Lara Adrian's Midnight Breed 8-Book Bundle (214 page)

Kade stood his ground as first the alpha, then the others, walked a slow circle around him. He met their inquisitive eyes and sent a mental promise that he meant them no harm. They understood, as he knew they would.

And when he silently commanded them to take off, the pack bolted into the thick curtain of the starlit woods.

Kade fell in alongside them and ran with the wolves as one of the pack.

Elsewhere in the cold, dark night, another predator strode the frozen, forbidding terrain.

He’d been walking for hours, alone and on foot in this empty wilderness for more nights than he could recall. He thirsted, but his need was not as urgent as it had been when he’d first set out into the cold. His body was nourished now, his muscles, bones, and cells infused with power from the blood he had taken recently. Admittedly, too
much blood, but already his system was leveling out from the overfill.

And now that he was stronger, his body revived, he was finding it difficult to curb the thrill of the hunt.

That’s what he was, after all: the purest form of hunter.

It was those predatory instincts that pricked to awareness as the quiet of the woods he crept through was disturbed by the rhythmic gait of a two-legged intruder. The stench of wood smoke and unclean human skin assailed his nose as the dark shape of a man wrapped in a heavy parka materialized not far from where the hunter watched and waited in the darkness. A metallic jangle sounded with each step the human took, emanating from the steel chains and sharp-toothed clamps he gripped in his gloved hand. In the other hand was a dead animal held by its hind feet, a large rodentlike creature that had been gutted along the way.

The human trapper trudged toward a small log shack up the trail.

The hunter watched him walk past, unaware of the gaze that followed him with greedy interest.

For a moment, the hunter debated the merits of cornering his prey within the confines of the tiny shelter versus indulging in a bit of sport among the trees and drifts outside.

Deciding on the latter, he stepped out from the cover of his observation spot and made a low sound in the back of his throat—part warning, part invitation for the now-startled human to run.

The trapper did not disappoint.

“Oh, Jesus. What in God’s name—” Fear blanched his bearded face and rendered his jaw slack. He dropped his
paltry prize into the snow at his feet, then stumbled into a terrified dash for the woods.

The hunter’s lips curled off his fangs with anticipation of the chase.

He let his prey crash away some sporting distance, then he set off after him.

CHAPTER
Six

A
lex packed up her snowmachine and hit the trail with Luna on board in front of her about an hour before daybreak. She was still rattled from the town meeting the night before, and more than a bit curious about the stranger who’d apparently vanished into the bush as oddly as he’d appeared in the back of Harmony’s little log church.

Who was he? What did he want in tiny, remote Harmony? Where had he come from when the recent snowstorm had left most of the interior cut off from all of the nearest major ports?

And why had he been the only person in the entire assembly last night who’d listened to her account of the footprint
left in the snow out at the Toms place and not made her feel like she had lost her mind?

Not that any of that mattered today. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Mysterious was long gone from Harmony, and Alex had a sled packed with as many supplies as she could carry—bare necessities for a few of the folks she’d had to neglect when her plane run to the bush was cut short the other day.

Now she had a scant three hours of daylight and just enough gasoline stowed on board and in the Polaris’s oversize fuel tank to make the hundred-mile round trip.

She had no good reason to detour toward the Toms settlement about an hour into her drive. None, except the gnawing need for answers. The hope—futile as she feared it to be—that she might find some kind of explanation for the slayings that didn’t involve bloodied footprints in the snow and memories dredged up from the pit of her own private hell.

As Alex steered the snowmachine onto the drifted-over trail that led to Pop Toms’s place, Luna jumped off to romp in the fresh, glittering powder.

“Stay with me,” Alex warned the eager wolf dog as she slowed her sled on the approach to the small cluster of dark wood structures.

Watching Luna’s eagerness to race ahead brought on an unwelcome flashback to that awful moment three mornings ago and to the grisly discovery of young Teddy’s body.

And, just like that day, Luna tore off now, ignoring Alex’s calls for her to wait.

“Luna!” Alex shouted into the stillness of the early afternoon. She cut the gas on the snowmachine and leapt off,
then huffed and waded as best she could through the deep drifts that had hardly slowed Luna down at all. “Luna!”

Up ahead several yards, the wolf dog ran up the steps of Pop’s porch and disappeared inside. What the hell? The door was open, even though Zach had made certain everything was closed up tight before the bodies of Pop and his family had been taken away. Had the wind blown the door open?

Or had it been something more dangerous than an Arctic gale that swept through here in the time since the killings?

“Luna,” Alex said as she drew closer to the log building, hating the small shake in her voice. Her heart rate started to jackhammer in her chest. She swallowed past her anxiety and tried again. “Luna. Come on out of there, girl.”

She heard movement inside, then a creak and a loud
pop
as a floorboard protested the cold and the weight of whoever—or whatever—was inside with her dog.

More movement, footsteps approaching the open space of the door. Fear crawled up the back of Alex’s neck. She reached around to the handgun holstered under her parka at the small of her back. She drew the weapon and held it in a two-fisted grip in front of her, just as Luna came trotting nonchalantly out to greet Alex at the bottom of the stairs.

And behind her, farther inside Pop’s house, was a man—the dark-haired stranger from the back of the church last night. Despite the cold, he was dressed in nothing but a pair of loose blue jeans, which he was casually fastening as if he’d just rolled out of bed.

He held Alex’s incredulous gaze with a calmness she could hardly fathom, looking for all the world like staring
down the barrel of a loaded .45 was something he did every day.

“You,” Alex murmured, her breath clouding in front of her. “Who are you? What the hell are you doing out here?”

