Alpha Mountie Lena Loneson When her sister’s body washes up on the shore in Toronto, Noire Pelletier is devastated. She’ll do whatever it takes to find her sister’s killer. Not even the gorgeous Mountie assigned to the case will distract her—for long. Constable Cam Dawson comes to the city seeking a serial killer, but finds a lot more—a beguiling park ranger who tastes like the wild that runs through his blood. Has he finally met the woman strong enough to embrace his lupine side? The hunt for a killer leads Noire and Cam on a dangerous and passion-fueled journey deep into the wilderness, where they discover an evil much greater than a simple man. To make it out alive, Noire will have to trust in something stronger than vengeance—love.
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Alpha Mountie ISBN 9781419939129 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Alpha Mountie Copyright © 2012 Lena Loneson Edited by April Chapman Cover design by Kendra Egert Photography by MarishsaSha/Shutterstock.com and Fotolia Electronic book publication March 2012 The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book. The publisher does not have any control over, and does not assume any responsibility for, author or third-party Web sites or their content.
ALP HA M O UNTIE
Lena Loneson
Alpha Mountie
Chapter One When Noire Pelletier finally stepped off the Toronto docks and onto the Ward’s Island ferry, she wasn’t thinking about who she might meet there. She wasn’t thinking about her sister’s murder. She definitely wasn’t thinking about her love life. All that filled her mind was relief. Noire pressed through the crowd, inhaling the cool Lake Ontario air and exhaling her memories of the city. Bye for now, Toronto—can’t say I’ll miss you. For a park warden like Noire, who spent most of her days in the quiet of the Algonquin forests hours north of the city, the din of Toronto was always a shock. People were friendly, sure, but there were just too damn many of them. Her senses had been completely overwhelmed by mingling odors of sweat and cologne, blaring car horns and building lights blinding her from all sides like a swarm of crazed fireflies. The sweetness of the lake filled her lungs now, moist and cool. She took the ferry steps two at a time, heading for the second level. The railing was cold beneath her hand. As her feet slipped on steps slick with water, she gripped the rail tighter, letting the discomfort wake her up. The perilous trek had been worth it—the second level was deserted. Below milled dozens of men, women and children on foot or riding bikes onto the boat, some pulling large carts of groceries and supplies. Noire loved the Toronto Islands, of which Ward’s was only one. She planned to enjoy the ride, even though she knew what waited for her at the end. For the moment, she could pretend she was one of these people—those who had chosen to work in Toronto, but also to remain outsiders living in a car-free community isolated from the hullabaloo by kilometers of icy water. With a jerk and humming of the engines, the ferry began to move. The late November wind made Noire feel a little silly for wearing only jeans and a sweater. When the call had come from the police department, she’d dropped everything. “Ms. Pelletier? We’d like you to look at another body if you’re still in the city. Glad to hear it. This one has animal bites, like the previous, but…well, you’d better get out here and see. The crime scene technicians have started work already so if you can catch the next ferry out to Ward’s Island—yeah, it’s an island killing again—the body will still be there…” The body. So dehumanizing—but tonight, she was glad of it. This time, the body would be no one she knew. As a park warden, Noire was often asked to look after bodies found in her own territory. Her background in working with wild animals meant she could identify most bites and help track the “killer” animal to its den. Within Algonquin Provincial Park, her rank as a warden gave her authority equal to the Ontario Provincial Police. But 5
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outside of the park, she was a civilian, and her particular brand of forensics rarely had a place in the city. Originally, she had been called down not as a warden, but as a sister. Tears teased at the corners of her eyes and Noire knew that no matter what she told herself, this night would break her heart into a thousand pieces. For days, Noire had been trying to get inside her sister’s head. To feel what Fawn had felt in the city. The excitement of conversation all around her, the twinge of hunger at the smell of exotic food. The urge to dance rather than flee at thumping bass from clubs on King West. The small twinkle of envy when she heard the heels of stylish women clacking on Bay Street sidewalks as they hurried to their six-figure jobs and their seven-figure condos. When Fawn’s wide brown eyes had looked out at the crowds, she had seen possibility. But to Noire, the skyscrapers were metal bars in a cage that grew smaller each day. Years ago when the girls were roommates attending the University of Toronto, Noire had yearned to ask her sister, “What is the city like for you? Why are you so happy here, when every morning I have to hold myself to the bed so I don’t run screaming back to the forest? What do you see here that I can’t see?” But as the older, smarter sister, Noire couldn’t bring herself to admit such weakness, and so she never asked. And now Fawn was dead. Noire leaned over the ferry railing. Sharp pains pricked along her hairline as her braid whipped out behind her in the wind, and cold dots hit her face from the first hint of rain or snow. She found it completely refreshing and leaned farther. Squinting into the dark water below, Noire nearly screamed when something warm touched her back. She spun around, knocking away a man’s outstretched hand and moving into a defensive posture. The shadow towering over her—how tall was this guy?—raised its hands in surrender. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, an awkward grin on his face. “Just surprised to see someone in my usual, uh, spot.” Noire frowned. For a moment there, she’d been sure he was about to say territory. Maybe she was feeling territorial herself—she’d planned to be alone up here. From the look on his face, her new companion needed the escape too. She read tension in the creases around his gray eyes. At a loud shout from below he jumped like a skittish stray dog. It was then that she noticed his uniform. He was wearing duty blues rather than the more formal dress reds from tourism brochures, but the guy was clearly RCMP. There’s a good chance he’s off to Ward’s for the same reason I am. “No problem, officer,” she choked out. Had they really called in the Mounties? Something bigger than she’d realized must be going on.
