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* * *
“You’re too far out there,” Trish said over the phone the next day in the authoritative tone reserved for bossy older sisters.
“It’s temporary, so I don’t mind.” Skylar rubbed her bloodshot eyes. Ten minutes of sleep while sitting by the window all night, gun in hand, wasn’t nearly enough for a clear head.
“I need to get this cabin boxed,” she added, like she did every time she spoke with Trish, which was every day. Sometimes twice.
“I’ll come and help,” Trish said.
“No, you won’t.”
“Then Lark can visit. She can ask for time off.”
“I’d rather choke.”
Trish’s voice deepened. “Do you know any of the neighbors?”
Like most lawyers, Trish didn’t like being crossed or argued with for any reason. As the oldest Donovan sister, Trish would lay out her argument logically and plan on wearing her down with repetition.
Skylar didn’t want to go home and didn’t want company while she explored the circumstances surrounding her father’s death. Unless hell froze over, she wasn’t going to share that objective with her sisters and get them all riled up.
Besides, the good Lord only knew what would happen if she were to utter the word werewolf, or mention being harassed by someone who hadn’t really shown themselves last night. If Trish knew any of that, half of Colorado would be on their way over before the phone disconnected.
Which might not have been such a bad idea, actually, if Skylar’s stubborn streak would have allowed it.
“The caretaker for this place lives a couple of miles down the road, Trish. I have his phone number right here.”
Trish snorted her disapproval. “Miles? Like that’s comforting?”
“I have a gun.”
Skylar’s announcement preceded a beat of silence over the line.
“You what?” Trish eventually said.
“It was Dad’s. I took it from the trunk.”
“What trunk would that be?” Trish asked. Demanded, really, in her best cross-examination style.
“The one I found in the attic here. It’s loaded and I know how to use it. We all do.”
Trish sighed unhappily. Trisha Lilith Donovan saw far too many weapons in her job as a prosecuting attorney to be comfortable with any of them. And Trish, as the eldest sibling and the only Donovan kid not named after a bird, felt responsible for the rest of the motherless girls.
“I suppose being engaged to the cop for twelve months also had its perks in the weapons department?” Trish suggested.
Skylar lowered the phone to take a deep breath so that Trish wouldn’t hear it. Trish had said “the cop,” avoiding the use of Danny’s name.
Skylar raised the receiver when she heard Trish calling her name.
“Skye? Skylar?”
“Sorry. I have something cooking on the stove. Can we talk later?”
“You’re putting me off. We haven’t discussed—”
“Good. Thanks,” Skylar interrupted. “I’ll call you tomorrow morning.”
“Skye, wait. I’m sorry I brought up the cop. Really sorry.”
“No sweat. I’ve moved on, that’s all.”
“I know, but...”
“It’s all right. I haven’t been a baby for twenty-three years now. Nor have I ever needed help in making up my mind about something.”
“I know that, too. But you will always be my baby sister. You can confide in me.”
“I’m all right, I swear. My fiancé was a bastard, and it took me too long to figure that out. I’m off the hook now. That’s how I look at the breakup. Possibly it was an act of divine intervention in my favor. I feel relief, if you want the truth. We’ll talk again tomorrow. Okay?”
“Oh, all right.”
“Bye, Trish.”
Skylar signed off before the arguments could start up again, and with them the apologies about things not working out with Detective Danny Parker, who had gotten her close enough to matrimony to actually buy the dress.
But it had never been a match made in heaven, and she’d known that, deep down inside. She’d merely been going through the motions.
Worse, in terms of regrets, was realizing she’d gone along with Danny’s little mental abuses, and had been swept up in them, rather than openly exerting her true rebellious personality. That hadn’t been like her at all, really. And she hadn’t been lying to Trish about the relief.
Palming her cell phone, Skylar checked the screen for calls, half expecting Trish to call back. Then she set the phone on the table. Service was spotty in the mountains, and only seemed to like this small area in the front room of the cabin—a fact that wasn’t exactly comforting, she supposed, though Trish didn’t need to know that, either.
“And if you knew what else I found in that trunk of Dad’s, Trish, you’d send in the tanks,” she muttered.
Not only had she found the gun in that trunk, well-oiled and ready to go, it was loaded with unusual ammunition that had to have helped shape her dreams. She was sure that silver bullets weren’t the norm for anyone, outside of people chasing their own form of madness.
Glancing up at the ceiling as if she could see through the rough wooden beams, she said, “Neither are they standard in a psychiatrist’s medicine bag.”
In the past, she would have called Danny to talk about this, but she was on her own now—which left her imagination wide-open. Because shiny silver ammunition, unless merely something a collector might covet, was de rigueur for hunting...
“Werewolves.”
Skylar turned toward the window, attuned to the drop in temperature that signaled another day’s end. Nightfall wasn’t far off.
“Damn it, Trish. I need to find out what our father was up to, and why it might have killed him.”
Solving the mystery of her father’s frequent disappearances was paramount, as was finding out why he needed so much time away from everyone he supposedly loved.
But hell, Dad. Silver bullets?
In all truth, she had to admit, being in this cabin for a few days by herself, with her dad’s things, had caused her more discomfort than seeing Danny’s face when she told him the engagement was off.
The men in her life were gone, and she was far too intelligent to imagine that velvet-voiced rangers could have stepped out of her dreams.
As for monsters...
