Her Wicked Wolf (2 page)

THREE

By the time Brie got home, the snow was falling.

By dinnertime, the wind was howling, and the homes across the
street had vanished behind an impenetrable curtain of white.

Brie huddled in her overstuffed armchair by the window,
watching it come down. She had her knees tucked into her chest, comfortable in
baggy jeans, a thick cable-knit sweater, and slipper socks. A cup of hot cider
cooled on the end table beside her.

She was brooding. And mentally kicking herself, repeatedly and
very, very hard.

Alistair’s car had been back when she’d gotten home. She wasn’t
exactly sure how she was ever going to see him again without running in the
other direction. Asking him out had been a brief instant of bravery, or maybe
just insanity. That would have been embarrassing on its own, but she would have
managed to get over it after his inevitable rejection. Things had gotten weird
fast, though. He’d seemed so sweet and concerned and actually kind of...shy,
almost. So she’d decided to take the plunge and get it over with,
carpe
diem
and all that. In the garage, though, with him
so close to her, her body had overridden her brain in a way she hadn’t realized
was possible. Had she really sucked on his finger?
Really
?

Brie closed her eyes and made a soft, strangled sound. Yes. Yes
she had.

Maybe she needed therapy. Or medication. Or more of a life.
She’d been pretty happy with her life, though, until discovering that she was
turning into some kind of nympho stalker.

Brie sighed and sipped at the cider. She’d given up working for
the rest of the day. It wouldn’t cost her much...she was a couple months away
from her deadline. She just wished she could figure out a way to rationalize
behavior that had been completely unlike her and accept the fact that her hot
neighbor must be horrified that he was living in the same house with a creepy
finger-sucking sex fiend.

A gust of wind slammed into the house, making it creak and
groan. The lights flickered, and Brie held her breath, waiting to see whether
the power would stay on. It held just long enough for her to exhale,
relieved.

Then the lights went out.

“Damn it,” she muttered as the apartment was plunged into
darkness. The mug in her hands still steamed, everything around her cozy and
warm. It wouldn’t be for long, though, if the power stayed out...and she knew it
likely would until the storm had passed and the crews could get out to work on
the downed lines. She hadn’t been completely honest with Alistair. There were a
handful of people she’d be reasonably comfortable begging a bed from. There was,
however, the problem of getting to their houses. Tonight was going to be out of
the question. Good thing she had a lot of blankets.

Brie groaned softly. She’d moved to Vermont because she’d loved
the scenery and wanted an adventure, along with some fresh inspiration. She’d
even wanted the snow. This, however, might end up being a little more than she’d
bargained for. Especially now that she’d hit the self-destruct button on her
little fireplace fantasy.

She finished the cider, tapped her fingers against the mug, and
then got up to light some candles. Maybe she’d get lucky and the power wouldn’t
be out long.

The thundering crash below her startled her so badly she nearly
knocked the last candle off the counter. It was followed by a furious bellow
that sounded—

No, that was stupid, Brie decided as something glass shattered
downstairs and another gust of wind blasted the side of the house. That had
either been Alistair, his cat or a movie. Which he was somehow watching without
electricity. Laptop, maybe? Except that had been awfully loud. Like,
surround-sound loud. Another thud below her had the walls shaking.

Her throat went as dry as the desert. Something was wrong down
there.

He’s
in
trouble
.

That single thought was more powerful than a lifetime of
accumulated common sense. Brie hurried into the darkened kitchen, grabbed the
big knife she’d splurged on one of the times she’d pretended she was going to
learn to cook gourmet food, and left the apartment in her sock feet. Years of
sneaking up on her older brother had made her an expert at moving silently, and
she made no sound on the stairs as the blade of the knife glinted dully in the
darkness.

Doubt tried to creep in, even as her feet kept moving. Did she
seriously think she was going to stab someone with this? Brienne Fox, the girl
who spent more time catching and releasing bugs that got into her apartment than
squishing them?

A low, pained moan drifted up from somewhere behind Alistair’s
door, and she tightened her grip on the knife. Fear vanished in the face of
fury. If she had to use it, Brie thought grimly, she would.