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“Constable,” he said with that never-ending smile. “There’s no trouble or anything, miss, I just came out here for some air. Wanted to ask you if I might share the railing?” “Be my guest,” she said. Noire saw the steel in his eyes as he smiled at her—the smile was real, warming something deep and half-asleep inside her, but it couldn’t hide why he was here. To examine the body, one bearing animal bite marks just like Fawn’s. Noire had seen corpses before on the job, usually hunting or hiking accidents and the occasional animal attack. But tonight’s body, like Fawn’s, was not the result of an accident. Tonight would be different. Might not hurt to gain a friend on the force while I’m in town. Not to mention the way he filled out that uniform…broad shoulders and muscular arms couldn’t hide in a gray shirt and dark blue tie. His trousers with gold piping were tucked neatly into his boots and he wore a navy patrol jacket tied around his waist. “Aren’t you freezing?” she asked without thinking. She had meant to introduce herself. But the words I’m here to look at a corpse—good thing it’s not my baby sister this time just wouldn’t come out. “Nah,” he said. “You want the jacket?” “I’m okay.” Noire was shaking with the cold, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t noticeable. “You’re shivering. Don’t be stupid.” Noire raised an eyebrow. “Sorry. Guess you have a right to be cold if you want.” He ran a hand through close-cropped hair that seemed to blur into the night sky. Noire wondered if his sheer size generated more heat. She was tall at five-foot-ten, big-boned and muscular enough to give her more in common with a man’s body than a woman’s—at least, that’s how it seemed when she tried to buy clothes. But this guy towered over her. Noire realized she wasn’t the only one staring. She rubbed at her eyes, faking an itch to block his gaze. His own face was uncommonly beautiful, with a deep scar down his cheek only adding a sense of mystery. She felt plain and uninteresting in comparison. “I just need a little break from the crowd,” he said. “People everywhere, make me want to take my chances with the lake. Constable Campbell Dawson. Royal Canadian Mounted Police.” “Nice to meet you, Constable.” Reflexively, Noire held out her hand. It reddened in the wind and she wished she’d brought gloves. Constable Dawson stared at her hand for a moment as though he’d forgotten what it was for. Then he took her hand in his, and his skin warmed her whole body. Noire relaxed her posture and saw Dawson do the same, as if the world had been taken off their shoulders for one unexpected moment. She finally returned his smile with a small one of her own and reluctantly released his hand—it was warm in her own, almost feverishly so.
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She was torn. She could introduce herself now and make a good first impression, explain she was consulting with the police and show him her toughness in enduring the weather. Wasn’t that what cops listened to? Dominance? Would he take her seriously if he knew she’d been so rattled by the case she’d forgotten her jacket? Probably not. Noire knew dominant men, and often the best way to gain their respect was to come out swinging, right off, and never, ever show weakness. On the other hand, his gray eyes had warmed and his smile was friendly and hopeful. It was nice, having a man this handsome look at her that way. While he had come up here to escape the people below, he didn’t seem to be going anywhere now. Maybe she could enjoy his company for the short ride and pretend they were simply two people meeting by chance. She smiled back, less tentatively this time. “Okay, you’re right,” she said. “I’m freezing. I don’t know what I was thinking— forgot how cold it could get out on the water compared to downtown. I’ve had…a bad week.” Now that was an understatement. “I’m sorry. Mine too,” he said quietly. She leaned in to hear him over the rushing wind, and the heat emanating from his body was palpable. “On a hell of a case. Heartbreaking, really.” Heartbreaking. So he understood. Even if he’d never met Fawn, Noire felt almost pleased to know someone on the case genuinely cared. She was surprised, actually, at just how much that pleased her. The cops she’d dealt with so far had seemed downright unemotional. Fuck dominance, she thought to herself. He’d shown some vulnerability, so she could bare her neck right back. “Is the offer still open?” she asked. “I could use that jacket now.” “Of course.” After she nodded permission, he draped the jacket around her shoulders. He left one hand on her back and she felt the heat of it through the layers of clothing. “You could move downstairs if you’re still cold. I think it’s only going to get worse up here.” He pointed. The precipitation from over the water was turning to snow. It pelted their faces as they turned in unison to look out over the water. Faint lights from the islands glowed in the distance, moving slowly closer. “It’s beautiful,” Noire realized aloud. “I can’t leave.” “Yes,” he said. “Then I’ll stay with you. Though I’m afraid I don’t have any more clothes to loan you, or I’ll be the one freezing in uncomfortable places.” She shivered again, rubbing her hands. “No gloves, eh?” He shook his head with a small smile. “Sorry.” Then he took her hands in his again, rubbing them with his own to warm them. Before she realized what he was doing, he raised them to his mouth and blew. His breath was hot, feverish and strangely soothing. She met his eyes in surprise and he held them with his own. She felt safe, suddenly. She knew without a doubt that he wouldn’t hurt her. Her face was flushed and she
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knew that their contact had affected him as much as her. She watched him closely and saw his nostrils flare—was he smelling her? She wondered if he could smell the wetness that had formed between her legs. Did she want the answer to be no, or yes? Noire wasn’t sure. It had been a long time since she’d felt physically drawn to a man. The combination of strength in his broad shoulders and wariness in his eyes made her want to trust him and press her body against his, drink in his smell, let him take away her pain for a moment. If only she had the first clue about seduction. If only her sister were here—Fawn had always been better with men. If only. More excuses, Noire? He was still holding her hands to his mouth. His breath had quickened and each time he exhaled against her fingers, his heat rushed against her skin in time with her own breaths. She pulled her hands back away from his mouth, rubbing them together to preserve the warmth. In the gray depths of his eyes, she saw a flicker of disappointment. Disappointment that she’d pulled away? Yes. Yes. That was all the confirmation she needed. Noire leaned forward and touched her lips to his, her inhibitions melting away. The Mountie’s mouth was just as hot as his hands, and he eagerly took