[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Creed jumped out of his Jeep with the agility and strength of something not-quite human.
He was in uniform, and the gold star mutely glowed from his khaki shirt, the Glock on his belt
superfluous. The mirror shades he wore had to be sold in some official police catalogue, but they did
a fine job of hiding the man’s eyes. Peter crossed his arms and waited, refusing to be intimidated.
Then the passenger got out. Arlene’s sister Isabel. She could be no one else. The same
golden hair and small features graced her face, though Isabel’s eyes were darker, more violet. She
gazed at him with concern and worry, her brow furrowed. “Where is she?” she demanded before
Creed or Peter could speak.
The Sheriff glanced back at her and waved his hand. “Isabel…”
“My sister is here. I know she is.” She glanced up at the tower and then back to the small
cabin.
“She’s sleeping inside,” Peter answered as she stalked towards him. He could feel the magic
on her. She bristled with power—it enveloped her aura like shimmery rainbow light, flashing with
lightning sparks.
He only noticed as she reached him that shadows ringed her eyes, and she wore plaid pajama
pants beneath a long, blue nightshirt. On her feet were beach sandals. Her blonde hair hung in a
heavy braid down her back while wisps of hair fluttered about her face and neck.
Creed moved to stand between them. Brave man. “Isabel. Please. You brought us here. Let
me do the talking—”
Her implacable gaze passed over both of them. “Go ahead. I’m going in to check on my
sister.” She stepped around Peter and stomped into his cabin.
Creed pulled off his glasses and gazed at Peter with amber eyes. “Why do I smell blood?
And bear?”
“Why do I smell wolf?” Peter said back, unable to help himself.
Creed raised an eyebrow. His lips thinned. “Look, Peter. You said you were harmless. That
you didn’t…kill. That’s why we let you stay in our territory. But you had better not play any games
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The Windigo
with me. Is Arlene okay? Tell me straight, right now.” He couldn’t help but rile at this comment. Let
him stay? He had lived in this part of the world for two centuries longer than Creed had been alive.
He closed his hands into fists and took a deep breath.
He met Creed’s gaze. “She’ll be all right. Eventually.”
Isabel came to the doorway, a hand on her stomach, her face pale. She stared at Peter, and
the muscles clenched in her shoulders. Her heart jolted faster with fury. She ran at him. He let her.
What was he going to do? Have her chase him around the yard?
She hit him with both fists. “What the hell did you do to her?”
“She’s alive. I saved her life,” he answered, holding still and allowing her to beat him. She
was about as strong as a mosquito anyway.
Creed on the other hand was a different matter. He grabbed Peter by the shirtfront and
threw him at the Jeep, where he dented the front fender before falling to the ground. The Sheriff’s
eyes glowed, and his teeth showed with a chest-deep growl. His canines grew pointed.
“You better talk fast, Iceman.”
* * * *
Arlene awoke to the sound of voices—an argument. She tossed aside the blankets that
covered her and sat up, surprised somehow that she could. But she felt well, strong even.
The small cabin confused her for a few minutes as she tried to recall where she was—not
home, definitely. Her gaze fell on a Forest Service shirt that lay tossed to the floor. Peter’s.
What dreams she had suffered! Bears and snow and…Peter. But a different Peter. Peter with
silver-white hair, skin as white as ice, and eyes that were pale crystals of shifting shadows. She shook
her head. God, she felt fuzzy, and her mouth tasted terrible.
She blinked in the morning light, listening to voices outside. The door was open, and she
could see a slice of meadow and a near horizon of young pines. The breeze that entered the cabin
smelled of cedar and rock, pine needles and dew-coated grass. And exhaust from a car, and the
rubber of tires, and someone’s after-shave—and her sister. Her heart fluttered. Could she really
smell all those things? It had to be her imagination.
“I’m taking her home!” a familiar voice said from outside. Isabel. Her sister. Oh Lord! She
sounded pissed off. Well, it was morning, and Arlene had left yesterday only for a day hike into the
mountains.
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Cynthia Carole
Yesterday? She hoped it was yesterday. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]