Cold Mercy (Northern Wolves) (4 page)

With a rueful shake of his head, he rocked back on his heels. Only the dark blue stripe down the side of it and the four large, black tires separated it from the snowy surroundings. It pulled to a stop, angling slightly in front of his shop, and Bay caught sight of a dog sled in the back. He craned his head. The drive bow was snapped. Most likely the musher had had a nice run in with a tree.

Then the truck door slammed shut and Bay turned his attention to the driver now striding through the snow towards him. Short and slim, even under the added weight of the parka, she had her hands stuffed in her pockets, but didn’t look at all cold as she approached. Then she paused a few feet in front of him, one hand reaching up to shove her parka hood off, and Bay felt his heart squeeze.

Shit.
He staggered back a step, a sharp pain slicing through his chest. He couldn’t breathe. The blonde haired woman from his dream. The same ice-blue eyes, though this time they weren’t wide with fear. Instead, she looked downright quizzical. Then again, he was gaping like a damn fool.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice honey sweet.

Bay stood there, trying to breathe through the shock. It was all he could do to stay on his feet. The dog was real. The woman was real. He glanced at the sled, the snapped handle, and he could picture her dog team veering wildly away from his dream-self monster. Could remember the sled toppling over, her trying desperately to hang on as it smashed into a tree.

And the little pup she’d tried so desperately to free was standing on his porch behind him.

Coincidence
, his brain insisted, denying the impossible.

“Sir?” She glanced around, her eyes landing on the small workshop, and then back to him.

“I’m fine,” he managed, though the words came out garbled. His throat dry. Her gaze lifted to his and for a moment, he expected her to recognize him, but nothing. Of course not. His hands fisted in his pockets and he took another step back. “Uh, what can I do for you?”

His heart slammed into his chest, a violent, frenzied pulse that made him weak in the knees. He had to be crazy. It had to be another mind trick, he had to have seen her in town not too long ago.
Please let him have seen this woman in town before
. It was his subconscious, had to be his—

Rascal yipped and darted around her, tail wagging. The woman took one look at the dog and sank to her knees, relief obvious on her face. Her arms opened wide and the pup dove right into them. Bay’s heart plummeted.

How could he have fucking dreamed this?

Suddenly nauseous, he took a quaking step for the house. “I’m sorry. I just,” he started and then shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

He staggered towards the stairs, slipping in the snow, and a strong hand caught him by the elbow, helping him up. Concerned blue eyes stared up at him, her hand still firm on his arm.

“You don’t look so good. Here.” She slid one arm around his waist, her slender body suddenly pressed against his. She rested his arm across her shoulders and helped him towards the house. She paused as they reached the stairs. “Easy now.”

Her scent touched him as she leaned in closer to help him up. Jasmine. A memory twisted in the back of his mind, some area of the dream he’d forgotten. It was her, it was
her.
Bay felt his knees start to give out underneath him, but she’d managed to get him up to his back door and had used her hip to bump it open. Together they stumbled inside.

Bay jerked away and sprinted for the bathroom.

How could it have been a dream? She was real.

Raw panic clawed its way through him and he tripped, slamming into the cool tile floor. Bile curled at the back of his throat, a familiar, bitter burn, and he felt his stomach twist. Then hands slid under his shoulders and he struggled to help her. Together, she managed to help him get to the toilet, just as he retched up his breakfast.

Bay sagged against the toilet, nothing left in his stomach, and squeezed his eyes shut. This couldn’t be happening. This had to be another dream. If he could just get the strength to pinch himself, he’d know it for sure. Something cool and wet touched his forehead and Bay opened his eyes to see those pale, icy blue eyes staring into his. He’d never seen human irises so blue before.

And she was
real.

“You okay?”

She was squatting in front of him, one hand holding the wet washcloth to his forehead, the other braced against the sink. Her eyebrows had pulled down into a delicate little frown. Bay forced himself to nod.

