Chapter 6
The hike to the cabin took longer than expected.
Normally, Scotty could appreciate a good hike, but this time, she just wanted to get off the trail.
Shit had gotten so weird and awkward after Blade’s sudden appearance while Mace was feeding.
And it wasn’t as if they could hurry. Mace’s injuries limited them to a crawl.
Making it all worse, Jon eventually stopped asking questions and started prepping them for tonight’s wendigo hunt.
Wendigos hate water.
Wendigos prefer to eat their victims while they’re still alive.
No, it’s not wendigoes. It’s wendigos. No e.
Blade shot Mace an I-told-you-so look for asking Jon that particular question.
“What?” Mace asked, waving off Blade’s offer of help to get up an incline, the way he waved off the ghastbat-sized mosquitoes harassing them. “I’m gonna have to write reports. Need to know how to spell wendigos.”
“Let me fucking help you, dammit.” Blade slipped under Mace’s arm and forced the male to lean on him.
Blade looked over at Scotty. “Maybe you should open a gate and get him to Underworld General.”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Mace growled. “I’ll be fine after I get some sleep.”
Skoll swung around to Scotty. “You can do that? You can open gates like your dad?”
“Wait.” Jon shortened his stride, letting her catch up. “If you can open gates, why did we just spend hours getting here?”
“The Horsemen can open destination gates almost anywhere,” she explained. “But I can only connect to other Harrowgates. That’s why I didn’t gate us to the cabin.”
And she’d been secretly glad there were no Harrowgates anywhere near the cabin.
She hated opening personal gates. Hated the nausea and panic that gripped her every time she summoned one.
Hated making up excuses to avoid using her ability to transport her team quickly.
How many times had they been forced to go miles out of their way to find a Harrowgate when she could have just zapped one open?
A pit expanded in her gut at the thought of opening a gate for Mace. Would she get him to Underworld General if necessary? For sure, one thousand percent.
But she hoped she wouldn’t have to.
“There.” Jon pointed across an expanse of forest that had been cleared of underbrush. “There’s the cabin.”
Oh, thank gods.
Built into a bend in the stream they’d been following, the cabin was well-concealed, its weathered beams faded and patchy with moss. A couple of deer watched them warily from the other side of the creek, bounding away as they approached the cabin’s worn porch.
Wise animals, she thought, as she took in the obscene number of deer skulls and antler racks decorating the rickety railing. A rusted metal folding chair was the sole furniture on the deck, its seat padded with the pelt of some unfortunate animal.
“You said someone actually lives here?” Mace coughed, sounding too winded for comfort. “Even in the winter? This is crazy remote.”
Skoll gestured to a nearby shed that was bigger than the cabin. “He’s got a snowmobile and a UTV, but I doubt he lives here during the winter.” He shrugged. “But who knows? People who live off the grid are nuts, but they’re hardy nuts.”
Scotty eyed the werewolf. “Didn’t you grow up off the grid?”
Apparently, his parents, Luc and Kar, kept a low profile for their family’s safety. Scotty didn’t know much about it—she didn’t know Skoll or his sister, Luca, that well—but she’d heard things.
“Yep,” Skoll said. “That’s why I can speak with authority on the subject.”
Mace, who was more of a hotels-over-tents kind of guy, glanced around in disgust. “This is messed up. Bet there’s not even a coffee maker.”
Jon’s get-serious look was a waste of time. Mace was rarely serious. But she doubted he was joking about the coffee maker.
“Quiet,” Blade murmured, one hand dropping to his favorite combat knife. “Door’s ajar.”
It took less than a heartbeat to read the situation and each other. By mutual, silent consent, they all drew weapons like a smooth, well-oiled machine. Nice. Scotty, Mace, and Blade didn’t always get to work with other teams that synced well with theirs.
Blade nudged the door open with his boot, its ominous creak sounding too loud in the peaceful surroundings. She wasn’t getting any evil vibes from inside, but some creatures could suppress their sinister aura.
