The breeze shifted, bringing the scent of blood closer. Isaiah’s beast lunged within, breaking through his control. His canines cut into his mouth. His claws extended. The knife dropped from his hands. From the other came a bark that could have been a laugh.
Isaiah pointed to the ground. “Surrender, Reaper, to a Guardian of the Council.”
The words came out guttural and malformed owing to his wolf shape, but they should’ve been understood. The wolf’s response was an indecipherable, guttural sound. Inching away from the tree, encouraging the Reaper closer, Isaiah studied him. If a wolf could smile, the other Reaper was smiling, revealing yellowed teeth. Another oddity. Reapers were always in excellent health.
“What the hell are you?”
No answer, but as he studied the other, Isaiah realized its energy wasn’t right, either. It was erratic and excitable and it lacked the focused intensity he was used to seeing in Reapers. Had the other been freed before his training was complete? Was he still—
The beast lunged. Isaiah met it halfway, chest to chest, fang to fang, claw to claw. There was only one way through a Reaper. That was death. The battle was vicious. Claws raked down his thigh, tearing open his flesh. Teeth bit into his shoulder. His own claws sank into the animal’s belly. His teeth into its neck. His beast roared victory, but the other was strong, the way a crazy man was strong. It tore free, blood gushing in its wake. Isaiah grabbed its neck and fell backward, flipping it as he went. Blood covered his chest. His own beast went wild, raging for the kill.
There was a scream from the house and then two shots in succession followed by an unearthly howl. Dirt sprayed beside his face. The Reaper raced into the woods. Isaiah fought the change as he looked up to the second-story window. Reese stood there, rifle in hand, Addy holding on to his arm. She called his name, distracting him. The beast broke free of his control, the change came against his will. As his bones morphed, he dove into the shadows and ran. Again he heard Addy call his name.
Shit.
He ran like a thief in the night, dropping to all fours as the beast took over. Isaiah let the beast run. He couldn’t let her see him like this. The woman who’d taught him to bake. The only woman who’d ever seen him as a man. For the first time in his life, he felt like a coward. From behind he heard the sound of his name fade, as if Reese had pulled Addy back inside and closed the window. As well he should. The dubious safety of the house was the best place for Addy.
He stopped running as soon as his thoughts clicked past the beast’s panic.
That might not be the only Reaper out there.
Shit.
And because Reese had interfered, Isaiah didn’t even know why the Reaper had been there. If he’d been hunting Isaiah, it didn’t make sense that he’d been hiding by the pump. Why would he hide there? Reese had been on the porch. He’d been in the foyer. That meant all scents had been to the front, yet the Reaper had been around back.
The beast snarled in Isaiah’s head. Isaiah echoed the sound. He closed his eyes and willed the change back to man, but the beast was too strong, and with the more primitive intellect of the beast in control. it was hard to hold a logical thought. The beast thought in terms of permanence, possessing, killing, eating. And when threatened, it was all-powerful. The rage that someone could be hunting Addy kept the beast to the fore.
The beast circled the town, hunting for a sign. He scented no other. Isaiah fought with the beast as it made its way back to Addy’s house, following the other’s trail. He had no luck. The beast wanted its mate. Son of a bitch. It was powerful, his evil half, but not his stronger half. He’d vowed that it would never be stronger. He managed to temper the urge so it settled for creeping up to the edge of the woods by the back pump. Reese and Addy were there, kneeling by the fight scene. Blood formed a black pool on the ground.
“Where is he?” Addy asked.
“I don’t know,” Reese answered. “Likely chasing that wolf.”
“So much blood.” Abby’s eyes glittered like pale blue jewels in the moonlight. “Some of it’s his.”
“From the way he was moving, any wound was a long way from his heart.”
Addy bit her lip. “You don’t know that.”
“Trust me, I know.”
She pulled her wrap tighter around her. “I don’t want to lose him, Reese. He’s not like the others.”
Reese took her arm and pulled her back from the scene. “What others?”
“The ones that think I’m used goods because I was captured by the Indians.”
The beast growled.
Addy turned in his direction. “What was that?”
Isaiah could see the tears on her cheeks.
“Likely a dog drawn by the commotion.” Reese pulled her into his side and stared hard in Isaiah’s direction. “Trust me, he’s nothing like the others, but if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay away from you.”
So that shot had been meant for him.
“No.”
Reese bent and picked up a rock, chucking it in Isaiah’s direction. It bounced off his shoulder.
“Yes.”
Addy shoved at Reese, moonlight rippling over her braid. “Leave the dog alone.”
Both beast and man wanted to pull her close, shelter her. Instead they had to watch another take her in his arms and hold her safe. The beast gathered its muscles for the kill.
Mine!
Though this time there had been no sound, Addy looked in his direction, her cheek resting on Reese’s chest, her gaze tortured. Her fingers twitched. He knew she was looking for her worry stone, because she was worried. About him. This time, the beast’s growl was more of satisfaction.
“Sounds like that wolf’s back.”
Addy shook her head and touched her shoulder. “I don’t think so, but just in case, you might want to buy more bullets.”
He steered her toward the house. “You buy them.”
“Why me?”
“Because I let Cole sucker me into playing cards again.”
“When are you going to learn that he never loses?”
“He cheats.”
“How?”
“The man has a sixth sense, I tell you.”
