Cold Mercy (Northern Wolves) (2 page)

A branch snapped behind her and the returning flash of fear left her bone cold. She could hear the harsh whuff of animal breathing behind her, the undercurrent of a nasty growl. Smuggler whined and thrashed against the leash in her hand, hard enough that she stumbled and he yanked free. Eden didn’t even hesitate. She lunged for her sled, her hand automatically reaching for the canister of bear spray she always packed.

A mammoth paw caught her stomach and knocked her sideways, sending her spinning across the snow. Fabric shredded easily under the violent slash of claws. Eden staggered, the canister still gripped in her hand as she struggled to keep her feet solidly underneath her. Pain lanced up her side where the animal had struck her.

Had to be a bear. She lifted her hand, fully intending to take aim, and came face-to-face with the biggest wolf she’d ever seen. Her heart lodged in her throat, and she froze, suddenly unable to breathe. He was pure white, like fresh fallen snow in an untouched meadow. There wasn’t a spot of color on him. Even his eyes looked like nothing more than gaping black holes. Soulless.
Evil eyes
, some niggling, frenzied part of her brain insisted.
Demon eyes
.

Hysteria climbed up her throat, threatening to break out in giggles, and Eden lifted the canister. The wolf lunged, faster than any bear. Hell, faster than any wolf, dog, or animal she’d ever seen. One second he’d been standing by her sled, the next, the wolf had her pinned against the ground, flat on her back, with his long white muzzle inches above her face. Pearly lips pulled back to reveal equally white teeth.

I’m going to die.

The knowledge rammed through her with a certainty she couldn’t shake. One snap and she’d be nothing more than broken toothpick. The beast was big enough to be part grizzly. Hot breath washed over her cheek, so close, and Eden reacted without thinking, survival instinct kicking in. She rammed the can of bear spray at the side of the wolf’s head, one finger pressed against the nozzle. A dog could spin and bite in the blink of an eye, and this wolf was faster than any dog. He whirled, jaws already open, but she squeezed and the spray hit the beast straight in the mouth.

The wolf gave a startled snarl and lunged away, landing several feet away from her. He curled his lips back once more, his hackles lifted in a line down his back, and he took a step towards her, only to pause. A violent shudder wormed down his spine, hard enough that he wobbled, and a sharp sneeze burst from him. Black eyes blinked and for a moment, Eden swore she saw a hint of color in them. Green?

She lifted the can to spray again, hoping like hell it was the pepper spray that had driven the beast off this far, but the wolf turned and ran, the white of his coat blending into the wintry backdrop. She held her breath as he vanished into the forest. Faster than anything she’d ever seen.
Shit
.

Eden squeezed her eyes shut, half expecting to see the wolf there again when they opened, but he was gone. Relief left her weak-kneed and shaken. She wanted to collapse into the snow, but she didn’t dare. It could come back, and next time, bear spray might not be enough.

Eden gulped in another breath of frozen air, like a soothing balm to her nerves, and then turned back to her sled. She cringed. Damn. The footboard was broken, one of the runners, her handle. Not to mention the fact that she didn’t know where any of her dogs were.

Pulling her cell phone out of her pocket only added to the growing pile of shitty news heaped at her feet. No service. “You’re kidding me,” she ground out. Like this day could get any worse. When waving her phone around didn’t result in some magical sliver of reception, Eden stuffed it back into her pocket and turned back towards her sled.

Unhooking the rifle she kept strapped on it for cases of emergency, she loaded the gun, then started the three-mile trek that would take her back home. Home to regroup, get the snow mobile out, and see if she could find her dogs. But not without reinforcement.
Armed
reinforcements.

The Fish and Wildlife Department definitely needed to know about an animal like that. Attacks weren’t common, but when they occurred something needed to be done about the animal before someone got hurt. And hell, a wolf that size, someone needed to know about it. But, of course, now that she was armed and on foot, her day already ruined, the wolf didn’t come back for a round two.

