Dark Ice (26 page)

“Damn bear, why did you have to pick now to play hide and seek? Why couldn’t you hibernate for the winter?”

A deep growl vibrated through the snow, the sound intensified by the cavernous echo of the ice walls. Every muscle tensed, as hard as the steel he gripped in his hand. Polar bears were white for a reason, and their shape shifter cousins were exactly the same—completely camouflaged except for their tell-tale face. He squinted through the white haze of snow, trying to make out an outline. Hard black eyes studied him from a distance.
 

Tynan stiffened and planted his feet as secure as he could in the snow. The bear edged forward and reared onto its hind legs, and despite the cold, beads of sweat surfaced against Tynan’s brow and instantly froze against his face. His heart beat furiously as his senses went into overdrive.
 
Pure muscle and fur towered over him.
 
He'd met many shape shifter animals in combat, but he held a special respect for ursine strength and agility.

The bear swiped at him with its powerful paw and Tynan twisted, trying to keep his balance in the nearly knee deep snow. The bear swiped again, this time the edge of his claws barely nicked Tynan’s face. There was no doubt that the shifter was playing with him and Tynan extended the stiletto, now achingly adhered to his calloused hand. He brought up an arm and blocked the bear’s blow. Pain raced down his arm and he stiffened before taking a step forward. The bear snarled in warning. Tynan bunched his muscles ready to strike. Against other humans, his venator blood offered an advantage, but he was nowhere near as strong as the bear.

His muscles burned with fire as he gathered his strength. Plunging upward with all of his might he drove the stiletto deep into the bear’s fur until he hit the resistance of flesh. He pushed up harder until the stiletto slid into the creature's solid arm muscle. The bear howled in agony and reared up to its full massive height before coming down with its front paws, intent on crushing Tynan with its huge weight. Tynan rolled across the ice, soaking his jeans and jacket, freezing him to the core. Still, the adrenaline coursing through his veins warmed his blood. Ice and snow showered everywhere as the bear landed on the ground, inches from his side.

Tynan rolled and jumped to his feet to face the bear. Dark red blood stained pure white fur across the front of his paw, where Tynan’s stiletto met its mark. Anger blazed deep in the bear’s black eyes. The heat of his body melted the ice that encrusted his clothes and the cold wetness seeped through Tynan's back burning him like cold fire. The wall of ice at his back trapped him as the bear stepped closer.

He planted his feet firmly into the ground, readying himself. His muscles tensed, his only weapon seemed futile against the nine hundred pound animal in front of him.

I need you, brother.

The unexpected voice reverberated through Tynan’s head. He blinked. Distracted, he turned and lowered his weapon a fraction.

Raw agony swept through his chest as he hissed in pain, his knees buckling.
 
He locked his legs in an attempt to stay upright and he glanced downward. Four deep slashes had laid his jacket open, the deep gashes allowing him to catch a glimpse of the injury across his chest.

Blood pumped from the wounds and he slid down the ice wall to the cold ground. Instantly his blood pooled crimson on the hard snow, until it seeped into the white ice, turning it garish pink. The bear above him growled with low menace. Tynan braced himself and waited for the final death blow but it never came. The bear growled again before turning on all fours before stalking away, retracing its own steps through the deep crevasses.

Tynan cursed. Rory, his brother-in-arms, had the worst timing in history. His call for help had nearly cost Tynan his life. The pungent acidic scent of fresh blood filled the air. He looked at his chest and lifted a hand to inspect the damage. Nearly-frozen fingers found raw, deep wounds, his matted flesh already feeling cold even to his own touch. He had to get out of here if he were to heal. It was a damn good thing he was a member of the ancient organization Venatoris Versipellis. They were given the powers to heal. Fortunately as a “hunter of the shape shifters” he couldn’t freeze to death either. But if he didn’t get up soon it would be a mighty uncomfortable way to slowly bleed to death.

With bloodied fingers he pried the stiletto from his hand. The skin ripped from his palm. He clamped his jaw shut tight to stop himself from bellowing out. He took off his shredded jacket and pressed it against his chest. Fingers numb and fumbling, he unbuckled his belt and tied it around the jacket and his chest. At least it would stem some of the blood flow until he got back home.

He shivered involuntarily and took a deep breath, the crisp air nearly burning his nostrils as he struggled to his knees. A reddish pink pool stained the snow around him, if he didn’t get out of here soon, he would be attracting wild animals from far and wide. It would make no difference if they were natural animals or the Versipellis, the were-animals.

Tynan got to his feet and stood stock still, waiting to get his balance. Warm blood dripped from his chest, trickling down the hard ridges of his stomach before leaching into his jeans. He shivered then turned to retrace his own steps back to civilization and home. This far into the wilds of Arctic Alaska, it was a fight for survival. And he had every intention of surviving another day in the ice caps of hell.

~* * *~

Dane careened across the white expanse of the snow fields. The wind rushed through his thick fur, chilling his skin below. The hard snow crunched under every foot fall and he stretched his muscles and pushed himself to go harder. He was free, invigorated despite the confrontation with the hunter.

He winced, as well as he could when in bear form. The gash from Tynan’s stiletto pulled at his paw. When he transformed back to a human, the wound would give him trouble. He had to make it back to his den and bide his time until night time hit. He could shift whenever he willed, but after such a long trek and a wound that needed tending it’d be best to wait until nightfall. It wouldn’t be long, though darkness would settle over the fields long before true night arrived. It was always that way at this time of year when the nights grew longer and darker, the days shorter.

He increased his stride, extending his muscles as his heart pounded harder, pushing him farther and faster. His den was close. Soon he would be in relative safety. Tynan could still track him there, but the venator was injured. He would go home and lick his wounds, just as Dane was about to do. And when they were both healed, the game would begin again.

