
Whiteout
By Cambria Hebert
WHITEOUT Copyright © 2011 CAMBRIA HEBERT
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form without written permission except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Otherworld Publications, LLC
4949 Old Brownsboro Rd. Suite 113
Louisville, Kentucky 40222
www.otherworldpublications.com
Interior design and typesetting by Lynn Calvert
Cover design by Mae I Design
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN 978-1-936593-29-3
Ackowledgements
This was a really fun story to dream up. I would like to acknowledge Jenn, you were the first to read this story and you loved it so much that I had to laugh. Thanks for making me send it to my publisher. To Amy Eye, my editor and friend, (www.theeyesforediting.com) for cleaning up my writing and working tirelessly every time I send you something. Your dedication to editing and to your friends is amazing and truly appreciated. To my husband, Shawn, thank you for being there to rub my back when it hurt from sitting hunched over my laptop for too many hours. I would like to thank all the members in Creative Reviews, my group on Good Reads. You guys and gals make me laugh on the days I want to scream (at the computer, of course).
And...
To all the werewolves and shape shifters out there... come find me. I'm waiting....
Because you said you loved it.
Whiteout
The snow fell for days it seemed. It floated quietly and steadily from the sky and with a ferocity that should be surprising because of its silence and beauty. But it wasn't a surprise to me because I had lived here all my life; this wasn't the first snow storm I had witnessed.
But it was the first one that threatened to kill me.
How long did it take for someone to freeze to death? Would the cold slowly take over each limb until it crept toward the heart and froze it too? Would all the blood in my veins slowly thicken until it was unable to travel throughout my body and that was what would stop my heart?
I wasn't ready to die.
But I think death was ready to claim me.
Another harsh wind howled and a gust of snow and ice slammed into my still form. My body had stopped its ability to warm itself long ago. Days? Hours? I didn't know. Time had been reduced down to the stinging, burning cold that dogged my every breath.
At least this pain eclipsed the other.
The sound of crunching snow reached my ears but I could do little but listen. They were probably coming back to make sure I was dead. When they found me alive I wouldn't stay that way long. At least with death came peace. I hoped.
Someone drew near, stopping several feet away. I didn't bother to open my eyes, it hurt and I didn't care to witness my own death. I waited for the final blow, but it never came. Then the footsteps began again and moved around me, facing me this time.
"Are you dead?"
The voice was definitely not what I was expecting. It was not who I was expecting. My surprise was enough of a motivator to get my eyes to open. My vision was blurred but I could make out her form. She crouched as close as she dared, studying me with a wary expression. Her hair was as dark as midnight and was a place to focus among all the white. It fell in thick waves over her shoulders and around her face. She had a hat on her head; it was red.
I blinked, trying to clear my vision, wanting to see her more clearly.
"How long have you been laying here?" she asked. "You're injured. Poor thing."
She shuffled a little closer but did not reach out her hand. She was frightened. But she was still here.
Seconds passed and she got up and walked away. The sound of the crunching snow grew farther away.
I should have known better than to hope for help.
The next thing I knew, something was dropped in front of me. It was a sled made of red plastic and had a long yellow cord attached to the front. The woman with the midnight hair crouched before me, this time close enough that I could tell her eyes were the color of chocolate. "If you bite me, I'll leave you here."
Leave me here? Was I going somewhere?
She reached out a tentative hand, wrapped in a white mitten. It brushed over me, a jolt of warmth in my world of cold. When I made no move to attack her, she seemed a little more reassured and I felt my upper body being hefted off the ground. She grunted and struggled and I landed (not too easily) on the sled. Only half of me would fit and so the rest of me was dragged behind as she walked. A while later the smell of burning wood reached my nose; it was a welcome scent, something that eased the tension coiled inside me.
She stopped walking. I heard a door open then I was being dragged again. I opened my eyes enough to see that I was passing through a massive wooden door. Heat welcomed me, stirred around me and the scents of baking bread and cinnamon filled my nose.