control of the kiss. Noire moaned deep in her throat as she parted her lips to welcome his tongue inside. She expected him to take the time to tease her gently, as most men did, but his tongue plundered her mouth. He was rough, aggressive, and she felt herself responding in kind. She ran fingers voraciously through his close-cropped hair, stepping on tiptoes to press her own tongue into his mouth. It was very rare that Noire had to reach upward to kiss a man and she liked it. Their tongues twisted together and she closed her eyes, tasting him—he reminded her of finely crafted Muskoka ale, a rich nuttiness that made her want so much more. Noire had a brief moment of nervousness—since when did she move this quickly? Hell, the last time she’d fucked a man was over a year ago. Most men were intimidated by her size, and even heavily muscled hunters ran once they saw her outperform them with a shotgun. She wondered if Constable Dawson was carrying a firearm, and if so where he kept it. The thought intrigued her and she forgot her former trepidation. Noire pressed her body against his, molding her hips into him. Instead of a gun, she felt the hardness of his cock against her stomach. He grabbed her ass in his strong hands and lifted her until her clit rubbed right against him. She could come right now, just from the friction. Apparently he felt the same way, because she felt his fingers at the button of her jeans. She murmured into his mouth, “Someone could come up here any minute—” He chuckled against her lips. “Well, then, we’ll have to keep it subtle. And fast.”
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Noire had never been so turned on by the word fast before. But that’s what she wanted. Fast. His fingers popped open the button to her jeans and he spun her around as he pulled at the zipper, so that she faced the ferry railing. For a moment she was dizzy, looking down at the cold water below. The wind whipped through her hair and she shivered. Then his warm body was pressed firmly against her back, his cock grinding into her ass. He gripped her breasts through the cable-knit sweater and skimmed his fingers across her nipples. She could hear the wind howling, his breathing fast and excited in her ear, and the chatting of dozens of people on the decks below who had no idea what was going on less than fifteen feet above them. When he removed his hands from her breasts, she opened her mouth to object—but then he moved them lower. One arm grasping around her waist, his other hand slid into her jeans, over her panties. As he teased her clit through the cotton fabric with his fingers, Noire wished she’d worn something a little sexier. And then his finger moved lower, pressing the panties inside her, rubbing against the slick wetness of her cunt, and she forgot how to think, let alone worry about her lingerie. A second finger joined the first and he filled her up completely, stretching the fabric deep inside. Her jeans hung precariously on her hips. Her hands gripped the ferry railing, the cold metal contrasting starkly against the heat of his hips still pressed firmly against her ass. As he stroked her with his fingers, she leaned back into him, centering herself against him. He murmured wordlessly in her ear, a heady mixture of panting and something more wild, akin to a growl. She felt as if she could fall or fly, tumbling over the railing to the deck below, or soaring out into the deep, churning waters. She shivered, enjoying the combination of pleasure and danger. When his other hand joined in and slipped below her panties, moving unerringly to her clit and flicking it with expert precision, Noire shuddered to climax. Pressing her lips together as her body shook, she whimpered, keeping her voice low, and his fingers rode with her to the finish. Pleasure fluttered outward, from the depths between her legs down her thighs, up across her stomach to the tips of her nipples. Warmth built in every part of her body, and the stretch of her back that was pressed to his chest felt alive and trembling with electricity even between the barriers of their clothing. He was so close that she could swear she felt the buttons of his uniform pressing into her spine. If she fell from the ferry railing right now, she could probably float to safety on joy alone. She was still gasping as he removed his hands, zipped up her jeans and smoothed her hair back. He turned her around again and smiled. “So, I never got your name.” “That was amazing.” Noire blushed. “Sorry. Probably shouldn’t have blurted that out.” “It’s okay. I’m pleased to hear it.” His voice seemed oddly formal now that it wasn’t growling in her ear. “Just—I should probably repay the favor first.”
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He shook his head with an exaggerated look of regret. “Wish you could, but we’re about forty-five seconds from shore.” “Oh!” She looked down and sure enough, the islanders and tourists below were gathering their things. She held onto the Mountie as the ferryboat docked with a sudden thump, nearly throwing her from her feet. She didn’t want to leave the boat. She didn’t want to leave him. “I’m Noire Pelletier,” she said, answering his earlier question. “Please call me Noire.” “And Cam works for me.” His gaze ran from her toes to the top of her head in a sudden possessive motion. “Black,” he translated her given name. “Named for your hair or your eyes?” “Neither. When I was born, my hair was blonde and my eyes were blue. They stayed that way until I was four. Mom said my dad picked the name—it was the color of the sky when he delivered me. The storm was so bad Mom had me out in a watchtower in the middle of the forest.” Noire was babbling now. She had no idea how to introduce herself to a man who’d just had his fingers buried deliciously in her pussy. It seemed Constable Dawson—or Cam, rather—was equally flustered. “Which forest?” he asked. “Uh, Algonquin Provincial Park. Born and raised, and now it pays my rent.” The Mountie’s eyes narrowed in thought. “You’re the park warden, aren’t you? The one who identified bites on the last body. I read your report. Black bear, if I remember?” “Yes,” Noire said. Her personal shields were up again and though her instincts urged her to trust him, human training told her to be careful. There was no reason to tell him—yet—that “the last body” had been her sister. As soon as anyone found out Noire was personally involved in the investigation, she knew her credibility plummeted. As if letting an officer of the law finger her before he knew her name really bolstered her reputation. Can I fuck up any worse? She turned the line of inquisition around. “I didn’t see you at the last crime scene?” “No,” he said. “Just got in from Prince George about an hour ago.” Prince George was a small city in northern British Columbia, on the opposite side of Canada. They must really be pulling in the big guns for this case. At least he isn’t from Toronto—perhaps my little indiscretion won’t get back to the rest of the team. She could hope.