He found it odd that the man only hunted the shape shifters when they held animal form and not when they were human. Most of the venators hunted their enemies relentlessly. Dane always believed Tynan found it unsporting to hunt them in human form. It was one of the reasons he liked the venator. He gave them a sporting chance, whatever sort of shifter you were. Except if you broke the rules. Then you were fair game for the masses. And if Tynan came after you, then you’d better find religion pretty fast and say your prayers. The man was deadlier than most shifter’s Dane had met.

He slowed his pace, relishing the intense beating of his heart, the strong contractions of his muscles as they urged him on. He approached his den, but didn’t go in. Instead he paced across the opening while the adrenaline of the fight and journey back home beat through his veins. He watched the sun as it lowered across the vast expanse of snowy white fields, turning them a deep orange and red.

It made him hunger for blood, made him want to kill. It was his nature. But this yearning was different. He felt it edging its way through his body and into his soul. The Dark Moon called to him. For twenty-four hours the moon would rein supreme and his brethren—shifters of all kind—would go on hunting sprees. And its time was nearly here. He could feel it, although this year it called differently. The Dark Moon filled his blood with feral need. But it also called him into the city, called him to a place with more prey. Something called him. Or someone.

It was deeper and louder, incessant in his brain, screaming at his instincts. It wanted him to give into those deadly urges. To hunt. To kill.

The Veteran by Connie Wood

Will their past thrust them into danger - or each other's arms?

Roman Grisham returned from combat never able to return to the military he so loved. And he wants answers. His answers are linked to the shy and quietly sexy, Germaine Andrews who is looking for quiet seclusion after her life was torn apart. Now they need each other to unriddle the past, but it's their future that is fraught with danger.

Chapter One

Here she was again, alone in the catacombs.

Germaine looked up from her computer screen, rubbed her eyes and tried to stretch out the kinks in her neck. This was the one downside of working in the library's archives. All the computer work left her stiff and sore. Still, working down here in the catacombs of the NSW State Library had enough advantages to tip the scale in its favor.

She stood and walked over to the small tinted window that allowed only dusty filtered sunlight to penetrate the archival records room. Her high heeled pumps echoed across the tiles. She smiled, looking at the hazy silhouettes of the birds flittering across the ground at eye level with her. To most people it would be strange to see the world from a ground-level perspective. But not to Germaine. It showed her a beauty that most people didn’t notice. It made her appreciate the details of life. And the details were important; they could save your life. Or get you killed.

It was good to get lost in the details of work and life. At least then you didn’t have to worry about the bigger picture. Especially when the bigger picture held bleak and frightening memories.

The view of the Royal Botanical Gardens held a major bonus of working in the catacombs. Her brief glances at the gardens, albeit through the tiny window, calmed and soothed her. It was also a perfect escape at lunch time. A good book and a packed lunch eaten out in the sunshine rejuvenated her. It also gave her the perfect excuse not to have to socialize with all of her colleagues.

The shrill ringing of the phone broke the silence and echoed through the vast space of the room. Germaine walked across the room to her small cluttered desk and picked up the phone.

"Good morning, Archives. Germaine speaking." Her voice held little friendliness, only cool professionalism. She had long stopped trying to be sociable to her work peers. She now wore her professional manner as armor.

"Good morning, Germaine. How are those electronic newspaper articles coming along?"

Her boss's enquiry was a moot point. He knew exactly how she was doing. Paul had been down to her sanctuary yesterday afternoon to check up on her. He was in a hurry to get the articles catalogued and constantly harassed her every chance he got.

Irritation gnawed at her. She was a very capable archivist and fiercely protective regarding herself and her space. People tended to be friendly and wanted to know about her and her life. Germaine didn’t want to share. It just hurt too much. Her pain constantly burned just below the surface and people had a tendency to want to scratch it. But it wasn’t in her nature to be overly rude to anyone.
 
Which was one of the main reasons she had taken this job with minimal supervision in a solitary environment.

"The articles are going just fine, Paul," she tried to put a smile in her voice. "How can I help you?"

"I don't want to pull you away from your work but something urgent has arisen and I don't have anyone else capable enough to take care of it."

Curiosity caused a frown to crease her smooth brow. "What sort of 'something'?"

"There’s a gentleman who requires access to some of our classified archives for some research that he is doing." The trepidation in the elder man’s voice set off alarm bells in her mind. Something was seriously wrong, she could feel it.

"I don't have classified security access, Paul. Besides, I know how important these articles are for you," she added as a last resort.

"The articles can wait. You have been added to the classified security database as of this morning. All you need to do is come up to the Information Technology department to get your clearance codes."

Those warning bells started clamoring for attention, making her stomach knot. Why was she being given instant security access?

"What is it you want me to do exactly, Paul?" She couldn’t hide the accusation and panic from her voice. She was being pushed out of her comfort zone. Again. And she didn’t like it. Every time it happened disaster wasn’t too far behind.

The silence from the other end of the phone was deafening. When he finally spoke his voice held a nervousness and sorrow that she had never heard there before.

"I need you to go through the war files with this gentleman." He paused, "I'm really sorry Germaine, but you were specifically requested for this job."

Her heart clenched at his words, her breathing becoming so erratic she was unable to speak. Germaine closed her eyes as images assailed her. The screaming and panic were as clear in her mind now as it had been that day three years ago. People running and terrified. The blood. The slivery flash of a knife.
Not again! No!
Her mind warned. She couldn’t handle this. Every instinct within her told her to hang up the phone and flee. Run away as fast as possible. As far away as possible.