She dragged me across a room and then stopped, the sled coming to rest in front of a massive fireplace. She took a moment to throw a few logs onto the dying flames then turned to me.
"If you make it through the night, I'll be surprised."
The pain of coming back to life was almost worse than the pain of dying. My limbs felt as though they were being held in a raging fire and the burning sensation just went on and on. Every muscle in my body ached. It ached from the cold, it ached from the heat and it ached from lying prone in the same position for God knows how long. My belly, empty and angry, demanded food but when soft, fragrant bread glistening with butter was presented to me I would heave, great convulsions that would leave me in more pain than before.
I don't know how long I was a prisoner to the pain, but gradually, it became bearable. I began waking for longer than elusive moments and my mind began holding onto the things I was experiencing. The house was quiet when I opened my eyes to focus on the orange-red flames of the fire that burned in front of me. I became aware of the thick carpet that lay beneath me and a soft, warm blanket over my body. There was even a feather-filled pillow beneath my head -- something that I found amusing.
I was grateful. I couldn't remember the last time someone had treated me with kindness. As I watched the flames devour the wood, recent memories filled my mind. A woman, young and achingly beautiful, leaned over me; her hands were gentle, yet confident, as they smoothed a damp cloth over my side. It came away red, and she dipped it into a giant bowl of steaming water. She repeated the process over and over again. I didn't remember any pain. All I could focus on were the midnight strands of her hair and the sensation of the ends brushing against me. It was a wispy contact, fleeting at best, but I could feel it so clearly, as if it sent jolts through my body.
I saw a large bandage being unwound and the girl, pausing in her ministrations to look over at me, frowned slightly. Her eyes, dark pools of chocolate, were wary. She was afraid of me. Probably wondering how much pain I could withstand before lashing out.
I would never hurt you. But she couldn't hear my thoughts and I couldn't speak.
I drew out of the memory and lifted my head to see my side, a clean bandage wrapped taut around my middle. Seems her desire to help me outweighed her fear.
My stomach growled loudly and another flash of memory came over me. Again, of the dark-haired beauty, this time spooning some sort of broth down my throat. I could feel the warmth of it hit my empty belly and spread. I felt as though I was being warmed from the inside out.
I lay still for a long time. The house was quiet, night surrounding me as I remembered all the moments of kindness I could. It was because of her that I was alive. I prayed that saving me wouldn't get her killed.
Hunger became demanding, driving all other thought from my head and I found myself trying to stand. It was difficult at first to push my considerable weight up off the floor but I managed and I was proud that I only swayed a little.
The first few steps I took were slow and stiff, but my body rebounded quickly and remembered how to move. I followed the cinnamon scent and walked through the dark, navigating without trouble. I found the kitchen and I felt saliva pool in my mouth when I spotted a loaf of bread on the island. I glanced at the large pantry but my hunger was impatient and I dove at the bread. A low growl formed in the back of my throat with the first bite. It was so good. I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten anything solid.
The light overhead snapped on and I froze, a hunk of bread hanging from my mouth. Slowly I turned, the bread falling from my lips.
She was standing there with a baseball bat clutched in her hands and she wore nothing but a t-shirt. It was white with a large smiley face on the front. The shirt was oversized and stopped at her thigh...she wasn't wearing any pants. Her legs were long miles of pale silk.
"You're finally awake," she said, not lowering the bat. "And hungry I see."
I couldn't stop staring. I was hungry but suddenly the bread wasn't satisfying me.
She watched me for long moments before sighing and tucking the bat beneath her arm. "I guess if you were going to hurt me you would have done it in the last week."
I had been here a week?
"But if you make one sudden move, I'll clobber you," she said, lifting the bat again and waving it before setting it aside and going into the fridge to pull out containers to pile on the island.
I regarded her silently.
She looked up from assembling what looked like a ham sandwich and sighed. "Your somber stare is unnerving and so is your silence."