The moon would be completely full in another twenty-four hours, a big deal in werewolf lore, at least in the movies. If the approaching moon was some kind of supernatural stimulant, all werewolves would be affected. If there were such things as man-wolf creatures, her dream lover would be affected, too. And with her dad’s gun under her pillow, she’d be ready for anything that dream had to offer.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_4cd7c6e1-3540-5a03-a6e0-1c418237c2cc)
Gavin hadn’t found the trail of the creature he sought. Although he’d gotten close enough to taste its feral presence, one too many detours had brought him back, time and time again, to stare at the cabin, wishing to see her.
He hadn’t meant to circle back. He had, in fact, been heading in the opposite direction. Yet here he was again, staring down at the blasted cabin, telling himself, “Don’t be an idiot. No one needs a woman that bad.”
Obviously, he didn’t believe that on some level.
The beast he hunted, which had a fondness for blood and sacrifices, disappeared just after midnight. After following its malevolent stench south, the damn thing vanished into thin air. He’d spent a fruitless night backtracking all over the mountain, and more time searching throughout the day to make sure he hadn’t missed anything crucial. Now, once again, darkness wasn’t far off, putting him a hell of a lot closer to the phase of the moon that counted.
He eyed the cabin warily, figuring that if his interest in the woman down there kept up, he’d have to chain himself to the Jeep to avoid showing up on her doorstep, in person. The next time he confronted that woman, she might do more than point the weapon in his direction. She might actually pull the trigger.
He thought about that gun, and what it might do to him.
It was possible that he could he survive a bullet at close range, but it would certainly slow him down. When the beast inside him took over, several bullets might be required to make a permanent dent.
In theory, anyway.
He’d only tested his survival skills once, when he was accidentally hit by an arrow fired at him by mistake. That hunter now spent time in a cell.
And by the way...that arrow had been a bitch.
Gavin searched the clearing.
The cabin looked quiet in the evening light, though he knew the woman hadn’t taken his advice and hit the road. A ribbon of gray smoke rose from the chimney.
Stubborn streak?
Who in their right mind remained resistant to a ranger’s warning, or stepped outside in the middle of the night to face anyone or anything that might be out there?
Not courageous, necessarily. More like impulsive.
Maybe she gets off on danger.
And just maybe he’d make it his business to find out.
Besides, he was ravenous for company, and the smoke coming from the cabin carried the smell of food. If he knocked on the door, was there was a remote possibly she’d invite him in for a bite?
Gavin shook his head, rubbed his eyes.
She shouldn’t be alone. The last death out here had been gruesome. Some poor doctor found in a gulley, sliced to shreds. Gavin had an idea about how that might have happened, and that idea didn’t include a slippery trail. But he couldn’t speak of it to anyone. Who’d believe him?
The doctor who had occupied the cabin died just ten days ago, which made the new occupant’s tenancy a quick turnaround. Possibly the woman was part of that man’s family.
She’d probably have her pants on today.
Smiling felt strange. So did the compulsion to go down there. He didn’t know why this woman’s presence was so intriguing to him that his vow of celibacy strained at its leash.
He was way too hungry for everything that cabin had to offer, for anyone’s good.
As for women? He hadn’t dared to sleep with one since he’d been mauled by a hell demon and his life, as he’d always known it, had ceased to exist. He had no idea how the beast, now an integral part of him, would deal with emotion. He wasn’t sure if this nightmare could be passed to others by way of something as insignificant as a scratch or a kiss.
There seemed to be no rule book for werewolves. No manual. Hell, it was possible there were no others like him, and he’d have to continue to play it by ear.
“Sorry,” Gavin whispered to the female below, though his insides quaked with a longing for what she could offer that bordered on visceral greed.
He craved warmth and closeness and the freedom to fill his lungs with the perfume surrounding this woman like an aura. He wanted to run his hands over every inch of her, and see where that led. Test himself. Push himself.
But he had a job to do and a vow to fulfill. He’d find the beast that had ruined his life, and take that beast down. “Not her,” he said to quiet his inner wolf. “Definitely can’t bother this woman.”
Want her, his wolfish side protested with a sharp stomach twist.
“Yes. Okay. I suppose I do,” Gavin admitted as he started down the hill toward the cabin as if pulled there by an invisible chain.
* * *
“Stop right there.”
Obliging, the man by the fence stopped at the gate.
Even if she hadn’t guessed that her nighttime visitor would return, Skylar’s first thought actually would have been ranger due to the light green pants and the shirt with a badge on the pocket.
She wasn’t sure how she noticed the clothing details though, given her initial surprise over how incredibly attractive the rest of him was and how well he fit her dream guy’s stats.
Tall and rangy, his outfit did little to hide masses of lean, well-honed muscle. Other dreamed attributes were there, too: the broad shoulders and narrow waist, the dark brown hair with its loose waves curtaining a chiseled face. From where she stood, it appeared that every body part seemed perfectly balanced and in accord with his beautifully united whole.
Just as she’d imagined.
This was downright uncanny, and maybe even a little scary. Still, while the hunky outdoorsman looked strong, he didn’t look primeval. His fingers didn’t end in razor-sharp claws, though she seemed to recognize him on whatever level of consciousness telegraphed heat.
Skylar felt her temperature begin to rise. Sensitive spots at the base of her spine tingled—a sign that though he hadn’t spoken yet, this guy truly was last night’s visitor, in the flesh.
“You’ve lost your gun,” he finally observed.
Velvet. Yes. His voice was like a velvet blanket, the vocalization of his appearance.
Skylar’s heart fluttered in her chest.
“Do I need it?” She regarded this guy almost rudely, unable to stop the flood of internal warnings about the impossibility of dreams coming to life.
But she couldn’t have made this guy up. He was standing in her yard in the last light of a long day, and was close enough for her to see his face.