The doorknob turned easily in her hand, and the door swung
inward. Directly in front of her, a cheery fire crackled and snapped in the
fireplace. And there in the middle of the floor, sprawled out facedown on a
heavy Oriental rug, was a man. He was big, blond...and definitely not Alistair.
Brie sucked in a breath, looked to her left and right, and saw nothing. The
apartment was quiet apart from the fire. There was no sign of struggle, or of
blood.

There was also no sign of Alistair. But there was something...a
feeling, pulsing through her, pulling her step by step into the apartment. He
was here. She knew he was. And the need to find him was overwhelming, even as
her common sense screamed at her to turn around and run out into the storm, to
find someplace warm and safe that was
not
here.

Brie kept putting one foot in front of the other, unable to
shake the image of Alistair lying somewhere nearby, hurt and bleeding.

Then the door behind her shut with a neat little
snick
.

Brie froze, and a voice behind her, gravelly and yet somehow
familiar, spoke.

“Don’t. Move.”

There wasn’t even time to panic. The blond stranger was on his
feet and rushing at her so quickly that Brie saw nothing but a blur of movement.
Then she was flying, shoved out of the way with such force that she landed hard
on her backside several feet away. Her knife spun away beneath the couch, out of
reach. She gave a sharp, pained yelp that was immediately drowned out by vicious
snarling that filled the entire room. Her eyes widened as she saw Alistair hurl
the blond man to the floor, then leap at him. The blond rolled out of the way,
incredibly fast for the blow he’d just taken.

And then somehow, there were no more men, only an enormous pair
of wolves, one silver, one jet-black, destroying furniture as they clashed in a
huge, snarling, snapping mass. Brie was too terrified to doubt what she was
seeing. Whether or not her mind had snapped, she knew she needed to get as far
away as she could. She’d only just begun to propel herself backward, away from
the fight, when the silver wolf twisted away from the black and lunged at her
again. She screamed, trying to arch away as it snapped its massive jaws shut on
the loose fabric of her sweater, then shook its head as if it had just caught a
particularly choice bit of prey. There was a terrible ripping sound, a sharp,
high-pitched yelp, and the attacking wolf was gone again, leaving a gaping hole
in her favorite sweater.

Brie felt as though she was watching a film in slow motion as
she looked up from her ruined clothing. It was surreal, seeing the big black
wolf, at least twice the size of a normal wolf, tear the throat out of the one
that had tried to hurt her. She tried to breathe in, but only managed a shallow
little sip of air. Then another. The urge to run was all but gone, replaced by a
hazy disbelief that any of this could actually be happening. Her body tingled
from adrenaline, but her mind, her emotions, were numb.

When the black wolf raised its head, jaws wet and red, it
looked right at her. It took a step toward her, then another, padding slowly
across the room, head lowered. It watched her through eyes that glowed faintly,
a deep, true blue that was vaguely familiar. But in her shock, she couldn’t
quite gather her thoughts enough to know why.

“No,” was the only word Brie managed to say, and it came out as
a quiet, pitiful moan that was barely a word at all. When the wolf continued to
approach, the only thing she could do was put her arms up, trying to shield
herself. She closed her eyes, beginning to shake, and wondered whether it would
kill her quickly. Whether it would hurt.

She jerked when hands curved around her wrists, gentle but
firm, and pulled them away from her face. Then there was only Alistair,
crouching down beside her. His blue eyes shimmered faintly with light, not all
of it a reflection from the fire. But at least he looked human. And very, very
concerned. Brie stared up at him, still rigid with fear.

His eyes. He was the wolf. But...that was impossible.

“Here, now,” Alistair said softly. “It’s only me.” His deep
voice held the sort of warmth she’d wanted to hear since the first time she’d
set eyes on him. Not like this, though. Not when she could still see how red his
lips were from—

Brie swallowed hard as her stomach gave a roll. Despite
herself, she looked past Alistair to the limp body sprawled out in the middle of
the room. It had become a man again too. A very dead man.