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Chapter Two When they reached the tiny beach on Ward’s Island, the place was already swarming with detectives and crime scene technicians. Noire hung back and let Cam greet them. She noticed that despite his relative youth (he couldn’t have been much older than thirty-five), many of the others deferred to him immediately. One detective with mocha-colored skin and a matching bun introduced him to the group. “Everyone, this is Constable Campbell Dawson of the RCMP. Dawson’s been tracking our perp through Vancouver, Calgary and Montreal.” The others murmured in surprise. A steel-eyed man spoke up. “You’re saying this is a serial killer?” “I believe so, yes,” Cam said, his voice deep and firm. “We’ve seen this MO in several different cities now. Young woman, skinned alive. In some cases just her back was degloved, in some cases her full body. The faces are never touched, but the bodies are marred by animal bites.” “How do you know it’s not just a coincidence? Or a copycat?” “There’s rarely coincidence in murder. While I may not have proof I can testify that the brutality involved in these crimes is genuine and not easy to replicate.” The female detective who’d first introduced him spoke again to admonish the tech. “Constable Dawson was on the team responsible for bringing in Picton.” Noire gasped when she heard this—so did many of the others. Pig farmer Robert Picton was one of Canada’s most recent, most notorious serial killers. He’d been implicated in anywhere from six to forty-nine murders, and who knew how many more bodies were out there, still buried on his farm. The case had made international news. “Is that why you’re here?” one of the others piped up. “You think this guy is another Picton?” The female detective spoke again. “God, I hope not. Enough speculation, folks. Get back to work.” Noire was glad to have Cam at her side; this was all new territory for her. By the time Noire had arrived to identify Fawn’s body, her sister had already been moved to the morgue. It had been awful, but the room was sterile, metallic and somewhat removed from reality. Fawn had been covered with a sheet and Noire had only seen her face, plus the bite wounds around her neck and shoulders. She remembered the blood still caked in her sister’s dull brown hair, and how pale Fawn was—Noire had never seen her that pale before. There’d been nothing left in the body that held even a spark of her baby sister.
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When she’d noticed the marks on her sister’s face and chin, which the medical examiner had tried to hide with makeup for the identification, Noire had recognized them immediately. Black bear. It was what made this case so strange. Fawn’s body had been skinned, she found out later, which was obviously the work of a human. But the teeth that had savaged her neck were clearly animal. Noire held it together long enough to explain to the medical examiner that she was a park warden with a background in animal biology, and thus qualified to deal with and identify animal attacks. They had taken her contact information for follow-up, which was how she’d received the second call today. It wasn’t until she’d gotten back to her hostel that Noire had let herself break down in tears. In the morgue, Fawn wasn’t Fawn anymore—she was evidence, cared for by the police, a sort of puzzle to be solved. Seeing another woman’s body, naked and discarded on the beach, was something different entirely. She’d taken a swim off the Ward’s Island beach before. She remembered it as a small but lovely little spot out of the knowledge base of tourists. In autumn there had been a scattering of island residents with their dogs, and backpackers with canoes. The locals were always friendly and the water was surprisingly warm—well, for Canada, anyway. Noire and Fawn spent many a day there in university, taking the ferry out to the islands for a little peace and quiet, wading along the beach or jumping in for a quick dip after class. For the afternoon, you could almost forget you were in one of the biggest cities in Canada. For Noire, it was the only thing that had kept her sane. Now it was nearing ten p.m. and in November that meant full darkness, aside from the permanent glow of lights that reached the islands from downtown Toronto. The islanders remained indoors, she supposed, not eager to play crime scene tourist when the crime happened just outside their quiet homes. The detectives were decked in street clothes, likely called in after regular duty; the crime scene techs wore latex gloves and carried instruments Noire didn’t recognize. The high-tech nature of crime scene investigation didn’t interest her and actually completely confused her. She was there for one official reason only—as an outside consultant to determine whether this attack was animal or human. Of course, her personal reasons went much deeper. Noire wanted to find Fawn’s murderer. And she wanted to kill him herself. If offering her expertise as wild animal expert helped her get close to the investigation, great. She wouldn’t turn down the opportunity. But that didn’t mean she was comfortable with it. The woman’s body was splayed on the sand, right at the break between dry sand and rising tide. She was completely naked. Her blonde hair fanned out around her like a halo. Her face was buried in the sand and beyond the hair, Noire could see nothing of her humanity. The body was stripped entirely of skin. What was left of the poor woman looked like raw hamburger meat.