Coward.

Chapter Two

The nightmares were back.

Bay Hollister woke in a cold sweat, out of breath. He stared up at the ceiling, tears running down his cheeks as his mouth burned. No doubt reminiscent of the damned pepper spray in his nightmare. The dreams were realistic as always.
Fuck
.

Rolling to his side, Bay coughed, trying to get the bitter, burning taste out of his mouth. His stomach gave a violent, threatening clench, and he staggered out of bed, heading straight for the bathroom. The dreams always left him sick as hell. He spent most of the mornings retching up more food than he remembered eating the day before and wishing he’d die. This time, he stumbled to the sink and turned the water on, splashing the freezing liquid onto his face. Finally, his stomach settled and he cupped a handful of water, eagerly slurping it from his palms to ease the nasty taste lingering in his mouth.

It’d been six months since he’d last had one of these dreams. Six fucking months and now they just happened to come back? Elbows braced against the porcelain sink, Bay stared into the mirror. Damn, but he looked like hell. His russet brown hair was mussed in a heap over his head, and his normally unkempt stubble had morphed into a nice-sized beard.

Expedited hair growth had come with the nightmares last time too, though his therapist had assured him that it was all in his head. There was no correlation between dreams and hair growth. He was half tempted to photo-journal this shit and tell her to stuff her theories up her ass. Not that he was going back. Therapy and all the sleeping pills in the world hadn’t worked last year.

If anything, he’d wound up feeling like a psycho that no one could crack, let alone sedate.

Jaw tight, he stared straight into the eyes of the man in the mirror. His normally green eyes were darker, his pupils bigger. Another side effect of the dreams, though the damned shrink had tried to tell him that the dreams just aroused him. Got his adrenaline pumping. She’d always had rational explanations that had never really added up, but the condescending look she’d given him every time he’d tried to argue had only made him feel more nuts.

Bay’s grip tightened on the edge of the sink. He was not crazy. In a month or two, he’d go to bed and the nightly horrors would be gone again. Just like last time.

He hoped.

“Fuck me,” Bay said and shoved away from the bathroom sink, only to stagger to the toilet. His stomach gave another violent upheaval and the bitter, burning taste in his mouth vanished along with whatever he’d eaten yesterday. Or last night. He cringed as he flushed the toilet and dragged himself back over to the sink.

He’d bet every dollar he had that the sleep walking and eating was back too. Dousing his face one last time, Bay rinsed out his mouth, brushed his teeth, and then headed for the kitchen. In nothing more than boxers, he made his way through the house to start a pot of coffee. His hand shook as he pressed the button on the coffee maker.

“Six months,” he muttered and rammed his shaky hand through his hair, wishing like hell they’d stayed gone for good.

Traumatized, the therapist had told him. The car accident that had left him stranded on an icy highway just outside of town, nearly dead, had left him traumatized. Part of him had always agreed with her there, the accident had sure as hell started the nightmares.

He didn’t remember anything about the accident last year—except the raven haired woman that had appeared in his pain-induced sleep in the middle of butt-fucking nowhere while he’d lain in the snow waiting to die. In the dream, she’d made him warm. Touched his face. Made him feel alive again, gave him strength.

Later, in the hospital, he’d half expected to see that familiar, too-thin, gaunt face staring out at him from one of the nurses. But no. Not the hair, the face, the rail-thin body. Nothing. It’d all been some demented twist of his dying imagination. The doctors had told him he’d been pretty hypothermic when the paramedics had brought him in. He’d only had a few minor cuts. A lot less damage than they’d expected after the bloody mess of his car. The docs had deemed him a miracle.

Shortly after that, the nightmares had started and with them, the raven haired woman from that night had come again. But she was different that time. Darker, with an edge of violence to her—and to his dream-self—that hadn’t been there when his brain had first created her on the night of his crash.

In most of the nightmares, he couldn’t remember much beyond snippets of the woman and blood. Always blood. One other thing was certain—in the dreams...he was always a monster. Vicious, violent, evil.

