it
was too close. If she lifted the chair to swing it, she’d leave
herself vulnerable just long enough for those wicked teeth to reach
her. Instead, all she could do was hold the wolf away from her as
he lunged. The chair began to grow heavy, almost too heavy to hold
up, as the wolf bit at the metal legs. It was so close she could
see the scars crisscrossing its face. “Help, I need help in here!”
she yelled but couldn’t seem to make a sound above a
whisper.
Suddenly an unearthly howl filled the
room. It was long and loud, and seemed to vibrate right through her
to resonate in her bones. Another wolf appeared behind her
attacker. Zoey recognized the great silvery beast by the blanket of
black over its shoulders and feared it was here to join in the
kill. But to her surprise, the grizzled wolf roared and spun,
twisting its body as it did so to lunge at the other’s throat. The
savage growls and choking snarls were deafening as the creatures
battled. There was no squeezing past the fight, so Zoey aimed for
the quickest way out of the kitchen and climbed onto the table. She
had one leg out of the window, feeling for a toehold so she could
climb over to the neighbor’s balcony when blood suddenly sprayed
the wall beside her, splattering her face and arm. She snapped her
attention to the now silent apartment where her attacker lay
lifeless just a few feet away. The great silver and black wolf
lifted its bloodied muzzle and stared at her with pale gray eyes.
The eyes darkened to the color of storm as the massive creature
took a step toward her. Omigod, omigod. She
pulled back without thinking and lost her balance, her fingers
sliding from the window frame. She was falling,
falling—
Zoey awakened on the floor beside the
couch with a scream caught in her throat. She choked and sputtered
her way to the bathroom to get a drink. Only then could she draw a
full breath, leaning on her elbows over the sink. Omigod. That was a frickin’ whopper.
She spent an extra long time in the
shower, trying to rinse off the residue of the nightmare as much as
the smoke and dirt. She really didn’t want to go to the barbecue.
The dream had left her off-balance—weirded
out, as the sports reporter was fond of saying. But staying
in the apartment wasn’t all that appealing at the moment either.
Besides, she’d feel guilty if she disappointed Bill and Jessie,
especially after Bill had personally come to the office to issue
the invitation, and then had ejected that insane reporter for her.
Still, as much as she probably needed people around her, some
semblance of normalcy after the disturbing dream, she wasn’t sure
she was up to seeing them.
She stood in front of her closet,
studying her choices and shook her head. “It’s not the damn
barbecue, Zoey Tyler. It’s Connor you don’t want to see.” Okay, she
wanted to see him but wasn’t ready to see him. Not until she could sort out her
emotions, think clearly. She was still miffed that he’d left so
abruptly—but one of the volunteers battling the blaze had shed some
light on Connor’s life. He’d told her about his pair of champion
roping horses, which had broken into a grain shed a few days ago,
gorging on barley until they foundered themselves. “They were near
gone when I found ’em, almost went for my gun instead of the phone.
But Macleod’s got a way of pulling critters back from death’s door
and he didn’t disappoint. Stayed the rest of the day and all that
night, nursing them along until he was certain they would make it.
Damn miracle worker, that guy.”
Did that kind of thing happen often?
Small wonder the vet was exhausted. He really hadn’t looked well
when he left. She supposed she could cut him a break for not making
a more—what could she call it? Socially adept
exit? Smooth transition between kissing and leaving? She
picked out a turquoise blouse that she knew set off the auburn
tones of her hair. “But he could damn well call, couldn’t
he?”
It shouldn’t matter. If she never saw
the man again, it really shouldn’t matter. After all, it wasn’t
like they had a relationship or anything. Technically, all they had
between them was a little kissing. . . .
Kissing. Who had
come up with that word? What a lame term for something so
incredible. What the man had done was more along the lines of
making love with his lips. Just thinking about it made the heat
rise to her cheeks. And speaking of heat . . . What was it with his
body temperature? Being near him was like reclining in front of a
bright fireplace; a deep and languid relaxation always stole over
her. And she had certainly responded to him. No matter that she
told herself she didn’t want or need a relationship right now, that
she was busy, that it wasn’t convenient, that she was certain there
were reasons, very good reasons if she could just think of them,
for not getting involved with Connor Macleod. Her response to him
exposed all of those sensible thoughts as the flimsy excuses they
were. Because the connection went deeper than a mere physical
response, although that alone had been so strong she could still
feel it. It was as if some part of her actually recognized Connor,
knew him. Psychic gift or heart’s intuition, it had been just as
clear when he was drinking coffee at her kitchen table as when she
was in his arms.
Maybe she was dragging her feet about
the barbecue because if she saw Connor there, she’d know why he
hadn’t been calling. If he avoided her, if he was too casual, maybe
distant, then she’d know that he wasn’t interested in her. That
he’d pulled away from her and left because he didn’t want to be too
involved.