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Was this what Fawn had looked like, under the sheet? She supposed so. The cops wouldn’t be crying “serial killer” if the modus operandi wasn’t the same. Constable Campbell Dawson certainly wouldn’t be here if this were a run-of-the-mill opportunistic killing. “Excuse me, ma’am?” Noire looked up and into the warm eyes of a detective. “I’m Detective Jim McFall of the Ontario Provincial Police. Constable Dawson says you’re the park warden we’ve been waiting for.” He was smiling beneath wrinkles and white hair. Noire liked the man immediately. “Yes sir. Noire Pelletier, park warden in Algonquin. There are some bites you wanted me to look at?” She kept her voice steady. “Are you gonna be okay?” His concern was touching. At the same time she wondered if her inexperience was really that obvious. Part of her wanted to run straight to Cam, ask him for help, but he was deep in discussion with a crime scene tech. Keep it under control, Noire, she told herself. “Oh yes. Sorry. I’m good.” She let Detective McFall lead her to the body. Up close she could see sand stuck to the woman’s raw flesh. She swallowed back bile. Noire would not puke in front of a bunch of cops. She would extra not puke in front of a Mountie who had recently fingered her to orgasm. Certainly she’d shown enough unprofessional behavior for the evening. “Looks like she was definitely killed by a human monster rather than the animal kind, but check out these,” Jim pointed. An Asian detective nearby spoke up, “She’s got bites all over her neck and shoulders. Never seen anything like it. Can you tell us what the fuck is going on here?” “I’ll take a look,” Noire said, and she crouched down, sinking into the cool sand. She balanced on feet and knees and felt the knees of her jeans grow damp. She prayed this was water from the lake and not the woman’s blood, but she didn’t look down to check. Her eyes were focused on the woman’s left shoulder. Shallow gouges marred the flesh that remained, ripping upward toward her neck and face. “Anyone have a measuring tape?” Noire asked. One of the techs handed it to her. She pulled the tape out and lined it up against the dead woman’s neck. “Five centimeters, just about,” she murmured. Realizing the implications, she pressed a hand to her mouth. She didn’t want to scream. Cam left his own discussion farther down the beach and moved back to her. “What is it you’ve got, Noire?” he asked. She noticed a few looks exchanged between the detectives. Cam cleared his throat. “Warden Pelletier and I met on the ferry out here and had, uh, some time to discuss the case.” As she stared at the bites, Noire felt Cam’s warm hand on the back of her neck. He effortlessly moved into a crouch next to her. “What is it?” he asked. “You okay?”
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“The bite marks. The last body, they were bear—a predator, not unusual, I see them on animals all the time, and sometimes humans.” “Yeah,” Cam said. “These ones don’t look the same, though, do they?” “You noticed?” “I may not be as brilliant as you at the animal stuff, but it’s kinda my job to notice things.” He flashed her white teeth and a warm smile. She flushed a little and let her eyes move to the sand behind the dead woman’s hair. Right now she didn’t want to look at the body or the sexy Mountie behind her. “Yes…” she said. “Obviously this isn’t a perfect science, but they didn’t come from a bear.” “Right,” Cam said. He didn’t sound surprised. Noire wished they were back on the boat, far away from this insanity. Who was she to investigate a serial killer? She was completely out of her league here. “Some of the other victims had different bites,” he said. “At first, because they’d clearly happened post mortem, we figured they were unrelated. Animals sometimes will find a body before we do.” “They didn’t take any flesh off this body, which they would have if they were feeding.” Or Fawn’s body, she wanted to add, but Cam didn’t know the extent of her involvement in the case and she didn’t think it was prudent to bring that up now. “Exactly.” He seemed pleased that she was following. His hand was still on her neck and it was soothing. He rubbed a thumb back and forth in a small massage. She closed her eyes briefly. But instead of a fantasy of Cam stretched out on her bed, Noire’s imagination provided a glimpse of her sister’s body. She opened her eyes quickly. “They’re deer bites,” Noire blurted it out. Maybe if she said it fast enough, she wouldn’t have to think through the implications. How could she explain to Cam how important that fact was? She couldn’t. It was that simple. Werewolves were pretty common in pop culture these days, but no one believed they were real. And no one would ever believe that Noire’s mousy, quiet, murdered sister had been a were-deer. A shapechanger who took on deer form once a month under the full moon, her human body screaming as her bones broke and muscles tore, reshaping themselves into a light brown deer with a white tail, skittish as the human she’d once been. “See this?” She pointed to the torn flesh. “It’s ripped, not cut. See the jagged edges? They’re not clean, which makes me think deer. They don’t have front teeth. If you’ve ever seen a tree with the bark stripped bare by deer you’ll know what I mean. They grab the bark and rip it—they don’t actually chew it the way a carnivore might.” “Excuse me, did you say deer bites?” The dark-haired female detective was standing over them now. “Looks like it,” Noire confirmed. “This is a fucking island. How did the deer even get here?”
