Call of the Highland Moon (The MacInnes Werewolves #1)

Call of the Highland Moon (The MacInnes Werewolves #1) Page 39

And he didn’t want to, couldn’t, think about that right now. Proactive, he thought determinedly, and made his way out to the road, eschewing the car for a bit more mind-numbing physical exertion.

The day, despite the sun’s ducking in and out from behind the clouds to bathe the snow-covered town in intermittent bursts of light, was blustery. The wind kicked up stinging mists of snow that Gideon squinted against as he slogged across the nonexistent walkway to get to the plowed and hard-packed surface of the road. The storm, at least, was over, according to the weatherman Gideon had watched this morning, moving on to dissipate somewhere over the lonely Atlantic. Just the first in what was looking to be a long and cold winter, from all reports. And Gideon couldn’t help but be amused by the casual nonchalance the locals exhibited toward the unexpected burst of weather. Just a shrug, and perhaps that interesting noise of affirmation that was particular, he’d noticed, to New Englanders; a noise that sounded something like “ayuh.”

As a Highlander, he had to appreciate inborn hardiness, and these people certainly had it in spades. Even, he supposed with some reluctance, recalling her indifferent reaction to the truly awful weather on their first morning together, Carly Silver herself. Weather was one thing, though. And finding it boring was hardly an indicator of inner strength. Gideon sighed, shrugged up his shoulders as he started down the road. He passed occasional industrious souls trying to remedy their own particular sidewalk/driveway situations, the muffled crunch, crunch of his boots on the snow the only noise in the still, freezing air except for the occasional rumble of a slowly passing car.

He knew so little about her, really. Oh, he already knew her sweetness, her quick sense of humor. But they’d only had three short days together, though that scant time had been, to him, fuller and more momentous than most of the years that had preceded them. Three days. And though he’d seen flashes of both bravery and strength, he had no way to take their measure. No way of knowing how deeply those things, the things that for his kind determined a lasting match, ran. How would she feel, he wondered, if she knew how very close he’d been, during the ecstasy of their lovemaking, to sinking his teeth into her? To claiming her the way his nature said he must, consequences be damned?

Would she shrink from him in horror? Or worse … knowing what he wanted, would she accept it, or even, Gideon thought with a sudden shudder, ask it of him?

His mother had asked for the bite, and she had died in his father’s arms. It was a history he didn’t care to repeat.

And though Gideon knew that his apparent inability to keep any kind of distance between himself and Carly Silver would only make things more difficult and painful in the long run, that he would eventually distance himself permanently was still, for him, non-negotiable. Given the choices, he had no idea which one she’d make. But the decision was his. And her life, her precious, beautiful life, was not something he would ever be willing to risk.

The world, Gideon was sure, would be a much darker place without Carly in it.

Gideon’s long stride quickly ate up the distance between the house and the quaint little downtown. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the crisp scent of the air, letting his gaze wander over the cheery decorations people had begun to put out for Christmas as he crossed the road that led in and out of town. He turned right, grinning over the fairly audacious inflated, light-up display that was being erected in the yard of the stately blue colonial directly in front of him. He took the next left onto Main Street, which dipped on a gentle incline for about a quarter of a mile before flattening out and ending at the historic battlefield and Lake Ontario.

Gideon slowed slightly to examine the jumble of shops and restaurants on either side of him as he walked, liking the picture postcard they made when viewed in all their wintry glory. Might as well snap a shot, title it A New England Holiday, and be done with it, he thought with an appreciative smile.

And there it was, a red velvet bow on the door as though it contained a present intended just for him.

Carly’s disconcertingly female bookshop/gift shop/ overpriced bauble repository loomed on his right just ahead, and Gideon felt an uncomfortably teenage sensation of nervous embarrassment. Would he be intruding if he poked his head into her little kingdom? Would she mind his lurking about? Would he mind if she minded?

“Good Lord. I’m apparently still thirteen,” he muttered, and shoved the odd flutter in his abdomen aside as he pushed open the door, eliciting a bright jingle from the bell overhead. He felt an inadvertent smile curve his lips as the slight figure behind the counter turned to greet him.

And felt it freeze in place when the woman who returned that smile, damn it all, was most certainly not Carly.

“Hi,” chirped the willowy young brunette whose presence had, for the moment, disconcerted him into surprised silence. “Can I, um,” her voice slowed thoughtfully as her eyes swept down, and then back up, the length of him, “help you with anything?”

