Frostbitten
Page 35
"Damn."
CLAY DIDN'T LIKE my plan. When I invited him to suggest an alternative, though, he just grumbled that I was the boss. In other words, the plan was fine. He just didn't like it.
West of the train station, we put on a performance for our hidden audience. Clay gestured for me to go wait inside the station. I argued that I wanted to stay with him. We bickered. He picked me up, set me down facing the station and gave me a slap on the ass, along with firm commands, including go, sit and stay. Being an obedient mate, I obeyed.
As Clay loped off to take care of those nasty mutts for me, I circled to the front of the station and took a seat on a raised monument displaying-according to the plaque-the first train engine used by Alaska Railroad. There I was, out in the open, where Clay couldn't see me-a perfect lure for the mutt. Clay would follow the trail for a while, then pretend to lose it. With him out of sight, at least one of the watching mutts was sure to break cover and come after me.
Clay hated the part about using me as bait. I had to admit that even I couldn't help thinking Gawd, not this old trick again. But it worked, again and again.
Give mutts the choice between attacking Clay and attacking Clay's mate, and they'll pick me every time. It's not only easier; it's going to hurt him more. Even if they can rise above that cowardly temptation, there's one temptation they can't fight-the siren's allure of my incredible hotness. Okay, the siren's allure of my incredibly hot bitch-in-heat scent.
I'd been sitting there only about five minutes when a man walked around the train station and headed toward me. I inhaled, but the wind was going the wrong way. He fit Reese's description, though-early thirties, big and brawny, short brown hair and a square face.
My first thought was, Oh, shit, Clay's supposed to grab him before he gets to me. My second thought was, No problem, I can take him. My third, as he got closer, was, urn, probably… And my forth, when he was near enough to smell, circled back to that initial Oh, shit. He was human.
Apparently, my incredible hotness proved alluring to more than just werewolves these days. Or Alaska had a shortage of single women.
"Hey there," he said. "You look cold sitting up there, all alone."
I smiled-civil, nothing more. "I'm waiting for someone."
"Come inside and wait. I'll buy you a coffee."
Espresso, I was sure. "Thanks, but my husband will be here in a minute."
His gaze dropped to my hand, covered in a glove. Then he studied me. Whatever look a married woman is supposed to have, apparently I lacked it, because he stepped closer.
"How about lunch? There's a great diner just up the hill. Nice and warm."
"I'm fine. Really. Where I come from, this is a pleasant spring day."
"And where's that?"
Damn, I'd walked right into that conversation-prolonger.
" Canada. Anyway, I'll just wait-Oh, hold on. My phone's vibrating."
I answered, talking to silence. "Sure, and where's that?" Pause. Laugh. "Okay, then." Pause. "Yep, I'll be right there."
As I hung up, I slid off the wall. "That was my husband. He needs me to check out something he wants to buy." I rolled my eyes. "Men."
"Where is he?" the man asked.
"Over there," I waved at a collection of buildings, a and hoped one of them was a store. Then I started out.
"Why don't I give you a lift?"
"I'm fine."
"It's a long walk."
Clay's piercing whistle cut through the howling wind. That was his signal that the mutts had taken the bait and that he needed his backup in place.
"Sorry, I really have to-" I tried stepping around the man, but he blocked me.
"I'll give you a lift."
"Thanks, but I'm fine."
Another sidestep, another block, this one moving into my personal space, making the hair on my neck bristle. I shifted back.
"I'm fine," I said, my tone taking on an edge.
"No need to get snippy. I'm just being friendly."
"And I'm just saying 'thanks, but no thanks.' "
Clay double-whistled. The BOLO signal-be on the lookout… because these mutts have split up and one could be heading your way.
"I'm sorry," I said.
He smiled. "No need to apologize. We all get a little cranky now and then."
"No, I meant for this." I kicked his kneecap. As he twisted and crumpled, I slammed my foot into the back of his knee and he crashed to the ground, cursing me as I took off.
Clay whistled again. A locator beacon this time. He seemed to be behind the cluster of buildings I'd pointed out a moment ago. There were several routes there. I picked the one across open ground where I could keep an eye out for mutts.
The wind had whipped up again, buffeting me as I ran, making me slide in the mud, barely able to stay upright. The whine of the wind filled my ears. The stink of rotted fish filled my nose. I kept running, eyes slitted against the gale.
At a roar behind me, I spun to see a truck barreling across the open field. My eyes teared up from the wind and I couldn't see the driver-just that the truck was heading straight for me. I ran full out. It kept gaining. At the last second, I leaped aside and the truck skidded past, brakes squealing veering as it spun into a sharp turn. It came at me again, tires spewing a hail of mud and rock. I dove away and it raced past like a charging bull.
When I glanced back, I could see a man in the driver's seat, but mud now dappled the windows. It roared at me again. As I darted out of the way, the window went down. Inside was the man from the train station.
"Did you think that was funny, you crazy bitch?" he shouted.
Crazy? I wasn't the one using my 4x4 as a weapon. I marched toward his side of the truck. He jerked back, this clearly not being the "fleeing in mortal terror" reaction he'd hoped for.
He rolled up the window and hit the gas. The tires spun, spitting mud. The truck rocked, but didn't budge.
I took a running leap. The truck shook as I landed in the bed. The man kept pumping the gas pedal, now jerking the wheel side to side, hoping to dislodge me, but the truck only spun in place.
I walked to the front corner nearest the passenger door. Then I leaned down, grabbed the door handle and wrenched, twisting it all the way around, the insides grinding and snapping. He lunged over to hold the door closed, but I'd already let go.