He stood unmoving, unfazed, inside the main room of the house. Instead of answering her questions, he tipped his strong, squared chin to indicate her pistol. “You mind pointing that somewhere else?”

“Yeah, maybe I do,” she said, her pulse still pounding and not entirely from fear now.

The guy was intimidating, nearly six-and-a-half-feet tall, with broad, muscled shoulders and powerful biceps that looked capable of dead-lifting a bull moose. Beneath an unusual pattern of hennalike tattoos that danced artfully over his chest, torso, and arms in some kind of intricate tribal design, his skin had the smooth, golden color of a Native. His hair seemed to indicate the same lineage, jet black and straight, the close-chopped spikes looking as silky as a raven’s wing.

Only his eyes gave him away as something other than pure Alaskan. Pale silver, piercing against the thick, inky lashes that fringed them, they held Alex in a grip that felt almost physical.

“I need to ask you to step outside where I can see you,” she said, not comfortable with this situation—or this unnerving man—in the least. Even though she was certain she was no match for him, with or without bullets to back her up, she made her best attempt at affecting Jenna’s no-bullshit police officer tone. “Right now. Out of the house.”

He cocked his head to the side and glanced past her to the soft overcast haze of the thin afternoon daylight outside. “I’d rather not.”

He’d rather not? Was he serious?

Alex flexed her fingers to get a better grip on the pistol, and he slowly lifted his hands in a show of nonforce.

“It’s about ten below out there. A man could freeze off something vital,” he said, having the nerve to quirk his lips into an amused half smile. “My clothes are inside. As you can see, I wasn’t dressed for company. Or for a shoot-out on the tundra.”

His wry, easy humor deflated most of her trepidation. Without waiting for her to reply—without any regard at all for the loaded firearm still aimed dead-center on him—he pivoted around and walked deeper inside Pop’s house.

Good lord, those fascinatingly odd tattoos wrapped all the way around to his back, too. They seemed to move with him, accentuating the lean, hard muscle that bunched and flexed with his every step.

“No need for you to stand out there in the cold, either,” he said, his deep voice doing something crazy to her pulse as he disappeared from her sight. “Stow the gun and come inside if you want to talk.”

“Shit,” Alex breathed on a huff.

She let her arms relax, not quite sure what just happened. The guy was unbelievable. Was he that arrogant or just plain crazy?

She had half a mind to squeeze off a warning shot, just to let him know she was serious, but at that same moment, Luna gave a short whine and loped back up the steps and into the house behind him. Disloyal mutt.

With a low-muttered curse, Alex lowered the pistol and cautiously walked up to the porch and the open door of what had been almost a second home to her for the past several years. As she entered Pop’s place now, it couldn’t have felt more foreign to her. Wrong in every way.

Without Pop Toms’s booming voice to greet her as she
walked in, the house felt colder, darker, emptier than ever. Thankfully, there was no blood spilled within, as he and Teddy had either run or been chased outside before their killer managed to catch them. Everything looked just as it would be if they’d been there, only it chilled Alex like some kind of alternate reality that had collided with the one she knew.

Out of place in the cramped living room was a black leather duffel bag that sat unzipped on the skirted orange-and-brown plaid sofa. Alex stole a quick look at the contents, noting a couple changes of clothes inside and a rather nasty hunting knife that had been removed from its sheath and set atop a pair of black military-style fatigues.

But the gleaming, serrated blade that looked as though it would make short work of a grizzly’s hide was merely an appetizer for the rest of the weaponry laid out in Pop’s living room.

A high-powered rifle with a blunted barrel was propped in the corner nearest the door. Beside it on the scarred lamp table that Pop Toms had made with his own hands as a wedding gift for his wife some three decades ago was a book-size case of custom rounds. The tips of the big, shiny bullets were pointed and capped, the kind of ammunition that ripped through the toughest flesh and bone in an instant, showing no mercy and taking no prisoners. Another gun, a semiautomatic 9mm that easily trumped her .45 revolver, rested in a black chest holster next to the case of hollow points.

Having lived in the bush most of her life, Alex didn’t cower at the sight of weapons or hunting gear, but this personal arsenal—and the awareness that the man who owned it had suddenly, silently, returned to the room with her—took her aback.

She glanced up to find him shrugging into a thick gray chamois shirt and rolling the sleeves off’ his forearms. The fascinating array of tattoos disappeared as he worked a couple of the buttons closed in front. In the tight confines of the room, Alex caught the scent of Arctic air and crisp pine, as well as something wilder that seemed to cling to him and made her senses come to full attention.

God, had she been so long without male companionship that her survival instinct was broken? She didn’t think so, and then again, she wasn’t the only female in the room to be affected by this stranger who’d appeared out of nowhere last night. Luna had parked her traitorous butt at his feet and gazed up adoringly at him while he reached down and scratched her behind the ears. Normally the wolf dog was cautious around strangers, wary of new people, but not with him.

If she needed someone to vouch for a person’s character, she could do a lot worse than listen to Luna’s instincts. For that matter, Alex had her own internal gauge for judging whether she could trust someone, a sort of instinctual lie-detector that she’d been aware of since she was a child. Unfortunately, in order for it to work, she needed to be close enough to touch the person—even a simple brush of her fingers against someone was usually connection enough for her to tell if she was being lied to.

Tempting as it was to put her hands on some of this guy’s bare skin, it would also mean setting down her gun. Frankly, she didn’t think it would be smart to get that friendly just yet.

“Who are you?” Alex demanded, wondering if he would answer this time. “What were you doing at the town meeting in Harmony, and what business do you have being
out here? This is a crime scene you’re compromising, in case you hadn’t noticed.”