The conversation that had been bubbling between two forty-ish women perusing the shelves stopped abruptly as all eyes in the shop fixed on him with decidedly more interest than made him comfortable.

“I’m looking for Carly,” he managed, sweeping an uncomfortable hand through his hair. “Ah, is she around here? Somewhere?”

“’Fraid not, at the moment.” A knowing twinkle appeared in her gaze. “You wouldn’t be Gideon, would you?”

“’Fraid so,” he returned, thinking that the young woman, who he guessed was the Jemma Carly sometimes talked about, didn’t look particularly unhappy about being the one he’d found in Carly’s place. After a stretched-out moment in which he waited for a bit more information and got nothing but a decidedly flirtatious smile, Gideon asked, “Do you know where she went, by any chance?”

“Um. Oh!” It took a minute, but Jemma’s eyes finally cleared. “Yeah. She went to lunch with Regan. And she said to tell you,” she grinned, “that you don’t need to check up on her in the middle of the day and she’s fine.” She paused, considering. “You are, however, welcome to check up on me as many times as you like.”

Gideon couldn’t help but chuckle. Jemma was very cute, very not more than twenty, and obviously not shy. When she got a bit older, he doubted any man she decided to pursue would have much of a chance. He, however, was decidedly occupied … preoccupied, even … with her beautiful blond employer.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Gideon backed rapidly toward the door, and freedom. “Just tell her I came by then, I suppose.”

“Oh, we will,” chirped one of the women who’d been listening attentively to the conversation. Gideon looked more closely, recognized the one smiling and giving him a fingertip wave as one of the more egregious ass grabbers from the day before, and increased his speed. He didn’t particularly want to test her self-control level today.

“Thanks,” he said with a curt nod and hurried out the door, catching a burst of feminine laughter as the door swung shut behind him. He shook his head faintly as he continued down the street, making the left at the end of it that would take him down along the lake. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, exactly: a scent, a print, hell, even just a feeling. But Gideon felt like doing something, even without much direction, was better than nothing.

Where are you? he thought.

Tight-packed homes gave way gradually to spaced-out cottages nestled among towering pine trees and long driveways that disappeared down around shadowy bends. Gideon walked in silence, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his head down against the wind that blew stronger now that there was less to block it. Drifts formed in odd places on the road, parts of which disappeared with a hiss as Gideon kicked through them. An occasional car passed him, but he barely noticed, mind carefully blank but senses open. Just as he’d been taught.

He was hunting.

Then the watery sun ducked behind another cloud. A low, growling voice seemed to rise up from the woods themselves, surrounding him in a menacing echo that had no source, no substance. Nothing but a feeling of pure malice that dripped from it like blood.

“She’ll die first, you know.”

Gideon’s head snapped up, and all of his senses kicked into preternatural alertness, searching for the almost-conversational yet decidedly inhuman voice that echoed around him. But there was nothing … how could there be nothing? The wind carried no scent to him, and the woods were still and dark and silent. An unfamiliar sensation crawled down Gideon’s spine like ice water. Again he was struck by that feeling of unfamiliarity, by the unshakable impression that what he was dealing with was not only not Pack, but no werewolf at all. Gideon managed to quash the odd thoughts clouding his mind and headed for the trees to his right, taking it slow, watching the movement of every shadow.

“You’ll never have her. Or me, for that matter.” He kept his voice even, though it took all of his effort. “Though you’re welcome to try for me. Show yourself, coward.”

The laugh that greeted this was a dry as the hiss of the snow along the ground. “I’m afraid not. I have plans. This would be much less fun.”

“If you believe what your master tells you, you’re a fool.” Gideon moved quickly, silently into the trees. To his frustration, though the voice became louder, it still seemed to be everywhere. The Gray, he thought, his eyes blazing. And yet how could any Wolf have this kind of power? A clever trick. It had to be. Not that it would save him. Gideon was of Alpha blood. The Gray was no match for him without the advantage of surprise. And so he hid. Bloody coward.

“Really?” The voice remained pleasant, though Gideon could now hear the undercurrent of madness in it. “I think not. My master has powers beyond your comprehension. I think you’ll be quite surprised. No, I will drink her blood, Guardian. Hers, then yours. You’ve both been promised to me, you see. You’re mine.”

Though he fought them, the images that rose in Gideon’s mind at those words caused him to break out in a panicked sweat. His insides roiled. His Carly, writhing in pain, being feasted upon by some sick monster … the terror she would feel … the pain … and to lose her …