AlphaMountie (8 page)

“Okay,” she said. “I promise not to worry.”

“Bullshit.”

“Fine. I promise not to worry
too
much.”

“That’s better.” He placed a soft kiss on her forehead and she
closed her eyes, refusing to open them until he’d left the clearing. She listened
to him unbutton his pants, unlace his boots, and then heard the soft footfalls of
bare feet. When she finally did raise her eyelids, his clothing was folded and left
on a log by the fire.

Her body felt strange, like it wasn’t hers. Noire sat herself
on the log next to his clothing, touching the fabric with her fingertips as if
she could pick up the smell of him with skin alone.

She closed her eyes again and concentrated. What was it like
to be him? She imagined herself taller, her shoulders broad, her chest flat,
containing that strange syncopated heartbeat she thought she’d heard the first
time they made love. She remembered the sound of his voice, and how his
laughter trembled against her mouth as they kissed.

Her body seized. Her mind wasn’t with her body on the log in
the clearing anymore, but deeper into the woods. The pungent scent of moss
filled her nostrils. And then—pain. If someone had asked her to describe it
afterward, she wouldn’t have been able to. There was no temporal order to the
feelings that assaulted her next, just varying shades, scents and sounds of
pain.

She felt her muscles and skin tear. Pain ran down her body
in waves and she opened her eyes, biting back a scream. Blood seeped out of her
lip where her teeth had closed too tightly. The scream escaped and it was raw,
animal as a wounded wolf, but human as a terrified child. The thunder of her
pain filled the woods as she screamed. Everything hurt—bones popped out of their
sockets and reshaped themselves. She could see them, ghostly white under her
skin, then outside of her skin, ripping her flesh to shreds, splinters of bone
falling to the ground. At some point the screaming stopped, or perhaps it had
never started. Each breath became a gasping struggle as her lungs changed. They
filled with fluid, suffocating her. She spat up blood. It ran down her snout
and as she licked it clean her tongue felt fur. She wrapped her arms around her
legs, curling up into a ball, running hands across what had been her skin but
was now leathery and sprouting coarse gray fur. Each place the fur grew brought
more pain—a million tiny pinpricks on every piece of her skin, only the tough
hide on her paws and nose escaping the needles. She took an exploratory sniff
and cocked her head.

She could hear mice skittering beneath the ground. She could
smell them. She raised her head and sniffed at the air, smelling pine all the way
down to her bones, like she’d never smelled it before. She rose on all fours,
trembling and tentative as a new foal. The damp moss was heaven against the padding
on her paws, and she shook her body, stretching deeply from head to toe. Before
long, she was running, running on four legs, darting between trees and leaping over
rocks and logs. She could smell a rabbit’s burrow and her mind dissolved into words
repeated over and over like a mantra—
hungry, rabbit, hunt, hunt, food
. She
ran, maybe chasing the rabbit, maybe just for the thrill of running, and she felt
a part of the forest like never before.

When the agony was over and she opened her eyes, she was still
seated by the fire. Nothing was different. Noire’s body was her own, human, and
her clothing was whole and clean—untorn.

What had she felt?

Was it Cam’s change into a wolf? She supposed it had to be. That
psychic connection again that she’d felt with her sister. Only she’d never accompanied
Fawn in a change like this. She’d never felt anything like this before.

Was it because she and Cam had made love? Was that what took
their psychic link to a new level? Or was it just that she’d never opened her mind
before, embracing that part of her heritage from her mother? While she wasn’t a
shifter herself, could she have felt what Fawn felt, if she’d only tried hard enough?

And if she had, would Noire have realized how desperate her sister
was to find understanding—desperate to the point of trusting an evil man who skinned
her alive, alone in the middle of the night on an island hundreds of kilometers
from home?

As Noire checked on the fire and stirred the water as it boiled,
she felt tears run down her face. Shortly, she was sobbing full out, as she hadn’t
really let herself do since she’d received the first call to come identify her sister’s
body. She cried to the point of sickness, gagging over the fire, trying to vomit
up her guilt and horror, to let it burn away into the night.

She heard footfalls behind her and she calmed herself momentarily,
turning to see a large gray wolf. The wolf held a bloody rabbit corpse in its mouth.
It walked toward her and dropped the rabbit at her feet, like a gift. She smiled
her thanks.

