Chance Fur Hire (Bears Fur Hire 6) (14 page)

Emily woke in the dark and immediately searched Chance’s side of the bed with her fingertips. The covers had been pushed aside, and all she felt was cold mattress.

“Chance?”

No answer.

A sense of wrongness filled her chest and made the air too heavy to breath. She gasped and searched frantically for the light switch near the door. She winced as the lightbulbs above blinded her, and blinking rapidly, she tried to adjust enough to search the room. The place was destroyed, and every inch of the floor was covered in debris. Glass, rumpled clothes, papers, furniture that had been splintered into thousands of pieces.

“Chance?” she called louder as fear pulsed through her.

Emily threw the door open and gasped. Between her feet was a long, wet, red smear that trailed to the end of the hallway and disappeared around the corner. The air smelled of fur and something more. Something bitter against the lining of her nose. Something chemical that was so familiar but stayed just out of her mind’s reach.

The floorboards were cold under her bare feet as she sidled the wall, careful not to touch the horrifying crimson that painted the center of the hallway. At the end, she hesitated and tried to steady her breathing. She would pass out soon if she didn’t get ahold of herself, and Chance needed her.

There were wooden bars over the front door, and baffled, Emily tiptoed to the window in the den. Outside, everything was different. There was no clearing anymore, but instead, a massive tree stood in front of the house. And under it were two white horses. Atop those horses sat two men in old fashioned vests, boots, and black cowboy hats. They were bound and gagged with their hands tied behind their backs, and one was staring at her with horror in his dark eyes.

“Dalton?” she whispered.

The other man sat slumped over in the saddle, but to her horror, both of their necks were in nooses. Dressed in black cloaks, two men stood in front of the horses, holding the fidgety animals steady. One of the Hell Hunters turned and cast her a bright-eyed look just before he hit the slumped-over man across the jaw. The cowboy hat had been hiding his face, but suddenly, the bound man jerked back from the hit, and his light green eyes landed on her.

“Oh, my God,” she murmured. “Chance!”

“Emily, run!” he bellowed from behind the gag.

She needed weapons. She had to save them. Had to because she would never survive the pain of losing her mate. Emily turned, but the landscape of the lodge had changed. Now she was standing by the small window of a cabin. An old ladder-back chair sat toppled in the middle of the room and when she looked down, she was wearing a full-skirted dress.

The lung-singeing smell intensified, and she recognized it now. Lantern oil. When she looked outside, a Hell Hunter lit a match, and when he lifted the tiny flame, it illuminated his face in the depths of his black hood.

Uncle Victor gave her an empty smile and then tossed the match onto the house.

Emily beat on the window as the flames engulfed the cabin. “Chance!” she screamed over and over, banging on the thick, warped glass. And just before she lost him in the smoke, one of the Hell Hunters slapped the horses under him and Dalton.

“Nooo!” Emily screamed, sitting up in bed.

Her flailing arms were suddenly pinned to her sides, and she struggled like a wild, injured animal, fighting for her life. Fighting for Chance and Dalton. The smoke filled her lungs, and she coughed over and over, trying to force air into her suffocating chest.

“Em, stop it!” Chance gritted out.

Airway suddenly clear, she gasped and ceased her struggling. When the light flipped on, Dalton and Jenner stood in the doorway, hair disheveled and matching, bright-eyed looks of fearsome readiness.

“What’s happened?” Dalton asked.

“You hanged,” she wailed.

Dalton rubbed the hanging scar on his neck and shot a quick glance into the hallway.

“You and Chance hanged, and I burned.”

Chance shot the others a worried look. “Baby, it was just a dream. I didn’t hang, and you’re here, safe with me.”

“It was just a dream,” she forced through her closing throat. “Just an awful, awful dream,” she repeated, trying to convince herself. “But it felt so real. The smoke and the horses. White horses, and you were dressed like cowboys. I was in a cabin, wearing a dress, and I couldn’t get out to save you.” She bit her bottom lip hard to stop the trembling there. Tears spilled onto her cheeks as Chance crushed her against his chest. “I watched you both hang, and my skin was on fire.”