I said nothing.
"I mean you didn't even utter a sound when I dug the three bullets out of your side. Frankly, I'm shocked you're alive."
Her hands were graceful and her hair was wild looking from sleep. I made a grunting sound and it startled her. She jumped her hand pressing to her chest.
When I made no move, she laughed. "Well what did I expect? I'm grumbling about your lack of noise and then when you do make a sound I jump like a girl." She pointed at me with her butter knife, mayo flinging. "Obviously, I am a girl."
Obviously.
She picked up the sandwich and crossed the room toward me, her long legs once again catching my attention...
The sandwich appeared before me. When I made no move to take it, she rolled her eyes. "What? Did I really think you were going to reach out and take it? Like a dog has hands."
She thought I was a dog?
It's the reason she wasn't as afraid as she probably should be.
"Here ya go, doggie," she said and held out the sandwich.
I snatched it out of her hand trying not to wince when she called me "doggie."
"You've been here long enough, guess I should give you a name."
I chewed with amusement, waiting for a "Fido" to come out.
"How about Harry?" she mused, going back across the room to pile the stuff back in the fridge.
I shook my head.
"No?"
"Fred, Barney? I liked the Flintstones."
I stared at her mutinously.
"You're awfully picky for a dog."
I growled.
That gave her pause and I saw her eyes slide to the baseball bat by the door. I went to it, taking it in my mouth and bringing across the room, stopping before her.
She reached out and grabbed the end. I released it and moved away.
I tried not to look back at her but I couldn't resist. Her wide chocolate stare was intense and a little puzzled as she looked at me.
"Okayyy," she said. "I'm going back to bed." She shut off the kitchen light and I followed her into the living room where she threw some more wood on the fire.
"Go lie down," she said, trying to sound forceful as she pointed at the blankets I had been lying on.
I made a sound like a cough.
"Are you laughing at me?" she asked. "Go on, lie down."
I lay down.
She went to bed.
She mumbled about odd dogs the whole way back the hall.
I awoke again and went to lift the curtain out of the way to stare out into the early twilight hours. The snow was endless, a heavy blanket on the outdoors; it had a way about it. A beauty. But I knew that, like many things, beauty could be deceiving. I was anxious for the sun to come up. I was restless, tired of lying by the fire. My body was finally beginning to live again, to heal itself, and I wanted to move.
I paced from the window, the curtain falling back into place, concealing the world of white. It was a sight I was glad to be rid of. Almost dying out there wasn't a memory I wouldn't soon forget. I tried once more to shift, to shed this coat, but I couldn't. It seems that even though my body had thawed I was still frozen. Why couldn't I shift? Wasn't it a law that shapeshifters could shift endlessly? I remember the days when I had no power over when I shifted. I almost wished for those days back. Almost.
If I could shift, I might have a chance. A chance to get away and disappear without anyone following me. I was shocked they hadn't found me already---that they hadn't come busting through the giant wood door to finish their kill.
But I knew that if they found me, I would only wish I was dead. Killing me would be too kind for them, even though killing me---a wolf-shifter---wouldn't be kind. My kind didn't die easily. No, they would drag me back---force me back into the life I despised. Under the control of someone I despised.
I wouldn't go back.
I paced the room, stopping in front of a decorated Christmas tree, a tree that was much too small for such tall ceilings and wide walls. It was decorated simply with strung popcorn and colored glass balls. The lights were multi-colored and an angel perched on top. As I looked at the tree, soft humming flitted through my mind. It was a carol and the memory stirred something in me. It must have been from here, from this past week, because I couldn't remember the last time I celebrated Christmas or any holiday for that matter.
My ears prickled as I caught a sound---a sound coming from outside. But it wasn't coming from outside the front door. It was coming from the other side of the house. The side where all the bedrooms were. Was there a door back there somewhere? Suddenly I wished I had explored the other rooms in my unrest. I heard the soft noise again. The sound of a window or door being clicked open.