“Yeah. I just must have eaten something bad.”

“Need help up?” She tilted her head towards the door and he could see his bedroom behind her. Curling his hands into fists, he shook his head, but when he struggled to get his feet under him and nearly face-planted, she caught him.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Never saw someone actually turn as white as a ghost before.” The words held a touch of humor and Bay couldn’t help but smile. Nothing like driving up to hire someone for work, and having to help them as they puked their guts out. Damn woman had nerves of steel, though. If she felt at all ill herself, she hadn’t so much as flinched.

She helped him over to his bed and Bay sank down onto the mattress, propped up on his elbows so he didn’t completely collapse in her presence. The last thing he wanted was to fall asleep. Not if this was all really true. Oh shit. Bay felt his stomach roll again and then the washcloth was back against his forehead.

“Easy there, big guy.”

“I’m amazed you haven’t lost your breakfast.” He meant for the words to be light, playful, but instead, he just sounded plain exhausted.

“I’ve got a tough stomach. When you feed nine dogs raw meat, you develop a strong constitution.” She shot him a little half smile. “Though I will admit, this wasn’t exactly the kind of service I had in mind.”

A cold, wet nose touched his arm and Bay turned to see Rascal plopped half on the bed, half off, unable to climb the rest of the way up. The pup whimpered a bit and Bay reached out to stroke him behind the ear. The woman watched the pair of them.

“Been worried sick about this boy. Was beginning to think he’d gotten eaten by a wol—bear.”

He heard the sudden way she’d changed words.
Eaten by a wolf
. That was what she’d been about to say. Bay forced himself to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. His stomach gave a violent rumble, but he didn’t have anything left to throw up. “He get loose?”

The question came out gravelly.

“Yeah. Took him out for a run with the rest of the gang and we got attacked by a...” she paused, shoving a hand through her hair, stopping herself once again. “Hell, I don’t even know what attacked us. Seeing things in the snow I guess.”

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “All of my dogs got loose though. Smuggler’s the only one I hadn’t managed to find.”

Rascal scrabbled at the edge of the bed until he’d clawed his way up beside Bay, only to curl up next to his hip. The little pup gave a contented sigh. One that made Bay’s heart squeeze. This guy had an owner after all, one who probably wanted him back. Bay ran his fingers through the thick double coat, felt Rascal—no,
Smuggler
—lean into the touch.

She tilted her head and Bay felt the full-force impact of her gaze again. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He winced. “Apparently I just needed to get whatever it was I ate out of my system. If you’ll give me a few minutes to clean up, I can meet you back outside.”

“No. Don’t worry about it. I’ll drop by tomorrow. You could use the rest.” Bay started to reach for her, to stop her, but a yawn escaped him. Exhaustion poured through his body, an impossible weight he couldn’t shake, despite the fact that even the thought of closing his eyes again terrified him.

She stepped towards the bedroom door. “See you tomorrow. I hope you feel better.”

She patted her hip, but the pup snuggled in closer to him. A soft smile appeared at the edges of her lips. “He seems to have taken a shine to you. I’m sorry.”

She started to reach for him and Bay had to fight not to stop her. He didn’t want to wake alone. He didn’t want to face the nightmares, the
reality
of this, alone. He opened his mouth to say something, when Rascal scooted behind him.

She took one look at the pair of them and he watched the flicker of emotion pass over her face. Too fast for him to catch it all but she straightened. “I’m Eden Marks, by the way.”

“Bay. Bay Hollister.”

Eden nodded. “You mind watching him for one more night?”

“No, not at all.” Relief was evident in his voice and his shoulders slumped. “Thank you, actually.”

“Okay.” She winked. “No one should have to be alone when they’re sick, though I will say, Smug makes a poor excuse for a nursemaid, just like his mama.”

She waved at him and then disappeared down the hall. Bay sat there, frozen, until he heard the door shut and a car engine rev in his drive. Then he stretched out over his bed, Rascal sliding down onto the mattress next to him. Bay lay there, staring at the wall, his hand playing over the pup’s fur.