“Sounds like you’ve been reading our history book, woman,” Dalton said in a low voice. “That happened to our ancestors, Luke and Jeremiah Dawson. You read their story, and it gave you a nightmare is all.”

“Luke and Jeremiah,” she whispered, her eyes burning from the residual smoke she could still smell on the air. Uncle Victor had been there. “Not just your ancestors. Mine, too.” Her face caved, and she let off a sob. “My people did that. Seeing it is different.”

“You didn’t really see it, Em,” Chance whispered, rocking her gently. “It’s not real.”

She understood his need to comfort her, but he was wrong. Emily didn’t know why she’d had that dream, but it had really happened. She’d felt the fear and the horror when Chance…er, Luke Dawson…had told her to run. There had only been vague details in the history book, and she knew down to her bones she hadn’t just filled in the gaps with her own imaginings. The cabin, the rough texture of her dress fabric between her fingers, the smell of lantern oil. She wasn’t that creative to imagine it all in a dream.

That nightmare was a warning. From Chance’s ghosts or from hers, it didn’t matter, but it was a foreshadowing of what was to come if Emily didn’t protect him.

Chance would hang, and she would burn.

And as she swallowed the last of her sobs and leveled her mate with a fierce look, she knew what she had to do.

Chance was hers, and she would burn the world down before she saw him hang from the end of a noose.

Thunk.

Emily shifted her weight and pulled another throwing knife out of her belt, flipped it, caught the blade neatly, and chucked it at the target she’d pinned to the log.

Thunk.

She’d only brought three, and just for comfort because she definitely hadn’t imagined she would be hunting on this trip, but every instinct was on alert now.

She’d searched every hidey hole for Uncle Victor in Galena, but he hadn’t been there. Why? Because he wasn’t hunting Link. He was hunting Chance, the werewolf that had stolen his precious Hell Hunter niece out from under his thumb. Or at least, that’s how Uncle Victor would see it. Hate did that—made people see what they wanted and nothing more. It limited their view of the world. She knew because that used to be her.

Not anymore.

Thunk.

He was here, hunting the man she loved, and now he had a horse. Oh, it was no accident the horses had fled the pasture last night. Uncle Victor was ailing and with limited lung function. He wouldn’t be hiking after his prey. He would be riding.

And he wasn’t planning on coming back from this either. If he was all the way out here, stalking Chance away from his caretakers in Anchorage, this was a kamikaze mission, designed to do the most damage with what strength he had left. Ending Chance meant no alliance for Hell Hunters and werewolves. It meant Link would go mad, and Dalton would never recover. The loss would echo through the marrow of the pack, destroying it inch by inch like a slow-burning fire. How did she know? Because that had been her plan when she’d begun hunting Chance. But now her uncle had even more motivation because she had fallen under the umbrella of his loathing for choosing a side that went against everything he’d taught her. Now, Chance’s death would be personal for her uncle because it would be his direct path to destroying her, too. He was more dangerous to the wolves now than he had ever been. Why? Because he was desperate, was bloated with the idea of revenge, and had absolutely nothing left to lose. In his eyes, the Galena pack had killed his brother, and now they’d taken the only family and ally Uncle Victor had left—her.

She’d brought hell to Chance, and she would be the one to banish it from his life once again.

She strode to the target and yanked out all three blades, one by one, from the red bullseye. The hairs lifted on the back of her neck, and she turned a glance at Chance who stood leaned against the wall of the lodge with his arms crossed over his chest and a furrow of worry in his fair brows.

“You can feel me watching you, can’t you?” he asked low.

“Yes.”

“How? You’re human.”

“Am I?” she asked. Or was she a
monster
? Because she was definitely going to kill to protect the man she loved. And for the life of her, she couldn’t muster a single ounce of remorse over that fact. Fuck what that said about her.

“I think you’ve hidden how lethal you are.”

“I haven’t hidden anything. You knew what I was from the beginning. I just didn’t have a reason to flaunt my skills.”

“And now you do?”

“No,” she lied coolly. With the flip of a blade, she threw another knife into the red.
Thunk.

And Chance was there in a blur, hand on hers, plucking a knife neatly from her hand. He threw the blade, and end-over-end it blasted until it sank deep into the target, not more than an inch away from hers. “You don’t need to protect me, mate.”