Adrenaline surged through me and my heart began to race. She was back there, in one of those rooms. She was probably sleeping, with no knowledge that her home was being invaded. She was unprotected.
I rushed down the darkened hallway, my graceful, fluid movements making no sound. A dark figure came out into the hall, exiting one of the rooms and pausing to determine which way to go.
I snarled, sinking low and slamming into the man. My teeth sank into flesh and I enjoyed the ripping sound it made and the metallic sting of blood against my tongue. Caught off-guard the man fell back, a cry of pain ripping from his lips. I felt the familiar quiver in his muscles, caught the familiar scent that was released off a shifter just before change.
They had found me.
I went for his throat. It was the fastest, easiest way to disable him. Unfortunately, he held me at bay with shaking arms. I raked my claws over him, shredding the winter coat he wore and ripping through his flannel shirt.
He gave a shout and we rolled, banging into the wall. The hallway was a narrow place and two shifters going at it made the space seem even smaller. He threw me backward and I hit the wall. A picture fell from its hook, and glass shattered everywhere. I lunged at him, standing up on hind legs, using my full height as a battering ram and laying into him. He fell back and I felt my teeth sink easily into flesh.
I reared back, ready to bite again when I saw his face begin to change. His mouth and nose began to darken beneath the skin and it started to push outward, lengthening his face. He reached out his hands, which were in mid-change as well, looking hooked and crippled. But I knew better. He wasn't crippled. In mere seconds the change would take over and he would be stronger than he was now.
I had seconds, three or four tops. We were vulnerable during the change. It was my opportunity to take him out. I bit down on his hooked, changing hand and ripped his flesh from the bone. He howled, the sound far more inhuman than I had hoped. His body bucked in pain and in transition and I fell to the side.
The shotgun blast rattled the walls. I felt the heat of the bullet as it flew (way closer than comfortable) past my body. The bullet imbedded itself in the chest of the intruder. I watched as he fell backward, human again.
I looked up and standing in the darkened bedroom door, not two feet away, was the woman. Her face was pale and her dark eyes were wide. She held the shotgun in both hands, hands that were steady. I watched as she gradually lowered the gun, thinking that the man was no longer a threat.
She was wrong.
Just as she stepped out of the doorway, coming closer, the man shot up into a sitting position. I let out a growl and launched at him, ripping out his throat. He made a gurgling sound before falling back to the floor.
I stood over his body and looked back up at the woman. Her hand covered her mouth in shock. Long, quiet seconds passed and she took a step into the hallway once more and I growled. Unsure, she stopped and looked at me.
I grabbed the man by his booted foot and dragged him through the hall and out past the living room, stopping at the front door. I turned around and searched out the woman. She seemed to understand what I wanted and hurried to open the door. I dragged the body out into the snow, a trail of red following, looking sinister against the pure white of the snow. It was cold out and the sun was beginning to rise.
I wanted to burn the body. A sure fire way to make sure he didn't come back, but I wasn't able to do that at the moment. So instead, I dragged him toward the woodshed.
I would burn him later.
I followed the trail of red back toward the house, realizing that it was no use trying to conceal the blood. The people who wanted me dead already knew where I was. This blood wasn't going to tell them anything they didn't already know. Except a confirmation that I was indeed alive.
When the house, a log cabin with a great stone chimney and wide glass windows, came into view, I realized that I didn't belong here. This wasn't my home and after what she had seen, she probably wouldn't let me back inside.
I sat down in the snow and stared up at the house. I should leave. But that would leave her here alone, unprotected. When their Beta doesn't come back, they will come again, but the next time they would bring more. They would torture her to find out what she knew, never believing that she knew nothing at all.
I looked behind me toward the woods that bordered the property. I could hide out there and wait to see if anyone came.
The front door opened, a beam of warm light shone out across the snow. The woman stood holding the door open, still wearing that t-shirt, her mile-long legs still bare. "Here, doggie," she called.
