A Cold Winter's Day 25 (2 page)

Luke wrapped the blanket tighter around his son as he hurried through the woods. His legs felt as though they were going to give out and he was so hungry that he felt faint, but he had to keep going.

Cole’s life depended on him to keep moving.

It was freezing cold, and he had run with the clothes on his back. There were only two bottles left in Cole’s diaper bag and maybe three diapers. He had sacrificed his jacket to keep his son warm as he hurried through the woods.

Luke was so cold that he couldn’t even feel his toes any longer. He’d sacrifice every body part on him to keep those cruel bastards from taking his son. Cole was as sweet as the day was long, and he didn’t deserve what Shanta wanted to do to him.

It wasn’t right, even if it would help the greater good.

If only he knew what the greater good was. Shanta hadn’t said why he wanted to get his hands on Cole. He had just ordered Luke to bring him to his hut.

Not gonna happen.

There was no way he was going to allow the leader to get his grubby hands on his son. Luke tripped, righting himself at the last second as he continued on. He couldn’t feel his feet any longer, and his arms felt as though they were weighted down. He’d give anything to have a warm bath to soak in and a hot drink to unchill his insides.

His feet crunched over the frozen leaves as he wandered, having no clue where he was or where he was heading. He just knew he had to keep his son safe. Cole wasn’t but five months old, and he was already in jeopardy of losing his life in the name of science.

His mother had died at birth, leaving Luke to raise Cole on his own. They had no other family, just the wood elf tribe. And that had turned out to be a nightmare. He thought of the leader, Shanta, and felt rage boiling up inside of him. How could a man who was supposed to keep his tribe safe demand the life of a five-month-old?

Luke wanted to run back there and slice Shanta’s throat. The fey elder had forced Luke to grab his son and run out into the bitter cold, run for his life, for his son’s life. He knew that he would die as well because there was no way he would allow
anyone
to take his son from him.

Over my dead body!

Luke slowed some, feeling exhausted and weary. His entire body ached, and he still had no clue where he was heading. He had traveled a great distance, but he knew he was still in the woods belonging to the timber wolves. He wasn’t sure how friendly they were or if they would even help, so he kept moving.

Cole let out a small cry, making Luke’s heart hurt for his son. He knew Cole was cold and hungry, but if he stopped now, they risked being caught.

It was a risk Luke wasn’t willing to take.

He broke through the woods, finding himself on the edge of a large parking lot. Luke looked around, wondering where he should go from here. There were many cars here, cars that he could probably use to get away faster, but Luke had one minor problem. He didn’t know how to drive.

He felt tears brimming in his eyes when Cole began to cry. Luke didn’t know what to do. His son needed someplace warm, someplace safe, and Luke didn’t have either for him at the moment.

Despair filled him as he stared at the multitudes of vehicles all around him. He just wanted to rest for five minutes. That was all he wanted, and to get Cole someplace warm. Spotting a large truck on the edge closest to him, Luke opened the tailgate and climbed in. There was some sort of black cover on the bed of the truck, concealing him and Cole from anyone walking this way.

As he shut the tailgate, Luke glanced around, praying that whoever owned this vehicle didn’t send him back to his tribe. He knew from talk around his village that Brac Village housed many different shifters and demons as well. Maybe he would blend in.

He just prayed he wasn’t in a demon’s truck. Luke already had too many problems to deal with. As Cole cried, Luke curled up into a ball, tucking his son in the crook of his body, trying his best to warm the young babe as he tried to figure out what to do next.

* * * *

Malcolm walked out of the rec center, feeling sore in places he hadn’t known existed. How long had it been since he played basketball? Forever. He prided himself on knowing how to have fun with the kids, but they had so much energy that he felt old as dirt.

He climbed into his truck, grimacing at the pain shooting through his body. He was looking forward to a hot bath and a cold pack. They had run him up and down those courts for hours. Maverick had made him the referee, but after the competition had ended, the other boys challenged him to a game.

Just because he was tall and built like a damn quarterback didn’t mean he could run with the young ones. His damn knees hurt! Malcolm steered the truck toward home, wondering why Maverick had asked him to join them today. It was an odd request, one he wasn’t going to turn down, but one of his sons would have done just fine.

Why him?

