Bending Steele (4 page)

That was a slippery slope all its own. If she
started to feel sorry for him, it was just another step closer to
giving a damn. She wasn’t here to care. She was here to keep her
place in the tribe and walk away when this was all said and
done.

Steele strode across the living room towards
the door at the far end. It was the only door in the place that
didn’t lead back outside. Her stomach tightened. It had to be a
bedroom.
Please let there be more than one
.

A stupid, silly thought. Hexe lived alone; he
didn’t need a spare room any more than she did. The knob turned
easily in her palm and she thrust the door open. A huge bed
sprawled over the room, fit for a king. Large wooden posts spiraled
at each of the four corners, curving beautifully up until they
nearly touched the log ceiling.

His bedspread was the same vivid green as his
eyes, golden swirls etched through the middle. The amount of
pillows on his bed alone could be smashed together to make the bed
she had at home. Then again, her small house could easily fit
inside his three times over.

The floorboards creaked behind her and Steele
spun, her blade instantly back in her hand, and Hexe paused in
front of her. He tilted his head in the direction of the bed behind
her. “I made it myself. Carved each pillar.”

Pride touched his voice and she couldn’t help
but glance back at it. It was a work of art. Vines were etched into
the dark mahogany wood. White pine made the headboard, and he’d
carefully carved out a snow leopard stalking over a snowy backdrop.
Every detail had been carefully carved into the wood, from the
tufts of fur on the cat’s tail to the bare, spindly branches of a
tree stripped by the season. Her breath hitched in her throat. It
was gorgeous. Beautiful.

“The bed itself wasn’t bad. Chopped the trees
from the forest around here, same way I built the house.” Steele
closed her eyes against his voice. She didn’t want to hear this.
She didn’t
care
. He was handy; he’d built all of this. So
what? “The carpet on the other hand...”

A wry laugh sounded from him. “That was hard
as hell to lug up here.”

Her gaze drifted down the ivory shag carpet
that covered his bedroom floor. She hadn’t seen carpet in... Damn,
she didn’t even know. She instantly wanted to kick off her boots
and sink her feet into the plush flooring.

Steele huddled deeper into her jacket. She
was definitely keeping her boots on. Hell, she was sleeping with
them on.

“You can take your jacket off, you know. Stay
awhile.”

The kettle on the stove whistled before she
could answer and Hexe was striding away, the muscles in his back
rippling under the navy of his shirt, a large hunting knife swaying
at his right hip. A few other knives decorated the sheaths along
his back, his own personal, portable armory.

“I’d feel safer if you took off your
knives.”

Hexe flashed her a grin as he set two coffee
mugs on the counter. “You don’t expect me to believe that knife is
the only one you have.”

It actually was. She normally only needed
one.

Hexe dropped his gaze to her parka and wet
his lips. His eyes flashed back to hers. “Here’s the deal. You
strip off your coat, and I’ll take off every one of my
weapons.”

Steele hesitated. It was a smart deal, one
that cost her little. Except then she’d be...what? Here to stay
awhile? She was already stuck here, coat or no coat. A spoon
clinked against the mug as Hexe stirred in a scoop of cocoa. She
couldn’t remember the last time anyone beside her mother had seen
her without fur or a parka. Maybe the last time she’d been in a
village, but no, she remembered being hunched over the bar, a beer
in one hand, the hood of her parka hanging loose around her
shoulders.

She’d be damn near naked without it.

With Hexe.

He picked the mugs up, steam curling from
them, and carried them across the hardwood floors. Every step felt
lazy, confident. This was his house, his territory, and now he
wanted her stripped down and—

“Relax.” He held out a cup. “You can keep the
coat if it makes you feel better. For now.”

He waited just long enough for her to take
her cup before he reached behind his back with one hand. She
tensed, waiting for a blade to spring free. Instead the harness
went loose around his shoulders and he tugged it off—careful of his
cup—before tossing it into a nearby chair. The only knife left on
his body was the hunting blade still strapped to his hips.