I can't believe she still seriously thought I was a dog. I was no Alpha but I was certainly bigger than a dog.
"Come on," she called again, opening the door wider this time, beckoning me inside.
I looked once more toward the trees. Then I turned my back on it and ran toward the house.
She was quiet all morning as she cleaned up the blood and glass in the hall. She didn't say anything when she went into the bedroom and saw the window raised high. Her color looked better when she appeared out of the steamy bathroom wearing nothing but a white robe. She was towel drying the ends of her hair as she walked into her bedroom but stopped short when she saw that I was lying at the foot of her bed.
"Make yourself at home," she said, shaking her head.
I knew better than to think this was my home but that hadn't stopped me from getting comfortable.
She sighed. "If it wasn't for you I'd probably be dead right now anyway." She moved over toward a large wooden dresser and picked up a brush to begin running it through her damp hair. "He probably didn't realize anyone was here and thought he would be able to come in and take what he wanted. I'm going to have to call the police as soon as the phone lines start working again."
I watched her silently, hoping she would keep talking. I liked the sound of her voice. It was smoky and low.
"What did you do with that body anyway?" she asked, turning to stare at me.
I said nothing.
"I guess that's the police's problem." She unbelted her robe and slid it off, letting it fall to the floor. I bit back a groan.
She was dressed in a pair of white panties and a white tank top. Her skin was completely smooth and unblemished. She was thin but had curves in all the right places. My tongue about fell out of my head when she bent down to retrieve a pair of jeans from the bottom drawer.
There were benefits to her thinking I was a dog.
I watched in silence as she slid the denim up over her curves and fastened the button then she reached into the drawer again and pulled out a long-sleeved white t-shirt to pull on. Before doing so, she turned toward me and I caught a glimpse of her flat stomach before she smoothed the tank and shirt down.
"You have an unnerving stare," she muttered, turning away to pick up her robe and towel. Once those were put away she headed for the door. "Come on then, I'm making some breakfast. Since you're such a good guard dog, you get something special."
I watched her in the kitchen. She moved with ease and comfort. I watched her hands as she cracked eggs and she smiled when the cinnamon biscuits turned out fluffy. She laughed when she spilled her coffee and swore when the bacon burned.
I got the burned bacon. Apparently, she thought dogs would eat anything.
She was right.
When the kitchen was clean and our bellies were full, she carried a mug of steaming tea out into the living room and sat down in a chair by the fire. I stretched out on the couch, waiting for her to shoo me down but she never did.
"Cable's out," she said. "Guess I'll have to go find a book."
She went from the room and I closed my eyes. If I wasn't careful this place would start to feel like home. It was comfortable here and her presence put me at ease. The scent of the pine needles on the Christmas tree blended with the left-over scents from breakfast and I found myself relaxing. All the tension I carried with me seemed to melt away and I was lulled to sleep by the crackling of the fire.
Her scream woke me up.
My eyes flew open and I focused on her standing by the mantle, brandishing a lethal-looking fire poker.
She screamed again and raised the poker. "How'd you get in here? Where's my dog?"
What?
I pushed myself up into a sitting position and it dawned on me. I looked down at my arms and hands. My human arms and hands. I had changed.
"Don't move," she said, waving the poker about. She looked around the room, no doubt searching for her "dog".
"I can explain," I said, my voice sounding like gravel. When was the last time I had used it?
"Get out!" she screeched.
I didn't want to stand up because I was naked. That would only make things worse. "Can you hand me that blanket?" I asked calmly, holding out my hands to show her I meant no harm.
She hooked the blanket with the poker and flung it at me. I wrapped it around my waist and stood. It felt good to be back in my body again.
"I know this is going to sound crazy, but that dog that you found? It wasn't a dog."
"Are you insane? How many more of you are out there? I killed your friend and I'll do the same to you."
"Actually, I killed him." Well, I wasn't sure if he was dead.
She took a step back, holding the poker in front of her. "Get out."