The wolf was beautiful. She’d never seen anything like him before.
He was at least twice the size of the Eastern Timber Wolves she was used to. His
coat was pure gray with occasional bursts of black—the color of Cam’s eyes and hair.
As the wolf drew closer she stroked his ears back, running both hands through his
fur, on his head, down his body, tracing the lines of his paws. He was both soft
and brittle at once. She buried her face in his coat and wept for her sister.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just can’t stop thinking about Fawn.
I could feel you changing. It was like my own body belonged to the wolf, and it
to me. I had no idea. I’ve always thought of it as a curse, something that made
my sister different than everyone else. It was never something I wanted. But I understand
now. I do. It’s beautiful. I felt strong. I felt powerful. I felt more alive than
I have in years. And I can’t believe she threw away that gift, caged her deer in
the city and refused to let it live. For a moment there, I hated my sister as much
as I missed her. How could she turn her back on this? How could she leave the forest?”
She sobbed as she spoke, holding him close, petting his fur. After a while, her
words were silent, spoken not out loud but only in her mind, and she knew he heard
her still.
I am going to find the creature that took her from me. I am going
to find him, and I am going to kill him.

The wolf made no sound, but his breathing was relaxed and deep.
She matched her breath to his as he rested his head in her lap. The rabbit and stew
forgotten, the wolf and the woman curled up together by the fire and slept.

They woke in the morning ready for rabbit stew, and found that
the dead rabbit was gone.

Cam had changed into human form sometime during the night and
was shivering slightly, naked in the cool morning dew. Noire at least had her clothes,
but she huddled closer to Cam for warmth as she looked around her.

“What the fuck happened?” Cam asked.

The campsite had been torn apart. Their tent, unused, hung in
shreds from the poles. Tiny white feathers were spread everywhere from the down
sleeping bag.

“I don’t know—I didn’t hear anything.” Noire reached for the
knife she kept at her belt, comforted to find it was still there. She rose and scoured
the ground for animal tracks, finding nothing.

“He was here,” Cam said. A shiver went through Noire’s body as
she realized he was right. There were no tracks. They’d been stupid to fall asleep
before making sure their food was tied high in a tree to keep it safe from bears,
but the devastation of the campsite had not come from a bear. Or any other animal
that walked on four legs. The only traces of footprints left behind were two humans
and one wolf—Noire, Cam and Cam again.

“He was a bird,” she said quietly. “He changed into bird form,
then snuck up during the night, likely in flight, and shredded everything.” Yes,
talons from a large bird of prey, perhaps a hawk or owl, could have done this.

“It must have taken hours. Why didn’t we wake?”

“I don’t know. I was exhausted, but still—we should have heard
something.”

“His mind is still human. Even within the bird, he knew how to
keep quiet.”

Bile rose in Noire’s throat at the thought of her sister’s murderer
next to them in the night as they slept, content and guileless. “This was a warning,
wasn’t it? He could have killed us if he wanted.”

“Yes, I think you’re right,” Cam said. “But just in case, we
should probably get out of here.”

Noire’s eyes widened. He couldn’t mean what she was thinking?
“I’m not leaving.”

“I don’t mean the forest,” he calmed her. “Just the campsite.
We can still track him.”

She agreed, and they packed up what remaining supplies they could
find—the pots from the fire, a few protein bars, their water bladders, some clothing.
The canoe, fortunately, was intact. Noire supposed even a large bird could not do
damage to something that size.

As they carried the canoe to Lake Opeongo, they were both silent.

By the time they reached the lake, Noire thought she’d finally
calmed down enough that her anxiety wasn’t noticeable. During camping season, the
lake was generally fairly peaceful, shared between canoeists, kayakers and the water
taxi that took the less adventurous out to private campsites. Today, it was completely
deserted. The November wind had stilled and the surface of the lake was smooth as
a mirror.

Northwest of Lake Opeongo was where Cam and Noire thought they
might find the bear’s den. It was the only location in which a body had not been
found in the past decade. If his body-dumping grounds were intended to throw pursuers
off the trail, he had failed. However, if his killings were designed to lead them
into a trap, he was going to succeed nicely. They had to keep their wits about them.

The canoe slid into the lake with a small
swish
. Cam entered
first and Noire passed him what was left of their supplies—her own pack, filled
with changes of clothing for both of them, fire-starting equipment, a remaining
water bladder and a few small protein bars. After that, she passed him his service
weapon and then her own long shotguns.

