Frostbitten (40 page)

He looked from me to Clay and back again. I was the obvious choice—smaller, less experienced and already battered from earlier. But he kept looking, kept thinking.

“I choose…”

Another slow look from me to Clay, then he wheeled, snapping off the nearest branch and lunging at Clay. I leapt forward. Clay leapt back. Neither of us was fast enough. Tesler plunged the jagged stick into Clay’s chest. Then he ran.

I raced over to Clay as he staggered back.

“Go after him,” he said, as I dropped in front of him.

“No.”

“Elena.”

“No!” I snarled the word. That shut him up. The branch still protruded from his chest. It wasn’t as big as I thought, less than an inch diameter. If anything, though, that made it worse—thinner and sharper, like an arrow. As I fumbled with his jacket, he reached up to pull the branch out.

“Don’t,” I said.

“Darling, it’s not—”

“Don’t!”

“I’m fine. Go after him. This is what he wanted.”

“Then I guess it’s what he’s going to get.”

My voice quavered as badly as my hands now. I’d been so afraid of being raped by Tesler. Did I think that was the worst he could do to me? No. There was something far worse, and I’d been such a fool, working myself up over that, letting him scare me, letting fear slow me down, when I could have killed him, and I wouldn’t be here now, shaking so bad I couldn’t get Clay’s jacket undone.

“Elena, I’m okay.”

He tried grabbing my hands. I knocked his away with a mumbled apology, telling him to stay still, don’t move, don’t do anything.

The branch had gone through the jacket, meaning I couldn’t easily get it off without dislodging the stick. Rule one of dealing with impalements—don’t pull out the object because it might be the only thing keeping you from bleeding to death.

I worked his jacket and bloodied shirt off enough to see the wound. Then I let out a long, shuddering sigh. My eyes filled and I swiped at them. The second time in one night I’d come close to crying. A record for me. But even as I blinked angrily, a tear rolled down my cheek. Clay tugged off his glove and wiped it away.

“Did I say I was okay?” he murmured.

I nodded.

“Still don’t trust me, huh?”

I choked a laugh. He was right—at least the part about being okay. The down-filled jacket stopped most of Tesler’s thrust, knocking Clay over, but otherwise doing little damage. The stick had only penetrated about a half inch, and in the fleshy part of his shoulder.

“Can I pull it out now?” he asked.

I did it for him, carefully, so I wouldn’t leave any splinters. Blood gushed. I pressed his glove to it and the flow slowed to a trickle. Clay peeled my fingers from the glove, taking over.

“Now will you go after that bastard? Before he gets away? I’m right behind you.”

I nodded, pushed to my feet, gave him one last look, then took off.

* * * *

I caught up with Tesler. It wasn’t hard. He figured I was busy saving Clay’s life, so he ran straight for the nearest snowmobile shed. I found him trying to hot-wire his getaway vehicle. We fought. Again, it wasn’t hard. If I was in rough shape, he was just as bad, and I had fear on my side—his fear. His gang was dead, his brother was dead and he was on his own. Travis Tesler wasn’t accustomed to being alone.

As for my own fear, the last traces of it had evaporated when Clay had been stabbed. Rape I could survive. I’d do almost anything in my power to avoid it.
Almost
anything. The one thing I wouldn’t do was put my family at risk.

Nick had said I was allowed to have a soft spot. I’d been certain I had only one, and Tesler had found it. But there were more ways to hurt me. Come after Clay. Come after my children. Come after my Pack.

Those were weaknesses I couldn’t overcome. I shouldn’t. I’d thought an Alpha should be invulnerable, but that was ridiculous. What kind of Alpha would Jeremy be if he didn’t care what happened to his Pack?

I had soft spots. Mutts would always target them. All I could do was shore up my defenses. Protect my Pack. Protect my children. Protect my mate. And, yes, protect myself.