CLAY DIDN'T LIKE my plan. When I invited him to suggest an alternative, though, he just grumbled that I was the boss. In other words, the plan was fine. He just didn't like it.
West of the train station, we put on a performance for our hidden audience. Clay gestured for me to go wait inside the station. I argued that I wanted to stay with him. We bickered. He picked me up, set me down facing the station and gave me a slap on the ass, along with firm commands, including go, sit and stay. Being an obedient mate, I obeyed.
As Clay loped off to take care of those nasty mutts for me, I circled to the front of the station and took a seat on a raised monument displaying-according to the plaque-the first train engine used by Alaska Railroad. There I was, out in the open, where Clay couldn't see me-a perfect lure for the mutt. Clay would follow the trail for a while, then pretend to lose it. With him out of sight, at least one of the watching mutts was sure to break cover and come after me.
Clay hated the part about using me as bait. I had to admit that even I couldn't help thinking Gawd, not this old trick again. But it worked, again and again.
Give mutts the choice between attacking Clay and attacking Clay's mate, and they'll pick me every time. It's not only easier; it's going to hurt him more. Even if they can rise above that cowardly temptation, there's one temptation they can't fight-the siren's allure of my incredible hotness. Okay, the siren's allure of my incredibly hot bitch-in-heat scent.
I'd been sitting there only about five minutes when a man walked around the train station and headed toward me. I inhaled, but the wind was going the wrong way. He fit Reese's description, though-early thirties, big and brawny, short brown hair and a square face.
My first thought was, Oh, shit, Clay's supposed to grab him before he gets to me. My second thought was, No problem, I can take him. My third, as he got closer, was, urn, probably… And my forth, when he was near enough to smell, circled back to that initial Oh, shit. He was human.
Apparently, my incredible hotness proved alluring to more than just werewolves these days. Or Alaska had a shortage of single women.
"Hey there," he said. "You look cold sitting up there, all alone."
I smiled-civil, nothing more. "I'm waiting for someone."
"Come inside and wait. I'll buy you a coffee."
Espresso, I was sure. "Thanks, but my husband will be here in a minute."
His gaze dropped to my hand, covered in a glove. Then he studied me. Whatever look a married woman is supposed to have, apparently I lacked it, because he stepped closer.
"How about lunch? There's a great diner just up the hill. Nice and warm."
"I'm fine. Really. Where I come from, this is a pleasant spring day."
"And where's that?"
Damn, I'd walked right into that conversation-prolonger.
" Canada. Anyway, I'll just wait-Oh, hold on. My phone's vibrating."
I answered, talking to silence. "Sure, and where's that?" Pause. Laugh. "Okay, then." Pause. "Yep, I'll be right there."
As I hung up, I slid off the wall. "That was my husband. He needs me to check out something he wants to buy." I rolled my eyes. "Men."
"Where is he?" the man asked.
"Over there," I waved at a collection of buildings, a and hoped one of them was a store. Then I started out.
"Why don't I give you a lift?"
"I'm fine."
"It's a long walk."
Clay's piercing whistle cut through the howling wind. That was his signal that the mutts had taken the bait and that he needed his backup in place.
"Sorry, I really have to-" I tried stepping around the man, but he blocked me.
"I'll give you a lift."
"Thanks, but I'm fine."
Another sidestep, another block, this one moving into my personal space, making the hair on my neck bristle. I shifted back.
"I'm fine," I said, my tone taking on an edge.
"No need to get snippy. I'm just being friendly."
"And I'm just saying 'thanks, but no thanks.' "
Clay double-whistled. The BOLO signal-be on the lookout… because these mutts have split up and one could be heading your way.
"I'm sorry," I said.
He smiled. "No need to apologize. We all get a little cranky now and then."
"No, I meant for this." I kicked his kneecap. As he twisted and crumpled, I slammed my foot into the back of his knee and he crashed to the ground, cursing me as I took off.
Clay whistled again. A locator beacon this time. He seemed to be behind the cluster of buildings I'd pointed out a moment ago. There were several routes there. I picked the one across open ground where I could keep an eye out for mutts.
The wind had whipped up again, buffeting me as I ran, making me slide in the mud, barely able to stay upright. The whine of the wind filled my ears. The stink of rotted fish filled my nose. I kept running, eyes slitted against the gale.
At a roar behind me, I spun to see a truck barreling across the open field. My eyes teared up from the wind and I couldn't see the driver-just that the truck was heading straight for me. I ran full out. It kept gaining. At the last second, I leaped aside and the truck skidded past, brakes squealing veering as it spun into a sharp turn. It came at me again, tires spewing a hail of mud and rock. I dove away and it raced past like a charging bull.
When I glanced back, I could see a man in the driver's seat, but mud now dappled the windows. It roared at me again. As I darted out of the way, the window went down. Inside was the man from the train station.
"Did you think that was funny, you crazy bitch?" he shouted.
Crazy? I wasn't the one using my 4x4 as a weapon. I marched toward his side of the truck. He jerked back, this clearly not being the "fleeing in mortal terror" reaction he'd hoped for.
He rolled up the window and hit the gas. The tires spun, spitting mud. The truck rocked, but didn't budge.
I took a running leap. The truck shook as I landed in the bed. The man kept pumping the gas pedal, now jerking the wheel side to side, hoping to dislodge me, but the truck only spun in place.
I walked to the front corner nearest the passenger door. Then I leaned down, grabbed the door handle and wrenched, twisting it all the way around, the insides grinding and snapping. He lunged over to hold the door closed, but I'd already let go.