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“I don’t know.” Noire knew it couldn’t have been her sister—these were fresh bites. “Surely one of you must have a theory?” the woman asked. “Deer bites? Really?” Cam spoke up now, pressing his hand into Noire’s back in comfort. “Detective Wahid, could I talk to you for a minute?” He rose and pulled the woman aside. Their voices continued in low murmurs. Noire heard her name and she thought Cam might be defending her, but she forced herself to block it out. She knew how she came across to cops—a woman who lived in the woods and knew more about animals than people. A hick. She’d encountered resistance before, even when investigating accidents. She ran her eyes down the body, searching for more bites. She felt herself growing faint at the rawness of what was left of the woman’s skin. She had to stop thinking of Fawn. Stop thinking, stop feeling, stop reacting before she embarrassed herself or her tears dripped all over the body and fucked up any forensic testing. Her eyes stopped at the woman’s wrist. “Guys?” she called, her voice too loud amid the stilling November breeze. “Uh, detectives? Constable?” Cam turned his head, eyes concerned, and she focused on him. “What is it, Noire?” he asked. “Did one of the techs put this elastic band on her?” “Elastic band?” Cam asked. Detective Wahid waved a dismissive hand. “No, she was wearing that when the patrol officers found her. We thought it might be useful but it’s just regular elastic, nothing special about it.” It was blue. And yes, just an ordinary elastic band. It might be meaningless. Noire pulled down the sleeve of her charcoal sweater to cover the blue elastic band she wore on her own wrist. She shook her head. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” Detective Wahid’s eyes burned into hers. “There’s nothing else you have to tell us other than deer bites?” Her voice was scornful. “No,” Noire said. “I’m sorry.” She heard one of the techs mutter something about “so-called experts”. She felt Cam’s hand on her back and he leaned down, breath warm on her ear. “Ignore them,” he said. “Do you have another hour or two?” “Uh—yes?” “Excellent. Stay silent for a minute and trust me.” “Okay.” Noire was surprised to realize she did trust him. Though he was only a few years older than her, he’d commanded the respect of the crime scene team almost immediately—a far cry from the way Noire had embarrassed herself with the deer bites. She had to trust him. She had no one else left.
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Noire waited out of the way as the crime scene technicians packed up their equipment and prepared the body for transportation to the autopsy site back on the mainland. Her mind kept twisting over and over about the deer bites. It couldn’t be a coincidence for them to show up on the body directly after Fawn’s death. But surely Fawn wasn’t involved in these killings, other than as a victim. And was the blue elastic band simply a coincidence? As the others left, Cam said his goodbyes and made his way back to Noire. “What was that all about?” Noire asked. “Not that I mind getting away from those people, but what are we investigating now that the poor woman’s remains are gone?” Cam reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic baggie. Inside was a pair of black feathers with slight white spotting. They looked wet. “Do you recognize these?” “Where did they come from?” “Beside the body. The team didn’t bag them, must’ve assumed they were from a local bird. But they’re not, are they?” She picked up the evidence bag and peered at the feathers. “No, they’re not. Gavia immer, I’d say.” “Which is?” “Check your wallet for a dollar coin. Provincial bird of Ontario, the Great Northern Loon—but you don’t see them down by Toronto often. A little farther north and they’re extremely common. Noisy little bastards too.” She was startled by the brilliance of his smile as he leaned down to kiss her quickly on the mouth. “Noire Pelletier,” he said, “I am very glad you’re along on this little adventure. Now let’s go find our boat.” “How are we getting back to the mainland? The last ferry left an hour ago.” Cam flashed her that smile again. “Oh I’ve got that under control.”
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Chapter Three The crime scene team had left them a boat by the ferry dock—a small, fast catamaran patrol boat. As Cam piloted the boat, Noire closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, her hair whipping out behind her. She could almost relax now that she was away from the crime scene. She reached back and began to undo her braid, tearing at it, suddenly needing everything about her professional self gone. The water was slightly choppy and she got stuck on a snarl, letting out a frustrated cry. Cam stopped the boat. As it came to a halt he turned away from the wheel, leaving it to drift. Distant lights from the Toronto skyline gave the water an eerie glow; she could almost believe she was dreaming. Cam reached out and lifted her into his lap. Flustered, she didn’t push away as his deft fingers began untangling her hair. His lap was warm—much warmer than even his hands. She couldn’t help remembering how his fingers had felt inside her, and wondering how warm his cock might be. Noire leaned into him, sighing and letting her muscles go slack. “Thank you,” she said. “No worries.” He finished working on her hair and pushed it behind her ears. “You must be exhausted.” When she didn’t reply, he pressed a finger to her lips. “Your hair is beautiful. Like a wild thing.” “Mom used to say that, but without the compliment.” Noire smiled at him. Fawn had always been the one with stick-straight, easy-to-manage hair. Silly how a small word of praise about her appearance pleased her, but it did. She missed Fawn, but she wasn’t Fawn—could never be that naive, and she was strong enough to get through this. And she had an ally now. One who was slowly massaging her thigh with his strong hand. Noire melted into him. Perhaps she could trust him. “Look, this is going to sound crazy, but…” Noire pulled up the sleeve of her sweater, exposing the blue elastic band she wore. Cam’s eyes went wide. “Did you steal this from the crime scene?” “What? No! Of course not. I have one too. I think it’s a clue or something.” A clue. She felt ridiculous. Who am I, Nancy Drew? “An elastic band.” “Look, Cam, just listen for a moment. I’m staying at a hostel near Spadina and Adelaide. I’ve been there before. When you check in, they give you a set of sheets and towels. They’re held together with a blue elastic band—like this one. I always pop mine straight onto my wrist so I won’t lose it.” 18
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“So the only evidence you have that this girl stayed at the hostel is you’re both wearing blue elastic bands on your wrists?” His tone was kind and his face sympathetic, but the content of his words reminded her of Detective Wahid back on the island. Noire worried she was losing control. She was exhausted. She had no idea what she was doing—her job usually involved finding lost hikers and teaching children about conservation, not identifying bite marks left by some fucked-up serial killer. And it had only been four days since her sister was murdered. Her eyes filled with tears and she turned her head, wiping at them frantically. She did not want this man to see her cry. Yes, he turned her on, and he made her feel safe, but he was also her only contact with the case. She couldn’t let Fawn down. The cops had no idea what they were looking for. He cupped her chin in his hand, turning her face back to him, and looked straight into her eyes. “There’s something you’re not telling me. You know something about this case.” What could she say? That her sister was a shapechanger and she thought the killer might be too? That the killer somehow stole her sister’s ability to become a deer and bit the latest victim’s neck to…what exactly? Taste her? Test out his new deer teeth? “They’re the same elastic band,” Noire said. Grasping for an idea, she remembered the way he’d sniffed at the body earlier and blurted out, “Can’t you smell it? Doesn’t it smell the same as the one on the girl?” He cocked his head, never breaking eye contact with her. He raised Noire’s hand to his mouth and quickly sniffed at the elastic band. “Mmm. Your scent is getting in my way. You smell like trees, you know. Like needles under a pine tree, the kind you can crawl beneath, immerse yourself in, and take a long nap.” Noire blushed, she was sure, scarlet red. “Is that good or bad?” “Oh very good, I assure you.” Then his mouth was on hers. She murmured with pleasure and parted her lips to let him in. He paused, leaned back to look at her, cocking his head to the side again like a playful puppy, smiled and nipped at her bottom lip. She pressed forward farther into his lap, trapping him against the leather seat of the catamaran. Noire took charge, nipping back and sucking his tongue into her own mouth. It was a bolder move than she’d normally try, but she felt inspired. It certainly seemed to work on Cam—he kissed her back, hard, and his hands moved to her sweater, lifting it over her head. Underneath she wore only a lighter gray lace camisole and her bra. She shivered in the wind. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “You won’t be cold for long.” He pulled off the camisole as well and began a trail of warm kisses down her neck. Noire arched her back, pressing her pussy firmly into his lap. His cock was hard through his jeans and she shifted, getting him in the right spot to finish what they’d started on the ferry.