Now I had in my sights a man who’d threatened all of that. This time, though, he was afraid and I wasn’t, and that made all the difference. Having a broken finger didn’t help—he wasn’t the only one who felt pain when my punches connected—but finally I hauled him out of the snowmobile shed. He broke free just as Clay caught up.

Tesler charged me, and charged me again, not even bothering to change angle, let alone tactic. I sidestepped and wiped blood from my nose, the droplets spraying the snow. As Tesler recovered and wheeled, I glanced at Clay. He had his arms crossed, face immobile, only his eyes betraying his concern.

“I’ve got him,” I said.

“I know.”

Tesler charged again. I sidestepped. This time, though, my left foot slipped and, had Tesler been quicker, he would have spun and taken me down. As it was, he tried, but I managed to dance out of the way.

My heart thumped. Not fear. Exhilaration. Tesler was still standing, but I had him, and he knew it. I could tell by the set of his jaw. The wild look in his eyes. The desperation in each charge. He was a wounded bull making his last stand.

Clay crossed and uncrossed his arms, holding himself in check. I knew what it must be like for him, watching me, knowing how tired I was, how every muscle ached. He was still fresh and spoiling for a fight, and he longed to take over this one for me.

Yes, this felt good. It felt so damned good. But Clay was right. I was taking chances, and it was time to end this.

When Tesler charged again, I started to dance out of the way, then shot out my foot and tripped him. I jumped onto his back, grabbed his hair and ground his face into the dirt and blood-streaked snow.

Then I thought of all the ways I could kill him.

Clay had killed that mutt thirty years ago to cement his reputation. If I was worried about being accepted as Alpha, here was a way to solve the problem. Prove I was just as crazy, just as sadistic and just as dangerous as Clay.

If that was my entire purpose in making Tesler suffer, then I could have done it. But Clay hadn’t made that mutt suffer. He’d knocked him out with anesthetic before he even knew what was happening. He wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t sadistic. Dangerous, yes, but not in the way they thought.

Clay wasn’t a monster. But if I tortured Tesler because I wanted him to die horribly, that would make me one.

I glanced over at Clay. “Do you want him? You did want to make an example of a mutt again.”

That got Tesler’s attention. Until now, he’d been still. Not surrendering, I was sure. Just resting as I contemplated my next move. Now he bucked. But I saw that one coming, and easily kept him pinned, grinding his face into the ground again for good measure.

When I glanced at Clay, though, he said, “Nah, too much bother. I just want to go home.”

“So do I.”

I grabbed Tesler’s hair, ready to snap his neck.

“Wait!” he said.

I leaned over him. “Got a few last words, Travis? Unless they’re ‘I’m sorry,’ I don’t really want to hear them.”

“Sorry?” He sneered. “Is that what you want from me? An apology for hurting you?”

“No, not particularly. I’ve had those. They don’t do much good.”

I thought of the letter and, for the first time since it arrived, the memory didn’t make my stomach clench. I didn’t accept that apology and I damned well wasn’t going to feel guilty about it. But I wouldn’t send a nasty letter back. Just silence, and in that, he’d know he wasn’t forgiven. And if he suffered more guilt for what he’d done? That was fine by me.

“What I’d like an apology for is the others,” I said. “For Dennis, who never did a damned thing to you. For those girls, whose only mistake was looking for a little fun. And for all the other girls you raped and murdered before you came here. I’d like to hear an apology for them, but I know you won’t give it and I know they wouldn’t want it. So we’re going to skip those final words—”

“I’ll join the Pack.”

“What?”

“You need recruits. I heard that. I’ll join.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “And what makes you think we’d let—”

“I’m a damned fine fighter. I’ll fight for the Pack and you’ll own my ass. That’s the price I’ll pay for my life.”

“How… noble. Really. Only one problem. That damned fine fighter part. You’re good, I’ll give you that. But I still beat you.”

“You had help. I could have taken you. Back in the cabin, I had you beat until
he
showed up.”

“No, you and Eddie had me. Without Eddie, you’d have been screwed. So we both had help. But in the end? You were outsmarted, outlasted and outfought. As much crap as you pumped into your body, it didn’t change the fact that at heart you’re a coward who likes to beat up helpless humans.”