As easily as he’d floated across the room to
her, Hexe sank back into the sofa and lifted his cup to his lips,
blowing gently at the hot liquid, his emerald eyes still locked on
hers. “What are you so scared of?”

Steele stared at him for a second. She could
deny it, but Hexe would call her on it. He knew. Hell, he probably
knew exactly what she was scared of. That two weeks with him might
make it harder to live alone.

So instead of answering him, Steele turned
away. “I’m tired. I’ll take the couch.”

And this way, if she were sleeping, she
wouldn’t have to face him.

Chapter
Four

Jacks cleaned the blood off his knife, the
metal catching the light of the moon, sending a sliver of moonlight
out over the skinned carcass before him. After days of climbing
through this frozen wasteland, he’d finally hit the fucking
jackpot. He slid the knife back in its pouch and stuffed it in his
bag, his nails red with blood. He didn’t need the meat, an animal
could get that. The skin, however... Jacks ran a hand out to touch
the soft fur, black rosettes spotting the white.

Even the typical snow leopard hide was worth
a fortune on the black market, but for this one, fortune was too
pale a word. Shame the other had gotten away. Jacks frowned into
the darkness, the muscle in his jaw flexing as his teeth ground
together. He hadn’t expected the second. The shapeshifters were
hard to find in the mountains; able to slip into their feline
forms, they could climb the slick mountain slopes far easier than
he ever could. Especially loaded down with a pack and a rifle.

And they were incredibly rare.

But there were very few reasons for people to
be this deep into the mountains, so he’d stuck close to them,
trailing them and sure enough, they’d slipped easily from human to
snow leopard. He’d sighted the male first, they were worth more. A
shame they had to be skinned and packaged immediately. The hides
lost their potent magick if they sat too long. His fingers ached at
the image of the second fleeing. He would have liked to bag her as
well.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try and follow her
trail. A mage or a skinwalker would pay dearly for one fur, but
with two, he could easily double his take for the trip. And snow
leopards were worth more than the average shifter. Especially for a
skinwalker looking for exotics.

Jacks wrapped the fur in the mage-woven
fabric and slid it into the leather pack he’d brought specifically
for it. There was plenty of room for a second. He snapped the flap
shut and stuffed it in his backpack, staring out over the barren,
snowy tundra. The wind had picked up, chilly enough it could burrow
straight to the bone, leaving a man frozen. Raw. Exposed. He
flinched under another sharp blast of wind. He had enough to go
home. His family would be well set, his wife happy with her
trinkets, and he could retire.

Jacks rose, slinging the bag over his
shoulders. The weight bore down on him, heavy with supplies and
enough provisions to survive a few more nights in the Himalayas.
He’d intended to head out after nabbing this one, but…two. The
thought nagged at him, a persistent bug in his ears that he
couldn’t shake. His family would never want for anything again,
they could have
anything
they wanted in life.

The lure was irresistible. Not with a payoff
as good as this.

Checking the position of the sun in the sky,
he still had a few hours to make a move. It hadn’t snowed and the
evening wind was light, making it easy to track the paw prints laid
into the snow. Jacks tarried after her, his pace as fast as the
terrain would let him go. His snow shoes left soft impressions in
the white crust.

White buried the world here, everything
crystalline and untouched. It’d been beautiful. For the first five
minutes. Now, storm gray rocks and the nearly uninterrupted splay
of white blended into each other, the world blurred around him in
one massive haze. Only his compass and the tracks in front of him
kept him going.

A mountain split out of the ground in front
of him, jagged, it scraped up into a dusky sky. The tracks leapt up
the slight crevices, fleeting, and he could only track them for a
handful of strides before they vanished all together. Damn. He
licked his frozen teeth. The wily little cat thought she could
outrun him going up, deeper.

But Jacks hadn’t come this far to give up.
Dragging his ice pick and climbing gear out of his pack, he turned,
scanning the cliff side for another way up. Tracking was always the
hardest part, once he had them in sight, it was easy from there.
Make sure they’d traded in human skin for animal fur, get them in
the scope of his rifle, and...
bang
.