And he hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to the alpha about D’s brothers the whole time he had been there. The games had kept him busy, and toward the end, Maverick had to leave.

Once he worked out all of the kinks in his body, he was going to drive over to the alpha’s home and have a long talk with him about D’s brothers. He had to make it known to the alpha that what the vampire had done wasn’t intentional. He had been raised to believe that shifters and vampires couldn’t mate—even though the squirrelly guy lived under the same roof with Tater and Olsen.

Malcolm pushed the problem from his mind for the moment. There wasn’t anything he could do about it for the time being, and he was more concerned with the damn crimp in his back. A hot bath should cure all his ills.

He knew shifting into his bear form would knock them out, but Malcolm did love his hot baths on cold winter days. There was just something about them.

As he pulled into the drive, Malcolm could have sworn he heard a cub crying. It was low, barely audible, and gone within seconds.

The truck came to a stop in front of the house as Malcolm listened closely, but didn’t hear the noise repeat itself. He shrugged. Maybe he was more tired than he thought. He climbed out of the truck and slammed the door, then stilled.

There it was again.

Only this time the crying was louder, with a higher pitch. Malcolm listened intently as he followed the sound to the back of his truck. He wasn’t sure what was in the bed of his truck, but whatever it was, it wasn’t supposed to be there.

His claws came out as he rose to his full height, preparing for a fight as he let the tailgate down. What he saw stunned him. Rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn’t seeing things, Malcolm looked again.

They were still there.

A man lay in the bed of his truck, curled around a crying infant. The stranger made no move toward Malcolm. He almost looked frozen.

Without thought, Malcolm reached in and scooped the guy into his arms, making sure the babe was secure in the man’s arms before he rushed up the front steps and shouldered the front door open.

“Someone get up here now!” he bellowed as he climbed the steps two at a time. Malcolm headed straight into his bedroom. The man in his arms was freezing cold. He worried that the cub was frozen as well. He gently laid the man down and began to cover him with heavy blankets, and then he gently pried the screaming babe from the man’s arms.

“Shit!” Malcolm quickly grabbed a blanket from the back of his lounge chair and wrapped the cub, turning the blanket into a cocoon as he tried to warm the young child. The cub’s lips were blue, just like the stranger’s.

“What’s going on?” Riley asked as he burst into the bedroom. He skidded to a halt, his eyes wide as he took in the scene before him. “Who the hell are they?”

Malcolm rubbed his hands over the cocoon, trying his best to warm the cub’s entire body as quickly as he could. He knew that if the blood rushed back to the babe’s heart too fast, the cub was at risk for a heart attack. “I don’t know, but we need to get some warm milk into the cub. He’s freezing.”

Riley nodded as he shot out of Malcolm’s room. Malcolm paced his bedroom as he tried desperately to quiet the screaming infant. The cub was his first priority. He was too young to fend for himself. It was up to Malcolm to make sure he warmed up and was fed.

“This is all we had.” Riley came back into the bedroom. “It’s cow’s milk, but it’s warm.”

Malcolm stared at the rubber glove filled with cow’s milk. His son had been very inventive. He’d give him that. “Thanks.”

Malcolm lifted the rubber glove to his mouth and nicked one of the fingers with his canine. He placed the index finger of the glove to the cub’s mouth, watching him latch onto it instantly. The whelp drank greedily, taking in air through his nose as he drained the glove in no time flat.

“Go get him some more.”

Riley nodded and headed back out the bedroom. The cub had quieted down, sucking his fist as he lay in Malcolm’s massive arms.

“Who are you, babe?” he asked the whelp as he cooed at him.

The small guy was handsome. At least Malcolm hoped he was a boy. It would be odd calling a little girl handsome. He sat in the chair in his bedroom and unwrapped the babe, checking his diaper.

“Okay, so you are a boy.” Boys he knew about. Boys he had raised. If the cub had been a girl, Malcolm wouldn’t have had a clue of what to do. He guessed all babies needed the same care, food, diapers, and warmth, but he knew handling a little girl would have been different.

Once he had the young cub wrapped tightly back in his blanket, Malcolm glanced over at the man sleeping in his bed. It hadn’t slipped his notice that whoever the guy was, he was Malcolm’s mate.