Oh, but she did. If she spilled her plan, Chance would act different. He would tip Uncle Victor off before she could set her trap, and she couldn’t have that. She had one shot at this, and Chance being left out of the plan was one of the most important parts. To guide him away from the meat of the issue, she said, “I’m upset about the dream.”

Chance narrowed his eyes and cocked his head, but he wouldn’t find a lie there. She was utterly shaken by it still, even though it had happened hours ago.

“You didn’t sleep much.”

“Well, if you had a dream of me dangling from a rope, I bet you wouldn’t either. I didn’t exactly want a repeat of that little show.”

Chance cast a quick glance at the corner of the lodge, then led her to the log wall. He looked uncertain for a moment, here in the deep gray light right before dawn. Just a flash of disquiet, and then it was gone. He lowered his lips to hers, and she opened for him, desperate to have a few moments where she wasn’t assaulted with the images of that stupid nightmare. Where she didn’t feel the flames licking at her skin and hear the creak of those damned hanging ropes.

“I could’ve helped you forget the dream,” he murmured against her lips as he pushed his hand down the front of her jeans.

She rolled her hips against his touch and closed her eyes at how good he felt on her. Chance had learned her body and knew which buttons to push to get her wet in an instant, but this was more than just animal attraction. This was his worry and him trying to fix it in the only way he knew how—by reassuring her she was adored and giving her reprieve from her own concerns.

“Chance,” she gasped as he slid two fingers inside her. “I want more.”

“No, baby, this one’s just for you. Come for me quick.”

An unnecessary request since she was already rolling against his hand and burying her face against his chest, clutching his shirt, and completely lost to his touch. God, he smelled good. Fur, the masculine-scented soap from his shower, shaving cream from when he’d shaved his beard off this morning.

She moaned, and he kissed her, quieted her, as her climax turned blinding. Her body gripped his fingers in short bursts as her orgasm pulsed through her. Emily let off a shaky breath and clutched his sweater, desperate to hold onto this moment just a little while longer before she had to go back to worrying, planning, and praying they both came back from this fishing trip alive.

She stroked her palm down Chance’s hard erection, pressed tightly against the front seam of his jeans.

“Em,” he said low as she lifted his shirt and slipped her fingers just below the elastic of his briefs. There was a drop of moisture waiting for her, right on his tip. “Em,” he repeated, stilling her hand. “There’s no time for that now. The oven is going off.”

“The oven?” she asked, dumbfounded. She felt drunk from what he’d just done to her, and her aftershocks were will throbbing through her body. Even her limbs had gone numb, and he was talking about ovens?

“I made you a surprise,” he whispered.

****

Something was wrong.

Chance cast another worried glance at Em, but she was avoiding his gaze as he led her back into the lodge. He would have to wake the Rodericks soon so they could head out, but the worried moue on Em’s full lips had him wishing for more time to drive that damned dream from her mind.

And now she was hiding her gorgeous baby blues with her long, wavy hair. Hiding from him.

Maybe Em threw knives when she was stressed out. Perhaps it settled her mind when she was mulling things over, but he’d seen the intensity in her concentration as she’d honed in on the direct center of the bullseye with each throw. Nah, she wasn’t just lost in thought. She was making sure her aim was on point.

Em was sexy as hell with how much hidden power she wielded, but he hated being pushed away. The oven beeped again, and Lennard would have his hide if he burned the first breakfast for the new clients, so he gestured to a seat at the kitchen island and jogged over to the sink to wash his hands, then took out the pastries he’d made.

Chance loaded one onto a plate and set it in front of her.

When she looked down at her breakfast, she let off the cutest little noise, a mixture of shock and pleasure. Noisy mate, always letting him know when he did good.

“Is this a cherry fried pie?”

“Not fried, but I make them better in the oven. You said your memories of getting them with your dad were tainted so I wanted to make new ones with you.”

Her eyes filled, and for a moment, he thought he’d made a misstep. But her lips curved up in that boner-inducing smile of hers, and he relaxed again.

“How did I get so lucky?” she asked, squeezing his hand.