***

The scent of Hexe’s venison stew woke her,
followed by the chop-chop-chop of a knife hitting the cutting
board. Her stomach gave a hungry rumble at the scent of food and
Steele rolled over onto her back, staring up at the log ceiling. On
more than a few of the logs Hexe had carved vines into the wood,
like a forest canopy stretching into the house. But it was the
intricacy of the designs that left her breathless.

Sure, one could get bored as hell up here,
but this was art no one but him would ever see. But he put every
detail into each leaf, from the veins to the stems. He missed
nothing, just like with his damned bed. Steele sat up from her
makeshift bed on his couch, angling herself so she could watch as
Hexe cooked. Four days here and so far she’d managed to keep her
distance. Not easily of course.

Hexe didn’t understand the words ‘back off’
even when he ended up flat on his back with a knife at his damned
throat. Steele leaned into the soft couch cushions and watched as
he worked, pausing as he chopped up a vegetable to give the stir a
quick stew.

“You must get out of the mountains fairly
regularly.”

The corner of Hexe’s mouth kicked up in a
half smile as he glanced her way, but he didn’t say a word. For the
past two days, that had been his new tactic. If she wouldn’t share,
neither would he. Which would have been fine, but the near-silent
treatment was beginning to grate on her nerves. She’d lived on her
own every damn day for years now, in perfect silence, and yet, toss
her in Hexe’s house and she couldn’t take it. The problem was, the
bastard was typically downright chatty, talking to himself as much
as to her.

Now, the sudden silence felt false. An
overbearing presence that lingered in the room, stretched out
between them. Steele crossed her arms over the back of the couch
and rested her head on her wrists. “I like the color blue.”

“Why?”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Where’d you get the
vegetables?”

Hexe shook his head with a laugh. “All right.
Fair enough.”

He lifted the cutting board, and using the
knife, he swept the chopped carrots into the stew. Giving the pot
one last stir, he headed her way, those gold-green eyes focused on
her. Like always, they seemed to look into her, through her, but
for once, Steele was thankful for the company. His strides were
long, purposeful, and his hips swayed slightly with the movement.
He moved like a cat, both as a man and as a leopard. All confidence
and easy, liquefied grace.

Hexe prowled around the side of the couch and
sank down next to her. “You’re right. I get out of the mountains
quite a bit. Sometimes you just have to see people, be around
them.”

Steele watched him as he spoke, the murmur of
pride in his voice. The quiet longing. He hadn’t always lived this
life, unlike her. She’d grown up in the mountains, a member of the
tribe since the day she’d been born. Hexe had been changed. He’d
already lived a life as a normal human, a continent away.

“You get lonely,” she said, forcing some the
icy smugness back to her voice. To make sure he didn’t think she
actually cared.

Hexe lifted one shoulder. “I’ve adjusted.”
His attention zeroed back in on her. “Why is blue your favorite
color?”

Steele snorted and pulled back. What kind of
question was that?
Why?
Who gave a damn about why? Hexe
caught her arm, his grip soft against her bare skin. During the
night she must have shoved up the sleeves on her thin black
undershirt and she hadn’t realized it. But feeling his hand on her
arm, skin to skin, and it drew a shiver through her. Her breath
caught. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been touched.

Not with something as simple as a hand
resting on her arm.

“Just answer the question, Steele. How hard
is it?”

“I could count that as a question—”

“But first you have to answer mine. Why is
blue your favorite color?”

Steele started to pull away, suddenly needing
distance between them to keep herself from talking. She was sick of
the silence, but Hexe never let an answer simply be an answer. He
was determined to know more. Determined to have her let him in.

And the more she let him prod, the more
likely she was to cave. She shook her head. It wasn’t going to
happen.

“Forget it. Your stew probably needs another
stir.” Shoving off of the couch, Steele stalked towards the
fireplace. The flames danced in the hearth, golds and yellows
flickering, and the wood gave soft pops. Soothing sounds, ones
she’d probably miss when she left.