“Oh my God.” Her voice shook just like the rest of her. “I...oh
my God.”

“Brienne. Brie. Look at me.”

She obeyed him, mainly because she didn’t want to look at the
dead body anymore. Panic hovered just out of reach, but closing in. Her
breathing quickened.

“You killed him.”

“He didn’t give me much of a choice.” Alistair was so steady,
so calm. He might have been discussing the weather. It was the only thing that
kept her from screaming.

“But—”

“He was sent here to kill me. He would have been perfectly
happy to spill your blood as part of the bargain. But we’re safe now...for the
moment.” He sighed then. “What possessed you to come downstairs with—” He
stopped himself abruptly, jaw flexing. “You should have stayed up where it was
safe, Brie.”

“But...you were a wolf, and he was a wolf—” It sounded insane
to say it out loud, despite what she knew she’d seen. Her obsession with
Alistair notwithstanding, she’d always been firmly grounded in reality. If she
were going to decide to hallucinate something, it wouldn’t have been like
this.

“Yes, we were,” Alistair interrupted her, his tone firm. “I was
born a werewolf, a very long time ago. But that doesn’t mean I’m not also a man,
Brie. And I would sooner have my own throat torn out than have you hurt.” The
sentiment, graphic though it was, managed to cut through some of her panic.
Alistair’s hands were warm against her skin, still curved around her wrists. His
voice, deep and soothing, didn’t hold the slightest hint of fear. Her racing
heartbeat slowed, her breathing evening out.

The warmth where their skin touched spread, rippling through
her. With it came a measure of calm, and sanity. Whatever this was, she didn’t
want to question it. She needed to be able to think clearly.

“But,” Brie protested again, but it was softer this time. She
couldn’t seem to finish the sentence...there were too many things she didn’t
understand. How was she supposed to know where to begin?

Alistair looked at her, then at the body, and then at something
over her shoulder while he appeared to sort through the situation. Finally, he
seemed to come to a decision.

“Come on and sit on the couch,” Alistair instructed her.
“You’ll feel better.”

Brie stared at him, incredulous. “I...seriously doubt
that.”

He surprised her with a smile, the first genuine one she’d ever
seen from him. It turned his dark, somber face into something beautiful. It was
an unexpectedly lovely surprise in the middle of a nightmare.

“There you are,” he said softly. “Come on. Up you go.”

She allowed Alistair to help her to her feet, and found she was
reasonably steady—as long as she kept her eyes off the dead man.

I’m
not
going
to
sit
in
here
with
a
dead
body
.
I’m
not
, she thought.

His grip on her hands tightened all at once. “Hell. Brie? Close
your eyes.”

She frowned, tilting her head quizzically an instant before he
dragged her against his chest and held her tight. There was a roar from
somewhere behind him, then a series of cracks and hisses. Brie jerked away,
certain that some other terrible thing had entered the apartment and was about
to destroy them. Instead, she looked beyond Alistair and saw,the last few
flickering white flames where the corpse had been, leaving nothing that she
could see. The remaining ash evaporated before her eyes. Even the rug was
intact, not even singed. The scent in the air, faint and rapidly vanishing, was
like a blown-out match.

“Oh,” was the only word she seemed able to manage. It was more
a breath than a word, too.

“Don’t panic,” Alistair said quietly. “That’s how my kind ends,
is all. It’s one of the ways we’ve stayed hidden. Better that than being trapped
in the snow with his carcass.”

Brie nodded slowly, wondering if she really
had
snapped. Werewolves, burning bodies, nearly being
eaten... Alistair’s eyes searched her face, and then he sighed.

“Tea, I think,” he said.

For a moment she wondered if she’d heard him wrong. “Tea?”

“Mmm. Get comfortable on the couch. I’ve got the fire, and
you’re safe here for now. I was expecting my brother, but all I got was a scout.
Wherever Owain is, he isn’t close by, or I would know. So I’ll make tea,
and...explain. If you’re in the mood to hear it.” He paused, watching her
carefully. She could guess what he saw.