"That man from this morning, he came in through that bedroom window and you shot him with a shotgun. Your -- um-dog ripped his throat up..."
"How do you know that? Where is my dog?"
"That's what I'm trying to tell you. That wasn't a dog. It was me."
"You," she echoed.
"Yes, I'm a shifter. A wolf-shifter."
She shook her head.
"You found me outside, in the woods, I was half-dead. You dragged me here on a red sled. You dug the three bullets out of my side...You saved my life."
"How do you know that? Have you been watching me?" She was horrified.
"I know it's hard to believe but it's the truth. If I am lying then why isn't the dog -- wolf -- here? How would I have gotten in? The door is locked. The windows are locked and you didn't hear anyone break one."
"Don't you move," she said and rushed from the room. I heard her run from window to window, checking to see if I was right. She even called for the dog several times. I stood there, unmoving until she came back. She was pale and clearly shaken, she didn't want to believe me, but what other explanation could there be? I focused on the shotgun that was now in her hands.
"I'll go, I won't come back," I said, holding up my hands.
She looked at the front door.
I began inching my way closer, never taking my eyes off the gun. When I was at the door, with my hand on the handle I turned back. "Thank you for helping me. And by the way, you make a hell of a cinnamon biscuit."
I opened the front door and the cold bit into my bare skin. I wouldn't freeze but it wasn't going to be comfortable.
"Wait."
The single word stopped me and I looked over my shoulder.
"Shut the door."
I shut the door and waited to see what she would do. To my surprise she lowered the gun but kept it in her hands. "I'll give you five minutes to explain."
I opened my mouth to begin but she held up a hand. "First let me get you some pants."
I tried not to be bothered by the fact that she had men's clothing here. I tried to tell myself that she was entitled to a life and that we hardly knew each other.
My efforts were useless.
I was jealous as hell she had men's clothing here. The thought of any man touching her made me angry. And I did know her. She was brave and caring; she was loyal and strong. And she cooked good food.
I talked until I was tired of hearing my own voice. I told her every detail that I could remember from being here. I even told her the color of her underwear. I wasn't sure if she believed me but she had put the shotgun down. It was within reach but at least she wasn't clutching it for dear life.
"So you're telling me that you're a shapeshifter. A wolf-shifter. A werewolf."
"I'm not a werewolf. There's a difference between shifters and werewolves."
"Uh-huh," she said skeptically, "and that man that broke in here this morning, he was after you?"
"Yes. He is -- was -- part of the pack I left."
"Why did you leave?"
"I had my reasons," I answered. By the way her eyes narrowed I realized that answer wasn't good enough. "I didn't like their lifestyle. I was tired of being told what to do by the Alpha." An Alpha who enjoyed dominance way too much.
"How did you end up here?" she asked, a strand of dark hair falling over one eye.
"What's your name?"
She seemed caught off-guard by my question. It was the first one I had asked.
"Grace," she responded, tucking the hair behind her ear.
"Grace," I said trying the name out. I liked the way it felt on my tongue. "You saved my life, Grace."
"I thought you were going to die. Any normal person would have."
I nodded. "You saved me from a very long, slow death."
"Did your pack do that to you?" she whispered.
I nodded. "When you betray the Alpha, there are consequences."
"Seems to me a person should be allowed to live their own life," she reasoned.
"Spoken like someone who has spent some time being bossed."
"I came up here for a little alone time, to think about some things. I never meant to be here this long. I was supposed to be having Christmas with my parents. But the blizzard had other ideas."
"How long have you been here?"
"A little over a week. Christmas is tomorrow."
I looked over at her little tree. "You put up a tree."
She nodded. "It's Christmas, just because I am alone doesn't mean I can't celebrate."
"You would celebrate Christmas alone?"
"Sure. To me, it's not about the food or the presents or even the tree. It's about a feeling. Peace, spirit and renewal. It's about remembering the good in your life and deciding that the bad can't haunt you unless you let it."
