Hot Blooded (Wolf Springs Chronicles #2) (21 page)

Trick’s breath was hot against her cheek, her earlobe. He kissed her closed eyes, returning again and again to her mouth. He was raising her head, shoulders, and upper back above the snow, cradling her, holding her as if she were the most precious, adored girl in the world. She put her arms around his neck, clinging to him, never, ever wanting to stop kissing him.

He covered her face with kisses, then whispered her name into her ear over and over: “Katelyn, Katelyn.”

And there was something about his voice that stopped her. Something familiar, and dangerous. Something that reminded her that when she was with Justin, she wanted him to kiss her like this, too. It made her feel two-faced and she understood how it would hurt Trick if he knew. And even though she knew the attraction to Justin was only physical — something to do with the wolf part in her reacting to the wolf in him — it still made her feel ashamed.

I’m not part of Trick’s world anymore. I’m not human. And my grandfather has silver bullets in his garage.

“Trick,” she protested, turning her face.

He didn’t answer, just craned his head and kissed her mouth again. Her lips parted and her head fell back. It felt so good. And so right.

I’m not human.

“Trick, please.” She pushed gently at him, feeling his heartbeat beneath her hand, and then she said, “No.”

He stopped immediately. His breathing shallow, he cradled her head and laid his cheek against her forehead. Then, with a sigh, he pulled her up to her feet. His face was full of color; his cheeks were red and his lips were slightly swollen from their kisses. And his pupils were so dilated they almost looked black.

If only she could explain. But she couldn’t.

As if he could read her mind, he cupped her chin and chastely brushed his lips against hers. Then he took her gloved hand in his and splayed it over his heart, which was racing so fast she couldn’t count the beats.

“No’s the magic word,” he said. “I want you, Kat. But it’s not just physical — I’m not some kind of animal.”

But I am
, she thought. Part of her wanted to take back the no. But she had to sort everything out.

“And I won’t just be friends,” he added. “I can’t be your best androgynous pal in the friend zone while you sample what Wolf Springs has to offer.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything, darlin’. Not even an explanation. But if I keep kissing you, you will. That’s how I’ll see it.”

“Trick,” she said, and he cocked his head, the sun glistening on his high cheekbones. He was so amazing looking. Check, beyond that, he was amazing.

“When —
if
— you’re ever ready, you know how to let me know.”

Shaken, she lowered her gaze. He began walking away toward the car. All too soon, their morning together was at an end. She was so sad. It had felt like a reprieve.

Then something hard and wet smacked the back of her head. A snowball. She whirled around to find him bent over, already packing another one.

As fast as she could, she grabbed two handfuls of snow and smacked them together. There was no snowball, only an explosion of icy crystals. She shrieked, defenseless, as Trick’s second snowball hit her on the shoulder. As she yelled in protest, he picked her up and carried her to her sled, plopped her on it, and grabbed the rope. He began to drag her up the hill.

“No!” she cried. He kept pulling. “Trick, I said no!”

“It’s all in the context, darlin’,” he said, and kept going.

“Fine. Wear yourself out.” She dug her heels into the snow to add to the drag. He kept pulling and she kept dragging. Then she leaped up and yanked on the rope he held so tightly, throwing him off balance. As he fell, she took off running down the hill, arms flailing as she laughed in triumph.

She tried to keep herself from running flat out, but her competitive streak got the best of her. Stumbling over her boots, she put on a burst of speed, heading for a copse of trees at the slope’s edge. Her laughter echoed against the hill. She was giddy. It felt so good to put everything on a shelf and just be in the moment — to be a kid, to flirt with a hot guy who was into her. It was exactly what she needed to burn off all the tension.

“I’m coming for you!” Trick bellowed behind her. “Better run, girl!”

She burst into the trees and tore through them, laughing like a crazy person. Then she came to a rise before the next hill and stopped to catch her breath. As she panted, she looked back over her shoulder, but Trick’s approach was hidden by the trees. Then she looked down the next hill, planning her escape.

About a hundred feet away, something dark was lying on the ground. As Katelyn studied it, a funny feeling tapped at the base of her skull and lifted her hair from her neck. She began to run toward it. It was a person.