“Trust your instincts,” her dad liked to say. “But don’t be an idiot.”
Blade and Jon burst inside. Scotty and Skoll put their backs to the doorframe and kept watch outside, ready to back up the others if needed.
Mace slumped onto the chair and studied a pair of bald eagles soaring overhead.
Damn. That was so not Mace. He wasn’t one to bird-watch if he could be in the middle of the action.
“Clear!” Blade’s deep voice called out. “There’s some blood on the floor.”
Scotty and Skoll helped Mace inside. She expected a murder scene, maybe an overturned chair and some broken glass.
But aside from a few drops of dried blood, the place was clean and neat, smelled of the wood used to build the cabin, and was much cozier than she’d expected.
The furniture was simple and utilitarian, consisting of a futon, a rocking chair, and a sturdy, four-person table, but plush blankets were draped over the seats.
The wood stove on the far wall had seen better days, but it looked inviting, thanks to the bearskin rug spread on the scuffed wood floorboards.
Bunks built into two of the walls could sleep four, but the tiny bathroom would struggle to fit her, let alone any of these big guys. The heavy, military-issue green blanket serving as a door was a sad attempt at privacy.
Almost as disappointing was the kitchen.
The best that could be said was that it had a large pantry filled with canned goods, military rations, and pouches of freeze-dried meals—real prepper stuff that always tasted like reconstituted crap.
The knives and cookware were in good shape, though.
The guy obviously wanted to cook his tasteless survival food in the best pots and pans on his propane stove.
Then he got to wash them in the sink rigged with a foot pump that brought water in from the stream, where she’d just seen an eagle take a dump.
She grimaced. “I hope we’re not expected to drink from that.”
Jon tossed his duffel onto one of the bunks, claiming a bottom bed.
“We brought purifiers, but Nathan brings in drinking water. He said there’s twenty gallons in the closet.
” He gestured to the bathroom. “It’s a camp toilet, so you gotta take the bucket out and bury it in the woods every day.
If you want to shower, there’s one out back that draws from the stream. ”
Ugh. There were very few things Scotty and Aleka agreed on, but one of them was their dislike of camping. They were both big fans of warm beds, hot showers, and flushing toilets. She definitely didn’t judge Mace for his hotels-over-tents stance.
Skoll glanced at his comms. “We should get some rest. Sunset is in a few hours. Who wants to take the futon?”
“I will,” Scotty tossed her pack onto the floor next to it. “I’m the shortest. You guys would have to sleep folded up like tacos.”
Jon bent to untie his boots. And wow, he had a nice ass. “I could go for a taco right about now.”
Everyone murmured agreement as they staked out their beds, Mace taking the remaining bottom bunk, and Blade grabbing the one above him.
Scotty wandered over to study the blood, but now she just really wanted Mexican food. “Looks fresh. Animal or human?”
A growl and whoosh of air startled her so badly that she summoned a sword, spun around, and prepared to fight.
But holy shit, she wasn’t prepared to fight that.
A massive bear, its paws twice the size of her head, stood on all fours where Jon had just been standing. Deep brown with a silver saddle stretching between its heavy shoulders, it grunted and put its nose to the floor, inhaling in deep, loud chuffs.
She’d seen bear shifters before, but not one like this. Usually, their size matched their wild-animal counterparts. This bear filled the cabin and couldn’t have stood on its hind legs without punching through the roof. Even Blade and Mace were taken aback.
A moment later, the bear morphed back into Jon.
“It’s human,” he said, shaking off the transformation, his mid-length, dark hair swinging wildly.
“I could have told you that without the drama,” Mace muttered from where he’d plastered himself against the log wall to avoid being squashed.
Jon snorted. “How?”
“Vampire,” Mace said flatly. “Dumbass.”
Jon might have forgotten, but Scotty hadn’t. Her neck prickled, throbbing where Mace had buried his sharp fangs. Her fingers skimmed across the bite, but it was long gone, leaving only a hypersensitive tingle and some dried blood as evidence of the most sensual thing that had ever happened to her.