He bucked and snarled. “That’s not about fighting. It’s—”

“About sex? Hell, no. It’s not about sex, Travis. It’s about dominance. And, apparently, the only women you can dominate are helpless ones. Put you up against a female of your own species and look what happened. Outmatched.” I leaned down, and lowered my voice. “And outclassed.”

I snapped his neck.

Nick had taken cell phone shots of the mutts from the house, then some of Tesler before we buried him. He figured the Shifters might demand proof before returning Noah. I was sure pictures from a cell phone weren’t what they’d have in mind, but I didn’t stop Nick.

The Russian Pack might expect proof, too, and this
would
be what they wanted. Plus, having pictures showing an entire upstart pack wiped out by us in a few hours might be something to have on hand if there were any questions about the Pack’s power after my ascension was announced. So I let Nick take photos, and just warned him to upload them and get them wiped off his camera before we went through airport security.

After I assured them I was fine and Clay set my finger with a makeshift splint, Clay and Nick buried Tesler. While they were doing that, I took his clothing and ID back to the cottage, where Antonio was burning everything in the fireplace. I got about halfway there when a familiar scent wafted past. I turned to see a shape hidden in a thick patch of trees, silently watching me. Our wolf friend.

“Come by to make sure we kept up our end of the deal?” I called as I walked over. “We did. They’re all dead except one, and he won’t be coming back. Thanks for helping find the others. I appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome.”

The voice startled me. I’d figured he was still in wolf form. As the figure rose, I had to sniff again, making sure it was the same werewolf. If I’d been asked to picture him, I’d have guessed he’d be older, living out a midlife crisis by exploring that other side of himself, as Dennis had been. He was younger than me, though. Late twenties. Dark reddish-brown hair to his shoulders, lean with a narrow face, high cheekbones and piercing green eyes. Native blood, I guessed. And he was dressed. To be honest, that surprised me, too. I didn’t expect him naked, but maybe just wearing a fur thrown around him or clothing stolen from a nearby cabin. The clothes were clearly his, though—a leather jacket, jeans T-shirt, Doc Marten boots…

“Not what you expected?” he said.

“No,” I lied. “I’m just trying to place the accent.” Actually, I didn’t need to place it at all—that singsong mishmash of British, Irish and Canadian was unmistakable. “Newfoundland or Labrador?”

That made him smile, if briefly. “Both, now and again,” he said. “They both have their charms.”

“I’ll bet. I’ve only been out there once, but—”

A low growl cut me short. I glanced over to see a gray wolf peering around a tree. It was the one I’d seen earlier with him. She growled again, lips fluttering over sharp white teeth.

“I’m okay,” he said, drawing it out, more reassuring growl than words. “Go on now.”

She backed up, but only to sit down, death stare fixed on me.

“She thinks you’re checking out a new mate,” I said.

“New…?” He stared, then sputtered a laugh. “Exactly how native do you think I’ve gone? Or maybe you just answered my question.”

“I just thought—Well, I mean, if you prefer wolf form…Anyway, I think she considers
you
her mate.”

“That she does, but I’ve not been encouraging her. She’s a very nice girl, but it just wouldn’t work out.”

“That’s a relief.” I extended a hand. “Elena Michaels.”

“Oh, I know who you are. We aren’t as isolated on the Rock as you might think.”

“Are there more of you out there? More werewolves?”

He shook my hand. “Morgan Walsh.”

“In other words, if you do have family there, you aren’t telling me. If they’ve been living there awhile and the Pack doesn’t know it, then they’re flying far enough below the radar that we’ll keep pretending we don’t know. So to change the subject, how long have you been…?” I glanced at the gray wolf.

“Running with the wolves? Well, it was the strangest thing. One day I came out to Alaska on a trip, I went for a run and totally forgot I could Change back. Luckily this wolf pack took pity on the poor dumb Newfie and took him in.”