Bay blew out a breath to ward off the shudder working its way up his spine. The scent of coffee reached his nose and he turned to get the creamer out of the fridge. His hands shook as he snatched a mug off the rack and poured himself a cup. But it was the little things, the small rituals, habits, they were what had kept him sane last time.

Waking up at the same time each morning, working in his woodshop, making sure he kept his life calm. Made sure there weren’t any surprises. It had given him the illusion of control.

That even if he couldn’t control his nightmares or the sleepwalking, he could control what he did each day. Dumping in a teaspoon of sugar, Bay sank into one of the kitchen chairs. He tried to turn his attention toward his work for the day, to line out a schedule. But he couldn’t.

Last night, the woman in his dreams had changed.

She hadn’t been the emaciated, black haired woman of before. This one had been beautiful. His jaw tightened as images from his latest nightmare flickered in his head. Blonde hair, with bangs that hung a little longer than eye level. And icy blue eyes that reminded him of a husky. Eyes that had stared up at him with such fear. He’d attacked her in the dream, but he couldn’t remember why. Couldn’t remember anything but the clawing hunger, the ravaging bloodlust that had torn through him.

Another image flashed. A team of sled dogs running through the woods, their panicked barks like soft music to his ears, taunting. Begging him to give chase. He could destroy them all, feed until the hunger in his belly was finally sated. Another image and the sled flipped, the line snapping. He watched as the dogs broke loose and ran into the woods, leaving their master to his dream-self’s mercy. What little mercy the monster his dream-half had.

Bay swallowed, trying to push away the images but they just kept coming.

A little coon-faced husky pup. Similar to the dog he’d had as a kid.
Rex
. Then the woman again, so terrified. He remembered the momentary fissure in the monster’s concentration when he’d landed on her. Curious almost. Then she’d attacked and the rage had roared back to the surface. Followed by the burning, bitter taste of pepper spray in his mouth. The memory of fury filled him, heating his blood even now. He’d wanted to flay her open, feast on her blood—

Stop
. Bay dragged in a ragged breath, unable to keep doing this. He slammed his cup down against the table, hot liquid spilling over the edge, but he was already moving, heading back for his room. According to the therapist he’d hired last year, if he could remember the dream he was supposed to journal it out. It hadn’t helped him then, but maybe it would now.

Maybe it would help him get that damned woman out of his head.

She hadn’t screamed. She’d yelled for the dogs, but even as he’d tackled her, she hadn’t screamed. No. She’d fought back. He licked his teeth at the memory. The bitter taste he’d woken up with no doubt a faux reminiscent of the bear spray his dream-monster had suffered.

Bay smiled at that. The beast had deserved a good spraying.

Though Bay could have lived without the memory pangs his body always suffered the next day. As if the dreams weren’t bad enough, he had to feel as if he’d actually lived them. Shaking his head, Bay stared down at the sketch on the lined page, below the chicken scratch that was his handwritten account of the nightmare.

The pencil left the image in grayscale, but staring down at the wide eyes now; he could still see the color. And unlike the woman who normally haunted him, this one definitely had a soul. A heart. With eyes that even in fear seemed to welcome him in, and full lips that looked kissable, soft, yielding. Closing the journal, Bay did his best to shake off the lingering memory of her lying at the feet of the monster and the wave of unwanted attraction. Lusting after an imaginary woman he’d nearly killed in his dreams. How sick was that?

Refusing to let himself dwell on it—fuck, he was already crazy—he dressed for the day, poured himself another cup of coffee, and headed out to the wood shop next to his house. He stepped outside, the winter wind leaving his cheeks chilled as the backdoor swung shut behind him, and froze.

There, curled up in the snow was a small husky pup. Little ears pricked forward, the dog stared up at him. One blue eye and one brown, and an unmistakable raccoon-style mask across his face. The same pup from in his dream. Bay leaned back against his door and closed his eyes.