“That would suck,” she said aloud as
she put on a pair of turquoise earrings. But knowing where she
stood was better than wondering, and she’d never been one to back
away from something she feared. Okay, there was that one time at
the advanced ski hill when she’d thought better of going down, but
wasn’t that just common sense? She’d simply decided her skills
weren’t yet equal to the steep run and took the lift back to
another slope. So it was the bunny hill. . .
.
She’d definitely decline any further
engagements with wolves too. The effects of this afternoon’s dream
were starting to fade a little but she still had to repress a
shudder. And something about it was puzzling her. She could account
for the grizzled wolf—after all, it was the one that had attacked
her in real life. She expected to see it in her dreams. But what
was the meaning of this new wolf, the black and silver one? She’d
never seen anything like its distinctive saddleback markings. Did
they mean something? And why was this strange wolf popping up as
regularly as the real one?
The new wolf had pale gray eyes. Zoey
had expected green or brown or something, well, more animal-like. But then, huskies had strange eyes, blue or
even clear white for instance, so maybe gray eyes were not all that
unusual. Still, she had a niggling impression she was missing
something, something she ought to know or—
“Good grief. I don’t need to sit around
here all night and think about wolves,” Zoey chided herself, and
gathered up her keys and her purse. Bill’s barbecue suddenly seemed
very appealing. There would be people. Lots of people. Good food,
of course, but more importantly, lots and lots of people.
Conversation. Laughter. And no wolves.
Although it was just behind Main
Street, the Watson home boasted a surprisingly large backyard
surrounded by a tall hedge of blossoming lilacs. Zoey could see the
roof of The Finer Diner rising beyond the flowered bushes. An
enthusiastic yellow Lab met her at the gate.
“Hi,” she laughed and fondled the dog’s
ears. The dog led the way through the crowd, wagging its tail. Zoey
smiled and waved at a number of people she knew until the dog
halted in front of the enormous stainless steel barbecue. Smoke and
steam billowed up from the open lid as if from a blacksmith’s forge
and she could barely see the petite black woman turning steaks
behind it. The dog barked, as if announcing Zoey, and the woman
looked up at once.
“You made it, girl!” Jessie hurried
around to hug her tightly.
“Thanks for inviting—” Zoey flinched as
her upper arm protested the pressure. Jessie was small but
powerful.
Her friend released her at once with a
frown. “That rotter did hurt you. Bill told
me about what happened today. Lemme see that arm.” There was no
time to object. Jessie simply seized her loose sleeve and rolled it
up as smoothly as if it were a window shade. She grimaced at the
purple imprints of large fingers on the inside of Zoey’s arm just
above the elbow, the skin around the prints darkening ominously as
well.
“The dirty bugger,” declared Jessie.
“It hasn’t been a day and just look at the color of these marks
already. Have you iced this wing yet?” She called her husband to
take over grilling duties and ushered Zoey into the
house.
Within a few moments, there was a bag
of frozen peas curved around Zoey’s injured arm and an icy glass of
mango slush in her other hand. “I have to admit that feels a whole
lot better,” said Zoey. She drew on the straw thoughtfully,
savoring both the fruit and the shot of vodka that enhanced it. “In
fact, this is probably the best I’ve felt all day.
Thanks.”
“No problem. I’ve had lots of practice.
Bill and I both wrestled for a number of years, and we took turns
patching each other up. Well, mostly I patched up Bill,” Jessie
laughed. “He gets so reckless, so crazy when he’s in the ring. Me,
I never got hurt too bad—I preferred strategy to the
straightforward approach. That’s why I can still take him
down.”
Zoey stared at her. “You can take Bill? But he’s so huge!” she blurted and covered her mouth in
embarrassment.
“You think size matters? Haven’t you
ever heard of Yoda, girl? Brains and agility will beat brawn and
muscle every time. And let’s not forget the Force,” grinned Jessie
as she held out some white pills and a glass of water to Zoey.
“This’ll help with the pain and swelling. Mind you, that’s your one
and only drink if you take them.”
“Gotcha. Did you meet while on the
wrestling circuit?” asked Zoey as she peered at the pills.
Acetaminophen. She considered the glass in her hand, looked again
at the pills, then shook her head. She didn’t drink much as a rule
but tonight she wouldn’t mind a couple more mango slushes or maybe
a good dark beer in tribute to her Irish heritage. She was certain
she’d seen someone holding a Guinness earlier. . . .
“Not on the usual circuit, that’s for
sure. Bill was from London. My family was from Louisiana, so we
were more than an ocean apart. But we had both signed on with an
international group that was doing a three-month stint of tag-team
matches in Europe. By the time the tour was up, Bill and I were
married.” Jessie chuckled. “My mother had conniptions at first, but
once she met Bill and saw us together, she had to admit it was
meant to be. She’s doted on him ever since.”
“And you too, I see.”
“And me too. Like I told you,
meant to be. We’re still hot for each other
after all these years. And speaking of hot—I’ve been slaving over
that barbecue too long.” Jessie shrugged out of her overshirt,
leaving just a bright coral cami and Zoey noticed a large colored
tattoo covering her friend’s shoulder and upper arm: A leaping
wolf, silvery against the deep mahogany of her skin.