Isaiah snapped to attention and followed as they made their way back to the house. The beast allowed it because Reese was close to Addy. A threat.
“I swear, he knows what the cards are before they’re up.”
“You know that’s not possible.”
“No, I don’t.”
Reese huffed. “Either that or he reads minds. Hell . . .” He opened the screen door. “For all I know, he does both.”
Inside the body of the beast, Isaiah thought,
Interesting.
ADDY woke up to the aroma of freshly baked bread. Yawning, she stretched, opening her eyes. From the light in the room, the sun was high in the sky.
Oh crap.
She’d overslept. Addy jumped out of bed and grabbed her wrapper, tied it around her waist, and went downstairs. When she reached the foyer, she heard pans clanking on the stove and smelled coffee brewing. Who the heck was in her kitchen?
Another few steps and she had her answer. Isaiah. He was dressed all in black. His brown hair was tied at the nape of his neck, revealing the strong lines of his profile. No shadow of a beard darkened his jaw. No bulk of bandages showed through his clothing. No wounds marred the sun-browned skin visible through the open neck of his shirt. By all accounts, he was perfectly fine. She remembered the pool of blood, the size of the shadowy wolf that had attacked him. It just wasn’t possible.
She watched him from the doorway. He moved easily between the stove and the counter, showing no sign of injury. As she watched, he bent and opened the door, pulling out four perfect-looking loaves of bread.
“Good morning,” he said as he straightened. With a kick of his foot, he closed the oven door.
She blinked and looked around. Everything was in its place. It was still her kitchen, yet not.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting the day started.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You were tired.”
There was no logical response that didn’t sound petty and mean, but she felt petty and mean. He was in her kitchen and he was taking it over. She looked at those perfect loaves of bread. “How did you . . .”
He smiled a real smile, not that tight tug of the lips she was used to seeing. “I found your recipe book.”
“And you did all this?”
“You’re a good teacher.”
“No one is that good.”
His smile faded. “You’re mad.”
“I don’t like being played for a fool.”
He pulled a basket of eggs out from the lower shelf. “Neither do I.”
“So you really did make these after just one lesson?”
“I like baking.”
So did she, and if she thought back, it had seemed to come naturally to her, too. She’d just never seen it come naturally to a man. She pushed her hair off her face. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to having anyone in my kitchen.”
It irritated her when they left a mess or moved things around.
“I kept everything in its place.”
So he had. One less thing to complain about. She forced a smile. “Thank you. The bread looks good.”
“Uh-huh.” Taking a knife, he cut off the end and then another slice. Slathering the slice with butter, he put it on a plate and slid it across the counter to her.
“Thank you.”
Grabbing the eggs, he turned back to the stove. There was absolutely nothing to indicate that he was nervous, but she had the strangest impression he was. She rubbed the spot on her shoulder. Grease sizzled as it hit the pan. She took a bite of the bread, braced for the worst. What she got shocked her to her toes.
“Delicious.” The truth just popped out, muffled by her mouth being full.
Isaiah turned, the same calm expression on his face, and this time she wasn’t fooled. The man
had
been nervous, just as he was now pleased.
“You like it?”
She nodded, chewed, and swallowed. “It’s . . . perfect, darn it.”
To her surprise, he laughed. A genuine laugh. “You wanted yours to be better?”
“Of course.”
He moved the pan off the heat and grabbed the coffeepot while motioning her to the chair. She felt awkward as he held out the chair.
“Sit.”
She didn’t immediately. He frowned. “I know this isn’t your regular routine. I’ve disturbed things.”
“Just a little.” He poured the coffee.
I feel like tea.
The words stuck in her throat. Not only because they were churlish, but because Isaiah had that suppressed excitement her dad used to have at Christmas when he was doing something big. And while she still felt awkward and unsure, she didn’t feel so mean anymore.
She took another bite of the bread, humming in her throat while it melted in her mouth. “So what else have you been up to this morning?”
“Besides baking?”
“Yes.”
He brought her sugar and cream. “I’m sorry I disturbed things.”
He had. Yet she hadn’t reached for her worry stone. She looked at her empty hand.
“As soon as I have my coffee, I’ll take you to task for it.”
He actually chuckled and went back to the stove. Metal scraped across metal as he put the frying pan back over the heat. “Mrs. McGillicuddy came by for her apple bread. She gave me the money. I don’t know if it’s the right amount. If she shortchanged you, we can talk to her.”
“Please? Talk to her? Mrs. McGillicuddy is an eighty-year-old woman. One doesn’t talk to an eighty-year-old woman about discrepancies in an apple bread purchase. She’s not an outlaw.”
Isaiah looked at her over his shoulder. He looked so confident, so powerful, so utterly male. Her womb clenched. She took a quick swallow of coffee.
“She doesn’t get to cheat you.”
“We definitely have to talk after coffee.”
“All right.”
“About a lot of things,” she added. “Like what happened last night. Where did you disappear to?”
“Finish your coffee.”
She put the cup on the table. “I’ve changed my mind. I’d like to hear that story while I’m waking up.”
He shrugged and pulled a bowl of dough out of the oven. How many loaves of bread did he intend to make?
“Where did you disappear to?”
“I went down to the lake for a swim to clean off.”
“It was cold last night.”
“I don’t see where the cold has much to do with it.”
She didn’t believe his explanation and not because it didn’t make sense, but because, through the scents of yeast and coffee, she could also smell . . . the lie.