“Hey!” she cried. “Hey, are you okay?”

As if in answer, a bird trilled. She heard something behind her crashing through the trees. She didn’t wait for Trick.

It was a man. Or rather, what was left of him.

12

Katelyn stared down at the man’s body. His eyes gaped wide in shock, his mouth an O of horror, pain. And his chest and stomach . . .

Katelyn covered her mouth with both hands as she fell to her knees beside him. The hunter-green parka he wore was soaked with blood and . . . and there were things . . . pieces.

“Mister?” she said, reaching a shaking hand toward him. His eyes didn’t blink; the cavern that had been his chest didn’t rise and fall. She took a deep breath and pressed her fingertips against his neck. His skin was ice cold. Recoiling, she pulled away for a moment and then forced herself to take another deep breath as she wondered how long he’d been dead. She clasped his wrist. Clammy flesh did not give way; it was frozen.

I’m touching a dead person.

The crevices in his chest revealed something white protruding from mangled piles of bloody, dark objects. His ribs. On his parka, an embroidered patch bore the emblem of a wolf’s paw. The writing said
The Inner Wolf Center, Wolf Springs, Arkansas
.

“Oh, my God,” Trick said above and behind her. Then he moved past, bending over the man, checking his pulse the same way she had. She watched numbly, shaking all over. Then she scooted away and got to her feet. “Call 911,” Trick said, pulling his phone out of his pants pocket and handing it to her. “God, there’s so much blood.”

There was. The man lay sprawled on an incline, and the blood had pooled beneath him, then run down on the side farthest from Katelyn. A river of blood had gushed out of him, then frozen.

His left knee was bent backwards. And his left foot . . .

His foot was missing.

“Trick,” she said wildly, but she couldn’t make herself say anything but his name.

“Here,” Trick said, taking the phone from her. He looked down and swore. “No service. Did you bring your cell? Katelyn?”

Part of her couldn’t stop scanning the area, searching for his foot. The other part of her was praying she wouldn’t see it. When her mother had died, there had only been ashes. And memories.

I’m looking for a foot.

She took off the jacket Trick had lent her and put it over the man’s face. Trick turned on his heel and headed up toward the car. Wincing, Katelyn moved away awkwardly from the dead man, crossing her arms over her chest. Her breath came in labored little gasps. After a couple of minutes, when she realized Trick hadn’t returned, she backed away from the man, feeling irrationally guilty for leaving his side, then pushed through the trees. She hadn’t wanted to shout for Trick. Didn’t want to disturb the — the
body
.

Trick was standing on top of the hill beside his sled, her phone to his ear. Then he saw her, picked up the sled when it would have been easier to let it slide down, and came over.

“Yours doesn’t work, either. Let’s go to the cabin.” He looked past her and she turned quickly, half expecting to see the man stumbling out of the trees. Trick chewed the inside of his cheek as if debating something.

“Do you want the jacket?” she asked him, feeling ill.

“Oh, girl,” he said mournfully, reaching out and holding her against his chest. “I just don’t like leaving him there.”

“I know what you mean.” She closed her eyes tightly, losing herself in his warmth.

“What if it comes back?” he said.

“What comes back?”

“The animal that killed him.”

She let out a sob.
Please, let it be just an animal
.

They rushed back together to the Mustang, and drove back in taut silence, Katelyn checking both their phones for service. Even though Trick drove with a seeming disregard for safety, it took forever to get to the cabin. To Katelyn’s shock, Sergeant Lewis’s squad car was already parked behind her grandfather’s battered blue truck.

“Did we get through?” she asked.

“Oh, God,” Trick whispered, stricken. The wheels had barely stopped rolling before he and Katelyn were running up the steps and bursting into the cabin.

Her grandfather and Sergeant Lewis were at the kitchen table, bent over some objects covered with what appeared to be wet sawdust, spread out on a layer of plastic trash bags. Beyond the wet, muddy odor, she detected the unmistakable smell of silver. She froze.