“Oh my—that’s gorgeous!” breathed Zoey
and meant it, even if wolves weren’t her favorite animals at the
moment. The tat was a work of art, intricately detailed. There was
even expression in the lupine face. She was about to ask why Jessie
had chosen a wolf when suddenly the screen door flew open behind
her and Connor was there. Holding her arm gently in his strong
hands, examining the bruises with a feather touch. Swearing softly
under his breath, his eyes storm-dark with anger. Bill was right at
his elbow.
“I told you he’s a rotten bugger,” said
the red-haired man. “I shook him around a bit but Zoey got her
licks in. Nearly split his thick skull for him, she did. Still, I
wish I’d thumped him a bit more now.”
Connor’s voice was low and hard. “I’d
like to thump him myself.” He straightened slowly and searched
Zoey’s face, cupping her elbow carefully in his hand.
“Sorry to disappoint you both, but I’ve
got first thumping rights, the minute I complete my black belt in
Karate or Kung Fu or something.” She removed her arm from Connor’s
big hand, ignoring the tiny thrill that zipped through her at the
thought of what that hand could do. . . . “And I’m okay, thanks. My
arm’s not broken, not even sprained. It’ll work just fine for
swearing in to testify against that rat bastard.” There was a long
pause and she felt another tingle, one that wasn’t caused by being
in close proximity to a tall broad-shouldered man. She didn’t need
her psychic talent to tell her that Connor was angry—that was plain
from his expression. The devil help Helfren if they met face to
face anytime soon. But there was something else, something niggling
at her senses. She tried to open herself to it—
And found herself nearly nose to nose
with a massive wolf, the same silver and black creature from her
nightmares, its pale gray eyes fastened intently on hers. Zoey
yelped and jumped backward, bashing her hip against the rim of the
countertop. The pain served to interrupt the vision and the wolf
disappeared abruptly. There were only Connor’s eyes, wide with
concern.
“Zoey, talk to me. Are you all right?
What happened to you?”
“What happened to me? What the hell
happened to you?” She gripped the counter
with one hand and held the other to her throbbing hip. Another day,
another bruise, she thought ruefully. Connor stepped closer but she
held up a hand—the one that had been on her hip. She didn’t dare
let go of the counter with the other just yet. “Please don’t crowd
me for a few minutes, okay? I mean it, just back off and let me
breathe.” Let me breathe and try to figure all this
out. This was no doubt what she got for actually trying to
use her unwanted psychic ability. She was seeing things, and damn
scary things at that. Was she more tired
than she’d thought? She picked up the nearly empty glass of mango
slush and gave it an experimental sniff.
Jessie moved in and put a gentle arm
around her. “Hon, you’ve had a long and difficult day. I shouldn’t
have given you that drink without something to eat first. Why,
knowing you, I’ll just bet you haven’t had a thing since
breakfast.”
Zoey latched onto the idea with relief.
“Yeah, that Helfren guy really messed up my lunch hour.” And if she
hadn’t eaten, then maybe her blood sugar was down. Really, really
down. Didn’t people sometimes hallucinate when that happened? She’d
fainted from low blood sugar once before, but maybe seeing things
was possible as well. And she was tired. . .
. That nagging voice within told her she was grasping for straws,
but she decided to ignore it.
“What say we find you the most
comfortable chair in the yard, and you can just relax and put those
hardworking editor’s feet up while I get Bill to bring you a steak?
I’ve got my best cajun chicken on the grill too.”
“Works for me.” Zoey allowed her friend
to lead her outside. “Jessie, you just won’t believe what I thought
I saw—”
Connor watched from the porch as Jessie
settled Zoey into a sprawling Adirondack chair. The two women were
laughing now but he wasn’t cheered. He wanted to kick something.
Better yet, he wanted to chase something around and bite it.
Preferably Helfren. He would definitely go looking for him in the
very near future. . . .
Jessie walked by the grill, still
smiling, and spoke to her husband. But as she turned and made her
way back to the porch, her expression was all business. Connor
followed the Pack leader into the kitchen.
“There was power here just now,” she
stated. “A helluva lot of it.”
“It’s Zoey—she has a gift of some kind.
It feels like farsight to me, but it’s
different. Is that what happened to her? She saw something, didn’t
she?”
“She saw your wolf.”
What? “That’s
not possible.”
“There is only one saddleback wolf,
animal or Changeling, in this part of the country. One black and
silver wolf with pale eyes. And she saw it in your face just
now.”
“Good God, I didn’t feel anything, not
a thing. My wolf was close to the surface but it was under control.
Not like when—” he trailed off. “I meant to talk to you, Jess,
about what happened the other day when I was with her. Something
really weird is going on.”
She snorted at that. “We’re
Changelings. Something really weird is
always going on. We’ll talk about it after the party, Connor. For
now, go get yourself a drink.”