“You didn’t,” Dalton offered as he sauntered into the kitchen. “It probably tastes like cherry fried poop nuggets.”

“Oh, here we go,” Chance muttered. “I’m going to go wake up the Rodericks. Don’t eat them all.”

“You made a dozen,” Em said with a giggle. “I think you’re safe from me eating them all.”

God, he was so happy she was laughing again, and now her eyes were dancing and the weird mood she’d been in had lifted. Even her shoulders had relaxed.

“I was talking to dipshit over there,” Chance said, arching his eyebrow as he pointed at Dalton.

His cousin already had his plate piled three high and was reaching for a fourth. “Fine,” he grumbled.

Chance briefly considered relieving the deep ache in his balls that finger-banging Em up against the house had caused, but he didn’t have time to go at himself right now. Lennard was hell to deal with when tours got off to late starts, and he wasn’t up for a row today. Not when Em was taking up all his headspace. So he passed his bedroom door and knocked on room three. Chuck opened it a crack. “Is it time?”

“Yeah. Breakfast is ready in the kitchen whenever you’re dressed.

“Okay, we’ll be right out.”

The door clicked closed, and Chance made his way back to the kitchen, but halted when he saw Dalton and Em’s heads tilted toward each other. They were whispering something just under his range of hearing, and they seemed to be looking at something in the back of her phone. As he crept closer, Em turned the open back just enough for him to catch a glimpse of a tracker. What the hell?

“What’s going on?” he asked carefully, masking how hurt he was by his cousin and his girl sharing secrets.

Dalton startled as though he’d been shocked by a Taser and lifted his hands in the air in surrender. “I’m not doing this. I’m neutral. Don’t ask me questions. I plead the fifth on everything.”

Dalton looked guilty as hell, but Em slipped the cover on the back of her phone and gave him a calculating look. “Chance, I can’t tell you what is happening right now, but I will.”

“Are we in danger?” he asked.

Dalton, the prick, stared vacantly and chewed slowly like a cow on its cud.

“Technically speaking, everyone is in danger,” Em said. Oh, she was being wily about the truth.

“Who the fuck put a tracker in your phone, Em?”

She pursed her lips as if she’d just given a lemon a blow job and didn’t even try to answer.

“Should I be cancelling this tour?” he gritted out, hanging onto his patience by a thread.

“No,” Em rushed out.

“Definitely not,” Dalton said at the same time.

Fuckin’ little fuckers, conspiring behind his back and leaving him out of something big that was brewing. Dalton lifted a cherry pastry to his open maw in slow motion as he stared at Chance. Pissed off, Chance blurred to him and slapped it out of his stupid hand. Dalton’s breakfast made a sad little splat on the floor, and Chance gave him a that’s-what-you-get look before he strode out of the house to pack the horses.

He didn’t look back at Em because he was mad as a hornet right now and would regret anything he said to her, but damn it all, this wasn’t cool. He wasn’t an idiot. Em was hunting and Dalton was in on it, and he’d bet his nipples it was her fuckin’ uncle who had her scared.

He wanted to break everything, glue it all back together, and then break it all again.

With a glare at the woods, he opened the door to the barn and pulled his favorite horse—a four-year-old bay named Gunner—from his stall. Now he would have to rethink the horses he wanted to put his clients on because the ancient comatose ones wouldn’t work if they needed to escape whatever hell was waiting for them out in those woods. He hoped the Rodericks had told the truth on their paperwork about being advanced in horsemanship. Half the time, clients who checked that box came in never having seen a damned horse.

“I’m sorry,” Em said softly from the doorway as he ran a brush down Gunnar’s ribs.

“You’re sorry, but you won’t tell me what’s going on.”

With a sigh, she approached and hugged him from behind. “I was wrong.”

His fury cooled in an instant. “Wait, what?”

“I’m used to my training, but I can’t hunt like that. Not out here, and not with you. That’s not how packs work.”

Chance turned slowly in her arms and lifted her hands over his shoulders. “Just tell me one thing, Em. Tell me straight because I can’t handle losing you. Are you in danger?”

She shook her head, and her eyes shadowed with sadness. “No, Chance. You are.”