They seated themselves, moving gracefully in unison. The canoe
tipped side to side lightly and Noire pushed off from the side of the lake bed.
They each picked up a paddle and began to move through the water, Noire at the back
steering, Cam at the front providing powerful strokes. It was rare to find a paddling
companion who felt this natural. Noire wondered if it was an echo of the psychic
communication between them that had happened the night before when she’d felt his
change. Possibly, they just worked well together.

After a few hours of paddling and talking, they settled into
the rhythm and Noire zoned out. She watched him paddle, the sinews in his arms standing
out as he strained to keep them steady. Her own arms felt heavier than they did
after her first day of shotgun training at age eight. She signaled to Cam to switch
hands again. “Hang on a minute, we need to rest,” he said, resting his paddle across
the top of the canoe.

“No, we don’t.”

“You look exhausted.”

“Well, looks can be deceiving.” She continued to paddle as he
watched her, not making a move of his own to reach for the remaining paddle.

“On your own you’re just going to steer us in circles.”

“So help me. We don’t have time for a rest. If Page settles into
his den before winter, if the snow falls or we even get a rainstorm, his tracks
will be lost for good. We won’t be able to start looking for him again until spring.
What chance do you think we’ll have then?”

He gripped her paddle with his hands, holding tight so she couldn’t
continue. “We have to rest, Noire. We’ll never make it if you keep going like this.”
He took the paddle from her and then moved closer, running his hands up her arms,
pulling her closer.

“We took a rest last night. That’s when the bird attacked—it
knew we weren’t paying attention.”

“We won’t sleep this time.” He leaned in to kiss her.

“This is a mistake. It was a mistake to get involved with you
at all, Cam, I’m sorry—but that bird could have killed us if he had wanted to. He
could have ripped our throats out and then how many more people would die? Do you
think the Toronto Police Department is really considering a skinwalker from Algonquin
as one of their suspects? What are the chances of catching this asshole without
us?”

“We’re going after him, sweetheart. But your arms are shaking
and mine aren’t much better. We can’t paddle all day without stopping.”

She gave in and let him place both paddles at the bottom of the
canoe. Looking around, she could still see land to the west and east of them, proud
Algonquin pines stretching for acres past the lake. Behind them, however, the land
was long gone. They’d been paddling for hours. And in front of them, there seemed
to be only more water.

They shared what was left of their purified water and filled
up the bladder from the lake. Noire added tiny white pills to kill off any harmful
bacteria.

“Fawn never needed these,” she observed. “Anything she caught
she could just shrug off with a quick change to deer form and back.”

“It’s the same with me,” Cam said.

They grew quiet. She tried to think of something else to
say, but she felt awkward and strangely alone. The trashed campsite this morning
had really shaken her, and for the first time she realized that one of them might
not make it back from the trip. If she had to choose, it would be her, but she was
scared that the choice would be Page’s and not hers. Cam tried to engage her in
conversation but it faltered and she tried to hold her emotions together. What was
wrong with her? She couldn’t be falling for him—they’d just met!

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing important.”

“Come on,” he said. “That little psychic trick of yours goes
both ways. I can tell you’re upset. What is it?”

“It’s silly. I was just thinking how close I felt to you, and
was admonishing myself for it.”

“Why?”

“Well, for one thing, we just met. For another, we’re on a case,
my sister is dead, and you live on the opposite side of the country.” When she said
it out loud, it really did seem ridiculous that she had considered a
relationship with him.

“Hmm,” he said, seeming to consider her words. “I suppose that
all makes sense. But I would prefer not to throw away something potentially great
because of fear. Why fuck it up before it even starts?”

“And do what, exactly, after we’re done here?”

“I don’t know.”

“I can’t move to B.C. This is my home. It’s my soul, and I’m
not giving up a piece of that, no matter what. Not like my sister did. Not for a
career and not for a man. Not unless you can promise me something serious, which
you can’t.”

“Why can’t I, exactly?” He moved closer to her. They floated
now, paddles resting in the bottom of the canoe, forgotten. She was very conscious
of his body, of the smell of him, the sheen of sweat on his forehead and under his
shirt from the strain of paddling for so long. “What if I could?” he asked.

She tilted her head and studied his face. His gray eyes were
thoughtful. Possessiveness stirred behind them, his desire to call her his. She
didn’t know whether that was his wolf speaking or the man. While the wolf had curled
up on her lap last night and kept her close, the man had been distant all day.
Was that her fault, or his choice?