“Sergeant Lewis found some of our things that were taken in the break-in,” her grandfather said, looking up at her. “Dumped in the Wolf Springs bog.” Then he looked at her again. “Katie?”

“We found a man,” she blurted. Trick came up beside her and put his arm around her waist. “Dead.”

Sergeant Lewis was instantly all business. “Where? Can you show me?”

“The sledding hill,” Trick answered, then launched into a detailed explanation of how Katelyn had found him, and that there was nothing they could do to help him.

“Katelyn put a jacket over his eyes,” Trick said faintly.

“I think you’re going into shock, son,” Katelyn’s grandfather said. “Katie, get him some water.”

But Trick was rushing after Sergeant Lewis, who was already halfway to the door with a big radiophone to his ear. Her grandfather grabbed his rifle from the wall rack. “Stay in the house,” he told Katelyn. “Don’t go outside.”

She was about to insist that she should go back, too, when she realized she needed to make some calls of her own. As soon as she heard the three of them drive away she called Justin, but his voice mail answered.

Urgent!!!
she texted him.

She tried Cordelia next, then Dom. No one responded. Trembling, she went into the kitchen and splashed water on her face, then looked through the window at the snow-covered yard.

“Did one of you do it?” she demanded.

Her phone dinged, signaling the arrival of a message. It was Beau.

“Not now,” she said aloud, as if he could hear her.

Then as she poured herself a glass of water, movement in the yard blurred in her peripheral vision. Before she even knew she was going to do it, she slammed down the glass, threw open the kitchen door, and raced outside. Something was running down the side yard. Snow came showering down in its wake and Katelyn ran straight through the cascading curtain of white, charging from beneath the frosted branches to the road, where her Subaru and Trick’s Mustang were parked. Footprints — they looked human — had cut a path across the road into the forest. The trees were quivering. Katelyn kept going.

And then she wondered what the hell she was doing. This could be the person who had shot at her, coming to finish the job now the coast was clear. Or the monster that had killed that man.

She kept running, unable to stop herself. But the force of her momentum threw her forward as a terrible pain squeezed her knees, ankles, and spine. She could hear her joints popping and a growl tore out of her throat.

She was transforming.

The forest shimmered and gleamed; snow falling in loud bursts from the trees looked like fireworks sparklers. She loped instead of running. Her thoughts began to dissolve. It couldn’t be happening. But it was, and she was caught in a grip of unbelievable agony. Pain stabbed her everywhere, bone deep. Then her foot caught on a root and she arced into the air, her body twisting, and she fell face first into the snow. Her ears rang and her nose and forehead stung. She was so stunned she couldn’t move. She lay there, exposed and vulnerable to whomever had been in the yard. She didn’t know if she was wolf or human. All she knew was that she was hurt.

She had no idea how long she lay there, braced for an attack. Woozily she raised her pounding head. Her cell phone was going off. She grunted and awkwardly fished in her half-torn pocket — with a human hand — and drew it out. Then she made the connection.

“Do they know who did it?” a voice asked.

Katelyn’s eyes popped open. It was Cordelia.

“No. Do you?” Katelyn replied.

“But
you’re
okay.”

“I guess,” Katelyn said. “Oh, my God, I was so scared I would never talk to you again!”

“I want to come home,” Cordelia whispered. “Have you figured out anything about the mine?”

“Still working on it,” Katelyn said. She pushed herself to a sitting position and pulled her legs underneath her. Then, clinging to a tree, she got to her feet.

She heard sniffling. Cordelia was crying. “I’m here alone. Dom is pressuring me. He says if I don’t declare my loyalty soon, I’ll have to leave. But if you found it, and we told my daddy . . .”

“I’ll keep trying,” Katelyn promised.

Picking up speed as she headed across the road, she tried the front door. Locked. Her key was in her purse, in the house.

“How did you know someone had been killed?”

“Dom told me,” Cordelia replied.

“How did he know?” Katelyn asked, suspicion flooding her as she ran around to the back door and looked at the snow to see if there were any prints leading back inside. There weren’t. Cursing herself for being an idiot, she let herself in and quietly closed the door. Standing still, she listened. Nothing. She began to creep through the kitchen.