I'd never thought about Christmas that way before. To me it always seemed there was no point if you had no one to spend it with.
"Of course, I would love to be with my family, and I will be. As soon as the road is passable."
She'd go back to her life and I would go back to mine.
"Besides, I'm not alone anymore. We can have Christmas together."
After that she jumped out of her chair and began baking. She insisted that I help her, so we stood in the warm kitchen and made cookies and apple pie until the sun set behind the trees. She had a radio and a bag full of batteries, and she played this CD filled with holiday songs and music. It was the only CD she had so we listened to it over and over. But it never got old.
When I went to sleep that night on the couch, I was startled to realize that I was actually humming one of the songs.
Christmas morning dawned and I awoke to the smell of coffee and pancakes. I pulled on my jeans and wandered into the kitchen. Grace was there, slathering steaming pancakes with butter and syrup. When she was done, she handed me the plate and the mug.
"Merry Christmas!" she said joyfully and she filled my mug with coffee.
"How can you just accept me?" I asked, the words just popping right out of my lips.
She set the coffee pot down and looked up. Her eyes were the rich color of melted chocolate. "Your eyes, even as a do...wolf, had something human about them. Even though there are shadows behind your stare there is clarity, too. Besides, it's the season of giving and love. Why shouldn't I accept you?"
I didn't know what to say. She made everything sound so simple.
A few quiet moments passed as we both settled at the island with our plates. "They're going to come for you aren't they?" she asked quietly.
"Yes. You need to leave here as soon as you can and don't come back."
"What about you? You're going to go back with them?"
I said nothing. The less she knew, the better. Instead, I took a sip of coffee. I would go back for a little while. Long enough to ensure that she had gotten far away. Then maybe I would break away again; only next time, I would go in the opposite direction.
"You can't," she said, her fork clattering against her plate.
I looked up and held her stare. She knew she couldn't stop me. She knew that after today we would have to part. "We'll always have Christmas," I said.
We didn't speak any more about what would happen tomorrow. Instead, we laughed and joked. We played the Christmas CD and cooked a feast out of what was left in the kitchen. We played cards by the fire and ate pie by the tree.
It was the best day I had in years. It was the first time I felt like I belonged anywhere since I began shifting.
When the evening came, the landline phone rang. The cable and phone lines had been restored. It was Grace's father. He was calling to tell her the main roads were clear and to see if she thought she could make it back.
I listened to her talk quietly into the phone, laughing at a few things her father said. She glanced at me once when she said she would stop by his house the next day on her way to her apartment. I didn't let it show that I was disappointed the day was over.
After she hung up the phone, I clicked on the TV and found an old classic holiday movie. Moments later she came out of the kitchen carrying mugs of hot chocolate. Neither of us said anything as she settled next to me and we watched.
When she fell asleep and her head slid over onto my chest, I didn't wake her.
The next morning was bitter cold and the wind howled through the trees. I was already awake, enjoying the feel of my arm around her and the smell of her hair, when she opened her eyes.
At first she seemed comfortable, stretching against me but then awareness set in and she paused. She tilted her head up and looked at me through sleepy eyes.
I kissed her.
It was a soft kiss, a gentle kiss. A hello and a goodbye all wrapped into one.
Then we got up and prepared to go our separate ways.
When the sun was high in the sky, she brought out a single large duffle bag and sat it by the door. She looked to where the tree used to sit. I had helped her take the decorations off and then dragged it outside.
She reached for her keys; I took them and went outside to start up her car and turn on the heat.
When I got out and started back toward the house, I heard her scream. I took off, running through the front door and coming to a halt when I saw two of my old pack-mates cornering Grace.
I attacked them, shifting back into the wolf and snapping my teeth against their flesh. They turned, too, and a fight ensued. It was two against one, but I held my own. I wanted to seek out Grace, to tell her to drive away while she had the chance, but I couldn't find her.
A blast from the shotgun finally told me where she was. She was hell with that gun.