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His mouth trailed past her breastbone and he bit her softly between her breasts. Noire reached behind her and unclasped the bra. As the lace fell away, he didn’t wait a second before grasping one of her pebble-hard pink nipples in his mouth, sucking it with a strength that almost hurt. She let out a small whimper and he mouthed “Sorry” against her breast. He leaned back and she clutched at him, pulling him close. “Don’t you dare stop,” she ordered, and his chuckle against her breast tickled. She laughed. He kissed his way back up to her neck, then took her earlobe between his teeth and whispered, “Unexpected, she’s an alpha in the bedroom.” The word “alpha” penetrated her desire-fogged consciousness. What did that remind her of? As he captured her mouth in another kiss she thought back over the past few hours. The way he carried himself, tall and proud, but somehow relaxed, like a lead sled dog with his tail high, everything about him screaming dominance. The playful puppy kisses. The way he’d smelled her wrist and her hair, and how his nostrils had flared at the crime scene—was he sniffing for something then too? The abnormally high body temperature, just like her sister Fawn’s. Her sister, the shapechanger. Noire pulled back from the kiss. “You’re a werewolf,” she said. “What?” His voice. As soon as she heard it she knew she’d mis-stepped. Shock, confusion, a bit of anger. And she knew her guess was right. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “You’re a werewolf. That’s how I know about the hostel. Because my sister is too. Well, no—my sister’s a deer. Or was. And the bites on the victim—they were deer too, remember?” “You’re not making any sense.” She wasn’t; he was telling the truth there. She could see from the puzzlement in his eyes that he had no idea what she was saying, going on about sisters and deer. But she also saw fear. She could almost feel his fear—no one could know what he was. What would they do to him if someone in the RCMP found out he wasn’t human? Fire him? Yes. Noire was sure there weren’t exactly protocols for the hiring and maintaining of Mountie werewolves. Kill him? Maybe. He was definitely a threat, at least one night a month. Lock him away somewhere to study him? She saw an image in her mind—white walls on all sides, a bed with white sheets, a door with a small window, but barred. Some sort of medical examining room. A cage. That would be a fate worse than death for her, and it was the same for him. She felt a fierceness in her heart and knew she would protect him. “I won’t tell anyone,” she said. She let her eyes grow large, like Fawn’s, and showed some of her fear. “Please don’t hurt me.” She knew he wouldn’t, she could sense that right down to
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her soul, but she also knew that placing herself in the role of prey, of victim rather than fellow alpha, would calm him. How did she know for sure that he wouldn’t hurt her? Could she trust herself? “It’s not you, is it?” she asked. The Mountie shook his head in confusion. “What do you mean?” “The bodies. Weres hunting weres. That explains the biting. But they weren’t canid teeth. Bear, and then deer. You weren’t the one who murdered them?” She clearly didn’t believe that, or she wouldn’t be still sitting half-naked on his lap. Hell, she wouldn’t even be in the boat—she’d have jumped out and tried swimming for shore, only to be found, topless and a Popsicle, another mystery for Toronto’s finest to not solve. Get it together, Noire. “Noire, I swear to you I had nothing to do with that woman’s murder. And I would never hurt you.” “I believe you. Or I will, if you tell me the truth.” “There’s no such thing as werewolves, sweetheart.” “Bullshit.” She was angry now. She’d trusted him, and now he was treating her like an idiot. She stood up, grabbed her sweater from the boat’s floor and pulled it on, leaving her bra and camisole behind. “I’ve never met one before, far as I know, but they exist. My sister was a shifter. Fawn Quinlan.” Now the pieces were falling into place; she knew he would recognize that name. “Your sister was the first Toronto victim.” He said it like a statement and not a question. “Yes. Fawn. Her name wasn’t a coincidence.” Noire reached into her pocket and pulled out a photo. She’d been showing it at the hostel, hoping for some news about her sister. Cam squinted at the picture—a young woman, limp brown hair framing her face, her eyes wide, brown and huge, like Bambi brought to life. “She was a deer?” “Yes. No one knew but close family. Then she told some boyfriend in Toronto and suddenly she ends up dead, skinned, with marks on her neck that could only have been made by bear teeth. Then this new victim has more bites—but this time, deer bites. I know it’s connected. The elastic band you dismissed? Fawn stayed at that hostel too. That’s why I’m there.” “You think our killer met your sister there.” “Yes,” Noire said. “Then I guess I’ll have to check it out.” “We will. I’m the one staying there; I’m coming too.” She pressed her lips together and put on her best stubborn alpha face. She’d talked down regular wolves in the wild; surely she could manage a werewolf too.