She wondered what it would take for her to continue this partnership
when they left the woods. But she knew—an admission of what he felt for her.
I
love you
. It was within him, but his mouth never moved to speak the words. It
swirled beneath the surface as her own words did.

She leaned forward and kissed him. Their tongues met hot and
fast in a duel to say silently with their mouths what neither of them could say
out loud. His hands wrapped in her hair, fingers sinking between strands of the
braid, pulling her close.

She moaned into him and the canoe tipped to the left, nearly
sinking them. Cam used an arm to steady the canoe and leaned to the right, rebalancing
their weight.

“This isn’t a great idea,” he said.

“I think it is,” she replied. “You don’t want to?”

“I do,” he said, and the heat in his gaze told her he was speaking
the truth. He wet his bottom lip with the tongue that had driven her crazy only
yesterday. It felt as if it had been weeks since she’d touched him, and she wanted
nothing more than to taste the sweat currently running down his neck. Then she saw
his forehead wrinkle in frustration. “But if we tip over that’s one change of clothes
gone already. We have no idea what’s going to be waiting for us when we make it
to the bear’s den. We have no real proof there is even a den. We could be out here
for days, weeks, and if we tip now—I can dry off as a wolf, but you’ll freeze.”

She smiled and licked her own bottom lip. “So I guess we’ll just
have to be extra-careful that we don’t tip.”

Noire moved forward again, being careful to keep her weight in
the center of the canoe. She placed a hand on his chest and pressed him back into
the canoe until he lay down. For a moment she watched him—his gray eyes searching
her body hungrily, the bluish highlights in his hair that shimmered under the sun,
the way his shirt clung to his stomach with sweat.

She placed her body on top of his, measuring the length of him.
Their mouths found each other instinctively, with neither starting the kiss. Through
his mind she could taste her own lips, and she could smell her own hair. She reminded
him of home, of moss and pine trees and a slight taste of pumpkin, everything autumn.

His hands fumbled with the buttons at the waist of her hiking
pants. They didn’t break the kiss and the canoe rocked side to side wildly as he
lifted her up and slid the pants down her legs until she was free of them. She held
out a hand on each side of the canoe, slowing the tilting until it remained still,
then moved her mouth to his. For a moment they kissed, wanting nothing more than
to share the moment and each other’s desire.

Then something broke inside her and Noire wanted to taste every
part of him. She whispered in his ear, “Keep still,” and nipped down the side of
his neck. He moaned as she continued downward, pulling up his shirt so she could
run small kisses down the trail of hair beneath his navel. In the distance, they
heard the mournful call of a loon, and though she knew the loon was one of Page’s
pelts, she didn’t care. Dipping her tongue into Cam’s navel, she listened as his
breath quickened. His fingers teased at the black hair between her legs. One of
his firm hands was wrapped tightly in her hair, and he pulled her up to kiss his
mouth again, murmuring against her lips, “I want to be inside you, now.”

She freed his cock from his pants and, holding the sides of the
canoe carefully, lowered herself onto him, straddling him. “Hold the boat,” she
said breathlessly. He nodded and took hold of each side of the canoe, balancing
it as she moved. He slid inside her cunt perfectly, filling her completely. She
never felt warmer than when his cock was buried deep inside her. Their voices mixed
together, gasping and wild, as they fucked on the glassy water of the lake.

Just as Noire thought she was about to come, Cam grasped her
around the waist and lifted her. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and he
moved them both so she was now at the bottom of the canoe, on her back. The boat
rocked furiously and water splashed over the side. Noire felt drops of it on her
face, so cold in contrast to her own lust. Cam was on top of her now, thrusting
into her again and again. At the same time, she was Cam, on top, straining to hold
himself together until Noire was close to orgasm. They came together, both shouting
out to the lake and the birds, each lost in the other’s passion.

After a short rest, they dressed and began paddling again. Noire
was more out of breath than she had been before their “break”, but she was also
more content. “Is that normal?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Us—feeling each other orgasm.”

He looked surprised. “No, of course not. I’ve never felt that
before. I’ve heard it’s normal between two shifters, but I haven’t experienced it.”

“You’ve never slept with another werewolf?”

“No. Sex within a pack brings too much drama. Not worth it, trust
me.”