One of the wolves lay on the floor, blood spilling out around him. The other attacker bolted for the door and she fired off a shot at him, too. I grabbed up the injured wolf and dragged him outside into the snow. Once there I shifted back to my human form (thankful it came easily) and went about putting together a fire. It took a while to get it to burn brightly but soon, the flames roared and I tossed the body of my attacker in.
As he burned I looked up into the woods to see that I was being watched by the other wolf. He paced back and forth, no doubt wondering if he could take me. Just then, Grace came out of the house, shotgun still in hand.
"You should go," I told her. "The other one is still here and he won't give up. Going home without me would be bad for him."
"Forgive me for what I am about to do," Grace whispered.
Then she leveled the shotgun at me and fired.
When I opened my eyes I was alone. I was lying in a bed---a warm, comfortable bed. Grace's bed. The woman who had shot me.
I lifted the blankets and looked down at my waist. There was a raised red circle, no doubt where the bullet had entered. But it was healing. I would heal quickly this time. The bullets weren't made of silver and I hadn't been running over a snow-covered mountain after getting shot like before. My body would recover. Would my heart?
I knew it was crazy. I knew it seemed impossible. But I had fallen in love with Grace. I had fallen in love with a woman who had tried to kill me.
I tossed the covers and backed away from the bed. At that moment Grace came around the corner with a bowl of something in her hands. When she saw me standing she rushed to my side, setting the bowl on the nightstand.
"Are you alright?" she fretted.
"Asks the woman who tried to kill me."
She took several steps away, putting some distance between us. "You're mad."
I made a choked sound and reached for my shirt.
"Aren't you going to let me explain?"
"No."
"Fine. You're an idiot!"
I paused. "I'm an idiot?"
"I at least listened to your explanation after you turned from a dog to a man in my living room!"
"Wolf," I growled.
She rolled her eyes.
She sure wasn't acting too upset about the fact that she tried to kill me. Now I was better and she was in a room alone with me. Didn't she think I would retaliate? "Fine. Explain."
"I had to shoot you. You said yourself that other wolf wouldn't go home without you. Well I made it so he had too."
I blinked.
"He thinks you're dead now. I shot you and then dragged you around the other side of the fire. The side he couldn't see. Then I went to the woodshed and dragged out that man that you killed, and threw him into the fire -- well rolled actually, but that's beside the point. I stood there for a long time and pretended to watch you burn. That other wolf watched too. Then I dragged your body into the woodshed, all behind the cover of the flames and then came out carrying a load of wood to throw on the fire."
"You pretended to murder me?" I asked.
"It worked. I tried to shoot you somewhere that it might not hurt that much."
"You thought shooting me in the gut wouldn't hurt much?" I choked.
She winced. "I had to leave you lay in the woodshed 'til I was sure that other wolf left. I hope you weren't very cold."
I made a sound in the back of my throat.
"I just thought that this was the only way you would have a chance to get away. To have a life you actually wanted."
"You shot me to give me back my life?" I said.
"Yes."
"You haven't seen anyone else lurking around the property? No one has tried to get in?"
"No, I told you they think your dead."
I surged forward and caught her by the waist, lifting her off the ground and staring into her eyes. She stiffened not sure what to make of my sudden movement.
"You took a chance for me. A long shot. Why would you do that?"
"I thought you deserved to have more than one merry Christmas."
"Well that still depends," I said, bringing her body closer to mine, gentling my fingers against her.
"On what?" she asked, breathless.
"On you,"
"Well, how can I spend the rest of my Christmases with a man whose name I don't know?"
I smiled. "Tristan."
"Well, then, Tristan, I think you've got yourself a deal."
I wanted to be thrilled, but I had one thing left to ask. "You know there are three hundred and sixty four days out of the year that are not Christmas..."
"I have a feeling that with you, every single day is going to be like Christmas."
"Thanks for shooting me, Grace."
She laughed.
I kissed her.