Now, when she glanced over at Mace, her breasts felt heavy, and an unbearable tension began to build between her thighs.
She caught Blade staring at her, his hooded gaze disturbingly blank, yet it pinned her in place like a big ol’ spike of guilt. She jerked her hand away from Mace’s bite like she’d been caught with her fingers on the lock to her father’s armory.
Which had happened more than once as a child.
The difference was, she’d been able to charm her dad into forgiving and forgetting.
Something told her that what’d happened between her and Mace, no matter how innocent, would never be forgotten.
At least, not by her. She’d replay today over and over, seeking to recreate the remarkable sensations and feelings Mace had sparked inside her.
Innocent, my ass.
Yeah, nothing about what had happened felt innocent. Was that what it was supposed to be like when a female was with a male? And why now? Why with Mace, of all people? One of only a handful of males on the planet who were off-limits.
Was Lilith’s succubus DNA finally rearing its evil head?
Shaken and desperate for an escape from her thoughts, she glanced around the room for something—anything—that would give her a reason to change the subject.
But she couldn’t avoid the way Blade regarded her from behind an impenetrable wall that hadn’t been there before.
Mace watched her as well, his gaze locked on her throat, the banked heat in his eyes making her sweat.
He’d been affected too. She shouldn’t have liked that fact, but she did.
Jon and Skoll—proving they had great instincts—read the room, their speculative, questioning gazes sliding between Mace, Blade, and Scotty.
People were always trying to suss out their unique relationship. They wanted to know if sex was involved. If they squabbled. If there was ever friction between them. Jealousy. Competition.
The answer to all their questions had always been never. Well, competition, yes, but it was friendly, complete with ribbing and pranks.
But this was new. Disturbing. Not friendly at all.
Her frantic gaze lit on the notebook propped on the counter. Perfect. She hurried over and flipped it open, hoping there’d be something interesting inside. More interesting than her inconvenient sexual awakening with a guy she couldn’t have anyway.
But nope. Supply lists. Spell recipes. Oh, wait. Jackpot.
“Hey.” She waved everyone over. “It’s the map of Nathan’s traps.” According to the key, hashtags indicated magical traps, asterisks marked physical devices, and checkmarks signified the placement of wards.
Blade eased next to her and pointed to one of the hashtags. Heat billowed off him like a furnace. Had he always run so hot? Or was it because he was angry at her? Or was guilt making her sense something that wasn’t there?
“That’s the one that caught Mace,” he said.
She forced herself to focus on the notebook and not Blade’s proximity. It would be easier if his hip wasn’t brushing hers. And if he didn’t smell as earthy as the forest.
“Nathan placed everything in a layered web pattern, with the cabin in the center.” She flipped the page and drew an uneasy breath at the chicken scratch and smears of blood on the back. “Guys. This was the last thing he wrote.”
Mace sank down hard on his bunk, as if his legs had given out. “What’s he say?”
“He was attacked by a wendigo while checking a trap.” She squinted, struggling to make out the last sentence. Despair and pain bled into the paper, along with his blood. “It tore up his chest and arms. He barely escaped.”
Jon cursed. “No one barely escapes a wendigo.”
“What do you mean?” Blade shifted his stance, no longer touching her, and she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or not.
What she did know was that she hated that she’d noticed at all.
She’d stopped being hyperaware of their every touch the moment they swore their oath and had accepted that neither of them wanted her the way she wanted them.
But their dynamic seemed to be shifting, which couldn’t be a good thing.
“It’s kind of like lycanthropy. If they get a hold of you, you turn.” Jon’s voice turned even more somber. “If the thing didn’t finish him off, Nathan’s a wendigo now. And he knows this land.”
Okay, yeah. That was a problem. Now, there were potentially two wendigos. And if Nathan was a monster who could evade his own snares…they were sitting ducks.