Frostbitten (Otherworld 10)

"You want Tesler and his gang dead," I said. "So why not do it yourselves?"

"It is forbidden."

"Maybe, but--"

"No. Killing werewolves is forbidden."

His tone said this was an unbreakable and unquestionable law. So they could kill humans, but not werewolves? That made no sense.

Or maybe, to them, it did. They'd chastised Eli for disrespecting me. He'd hinted they feared us. Fear and respect. Feelings one might have toward, not a fellow supernatural, but a superior being. Even Eli, while he'd been quick to terrorize us, hadn't done more than smack us around, trying to scare us off without breaking that commandment.

"You will do this for us," the Alpha said. "You will kill them."

Before I could answer, he whistled. Tramping footsteps and muffled oaths sounded at the cave entrance. In walked the missing fourth Shifter, pushing before him a slight figure in an oversized parka, arms bound behind his back. The figure struggled and the hood fell back. It was Noah, gagged with a strip of leather, eyes blazing with fury and humiliation.

"He is yours?" the Alpha said.

"Yes," I said. "He's ours."

"Then do this for us and he is yours again."

CONTACT

THIRTY MINUTES LATER, I was tramping through the snow, ready to sell my soul for a snowmobile. What kind of Alaskan backwoodsmen--even shape-shifting wolf-beasts--didn't have snowmobiles?

I knew I shouldn't complain. At least they hadn't shoved me out right away, cold, exhausted and battered,

to find my way back to civilization. They'd insisted I rest and eat, even when I'd argued I was fine. They'd served me a surprisingly good stew of venison and root vegetables, and a thick brick like bread that hadn't been nearly as tasty, but I'd eaten it anyway.

I drank the tea they brewed, too, some herbal blend to ease my aches and pains. They'd said it was willow bark, but I suspected it contained something a lot stronger. It reminded me of the Tylenol 3 Jeremy made me take after bad fights. I was feeling no pain and a little light-headed.

One thing was for sure--this was a night I wouldn't forget. Life as a werewolf means a lot of fights and chases, and in the last few hours, I'd done more than my share of both, but with new twists. Falling through the ice. Fending off an eight-foot brown bear. Being taken captive by a werewolf precursor race. Someday, I'd be sitting in my rocking chair, telling my grandkids about this night. Right now, I just wanted to get through it.

The Shifters had given me all the clothing I needed, from a parka to boots to doubled-up work socks. But with size nine feet in size gazillion boots, I might as well have been wearing snowshoes. In fact, I'd have been better off wearing snowshoes. Worse, I could have been. They'd offered me a pair, but after a few awkward steps and a face-plant, I'd said boots were fine.

They'd escorted me to a road. At least, they said it was a road. But after twenty minutes hiking through boot-deep snow, seeing only a thin swatch of white ahead, winding through the trees, I was uncomfortably reminded of the last untraveled "road" I'd taken... the one that turned out to be a river.

The Shifters swore the highway was only three miles away. They'd even offered to have Eli escort me, though hadn't seemed surprised when I said no. I'd had enough of teenage lust to last me awhile.

I suppose I should be flattered--all that attention from guys half my age--and I would be... if I didn't know that without my unique scent, I wouldn't get a second glance. And, really, that would make me much happier. I knew now how Clay felt, getting checked out by twenty-year-old girls. Eww.

Even as I bitched about the situation, I knew I should be overjoyed just to be warm and rested and free. How many times tonight had I thought I'd never see morning? And there it was--the faintest streaks of red cresting the valley between two mountains behind me. I hadn't been killed, hadn't been raped, hadn't even been seriously injured. I should be dancing down the moonlit road, singing to the stars. But if I was, I'd know whatever was in that tea was more than a painkiller.

So I trudged. And I bitched. And I dreamed of a cozy bed, hot food and Travis Tesler's head on a pike... not necessarily in that order.

I was following that seemingly endless road when I heard the faint squeak of snow under a boot. I stopped. Everything around me was still. Then a figure stepped onto the road. I tensed, but he only lifted a hand in greeting and started toward me. He was tall and slender, dressed in one of those parkas with the long, tubelike hoods, his face lost within its shadows. As he approached, though, his smell hit me. And I didn't believe it. I inhaled more icy air so fast my brain reeled from the shock. The scent stayed the same. But it couldn't be. Couldn't possibly be.

The man pulled down his hood and I saw his wavy dark hair, big brown eyes, olive-skinned face, swoon-worthy grin... and still I couldn't believe it.

"See," he said. "Clay was worried we'd never find you out here, but all I had to do was follow the bitching and moaning, and here you are."

"Nick..." I said.

"You can't be too cold, then, if you remember my name. I swear, another hour out here and I'd have forgotten it. Love the clothes. Seems we shop at the same designer." He looked down at his parka with such disgust that, at any other time, I would have laughed.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" I stammered.

"Good to see you, too."