He tried a thousand ways to rationalize everything, but he knew the truth. The dog, her, her testimony, the broken sled—it was all real. But what did that mean? Was he seeing stuff? Like some damn prophet? Or more likely, some crazy nutcase?

Or was the worst case scenario true? The thing he feared more than anything. Did
he
turn into the beast? Somehow, he suspected it was the latter. He was a monster. Bay shuddered, an image of blood worming its way through his memory. He couldn’t remember most of the dreams, but he remembered blood. So much blood. Suddenly sick again, Bay clenched his jaw.

How many people had he hurt? Killed?

And what would happen the next time he closed his eyes?

***

Eden kicked the snow off her boots as she entered the Fairy Cat Café, instantly spotting Rowan in her white apron with a black and white longhaired cat embroidered over one breast. The other woman had her long hair pulled back in a bun and looked like she’d already put in a full shift despite the fact that it wasn’t even nine in the morning yet.

Then Rowan turned, spotted her, and winked. “Be there in a sec,” she called out, then turned back to the waitress she’d been talking to.

Eden shook her head and strode towards the booth at the back of the diner. Kennedy was already in her spot, her camera in her hands. If there was one thing Dee had a passion for outside of her practice, it was pictures. Most often pictures of her animal patients, but Kennedy had a love for nature too, and a lot of her shots were absolutely breathtaking. Eden slid into the booth across from her. “Take anything good?”

A wicked smile dashed over her friend’s face.

“Oh yeah, but completely unbelievable.” Kennedy arrowed through her pictures then handed Eden the camera. “What do you think?”

One glance at the picture on the digital camera’s LCD screen and Eden recognized Kennedy’s backyard, the gazebo half-covered in snow. The wind had kicked up a swirl of white and Kennedy had caught the beauty of the moment perfectly in the picture. A distinct snowflake sat in the right hand corner of the screen and behind it, blurred in the distance along the far line of trees in Kennedy’s back yard, was a white wolf.

“Shit.” Eden leaned in closer. It was hard to tell in the picture, sometimes a good photograph could throw off visual perception, but the wolf looked huge. Bigger than any real wolf. Her head jerked up.

“You didn’t imagine it,” Kennedy said. “Believe me. And, when I saw this on my screen I dashed out to have a look myself.”

“Dee,” she started but her friend waved her off.

“It was gone by the time I got my feet in my boots. But,” she said and leaned over the table, her voice dropping into an almost conspiratorial whisper, “there weren’t any tracks. You could still see where I’d had taken the snowmobile out yesterday. But the wolf? Not even a dent in the snow where it would have stood.”

Eden leaned back in her chair. This, this sounded insane. Crazy. A wolf the size of a bear would leave footprints behind. Eden felt her shoulders slump. “Maybe it was a trick of the camera?”

“Don’t you dare!” Kennedy jabbed a finger at Eden’s coat. She’d had to toss the one shredded from the other day and was wearing one of her older ones, but Dee pointed right where the tears had been. “That wasn’t some figment of your imagination. And I’m a damn good photographer.”

She was. And her friend hadn’t doubted her. No matter how unbelievable it was. Eden bit her lip. “So what? It’s some damn ghost?”

Except, even if she believed in ghosts, they couldn’t shred her coat like that.

Kennedy shrugged. “Maybe it’s really light on its feet? Maybe it’s magic?”

Eden rolled her eyes at the teasing in her friend’s voice. “Oh no, we are not doing that again.”

“Not doing what again?” Rowan asked as she slid into the booth next to Eden, her grandma behind her.

“Hey Dorie,” Eden said with a wave, and Rowan’s nana leaned in for a hug.

“How have you ladies been?”

“Good,” Eden said, just as Kennedy piped up with, “Eden got attacked by a wolf yesterday.”