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“Noire, honey, there’s a serial killer on the loose. It’s one thing for a park warden to consult on a case and identify a few animal bites, but for the sister of a victim to get involved? The only reason they let you was because no one had put two and two together yet, I assume from the different surnames.” “Fawn and I had different fathers. That’s how she got the shifter thing.” “Yes.” He nodded. “It’s a recessive trait. So your mother had it, but your father didn’t. You’re sensitive, though, aren’t you? It’s why you live in the woods and work with animals.” “Mmhmm. And why I can identify werewolves—everything about you screams wolf. I’d have seen it sooner if I wasn’t so distracted.” “Distracted by the case?” He gave her another one of his patented disarming grins. Noire felt it work on her even as she tried to ignore it. “Or by something else?” “If I admit I find you distracting, will you let me in on the case?” She tilted her head and held eye contact, challenging him. “I really can’t—” She uncrossed her arms now and smiled back at him. “What if I make you?” “You can’t tell anyone.” His eyes narrowed and for a moment Noire could sense his emotions in her mind, as if they were distant echoes of her own. He was suspicious and frightened. The image of a cage with silver bars flashed into her mind’s eye, then vanished. He thought she was threatening him with exposure. “You mean that you’re a werewolf?” she asked. “You admit it then.” The suspicion remained on his face, but he nodded. She moved closer to him and let her face soften. “I would never do that to you. But a woman has other ways of being persuasive.” She felt a flicker of surprise—from herself? Or from him?—as she reached down and grasped the button at the top of his pants. She deftly undid it and then lowered the zipper, very slowly. “I’m not afraid of a little wolf,” she said, grinning at him. “Little?” “Oh my…maybe not that little.” She’d reached inside now and pulled his cock free. She held it between her hands, taking in the heat of him. Yes, definitely a werewolf—his body temperature was closer to the 38.5 degrees Celsius of the animals she handled in her professional life, rather than the men she handled in her personal life. She started at the bottom of his shaft and licked upward in one long motion to the head. She let her hair fall around her, shrouding what she was doing so he couldn’t see. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. She knew now that when he did that, he was smelling her. “What do I smell like now?” she asked, somewhat indistinctly around his cock. “You smell—“ He moaned as she nipped at the tip of his cock. “Like a she-wolf in heat, but there’s a very distinct human bouquet, like strawberries. And you are very wet.” 22
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“You can smell that?” She felt herself blushing. “Yes.” She licked the pre-cum from the tip of his cock and then paused. “So,” she said. “What’s your answer?” She took his cock in her mouth. He moaned and buried his hands in her hair, pulling it back from her face so he could watch her. She slid her lips down his cock, enveloping it, her mouth soft and wet. “Mmmm?” she said, mouth completely full. She moved slowly up and down the shaft, grasping the bottom in her fist. She could hear them both breathing, so loud in the quiet of the night. The water was still now. She wondered if the people on shore could hear her breathing, the wet sucking sounds as she moved her mouth, the Mountie’s moans as she worked faster and faster. Then she stopped. And remain stopped. She slowly, very slowly, moved her mouth until his cock was entirely free of her. She blew on it lightly, sending some of the cold November air to chill him. “If you want to finish,” she said in a low, teasing voice, “I suggest you let me on the case.” And then she did the most overt thing she could think of, drawing her tongue slowly along her bottom lip. “I’m very hungry, but I suppose I could find something else to put in my mouth.” “Fine,” he said, snarling a little, and she could see the wolf lurking beneath his calm gray eyes. “You’re my new partner. Try not to get yourself killed.” “Excellent decision.” She lowered her head and took him inside her mouth again, moving slowly this time, teasing him. He leaned back, thrusting his hips and holding her down with a gentle hand in her hair until he lost control and came. She sucked him dry, then swallowed and pulled his face to hers, kissing him hard, the slightly bitter aftertaste of his semen on her tongue. When they were finished there was nothing more to say; they’d now come to an understanding. She zipped up his pants and he started the boat again, heading for shore in companionable silence.
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Chapter Four Entering the hostel was like an assault on Noire’s senses, but she felt a little more equipped to deal with it now that she knew the man standing behind her felt the same way. They had walked to the hostel together after Cam docked the boat. It was past midnight and the waterfront had quieted down, but a thirty-minute walk north to the Entertainment District of downtown Toronto was a different matter—the sidewalks were crowded with shivering twenty-somethings and wannabe-twenty-somethings in club wear, and the ground beneath their precarious heels reverberated with bass from dance clubs on both sides of the street. Noire had been grateful when they’d ducked down a quiet side street. Pale brick houses ran up the street on one side like a line of schoolgirls in uniform. Each large house contained several rooms housing backpackers and other frugal travelers from around the world. Noire herself was staying here in a private room; before her death, Fawn had bunked down with seven other women. She led Cam to the steps of the first house adorned with a large Canadian flag flapping violently in the November wind. He held up a finger and pulled out his cell. He didn’t need to speak for her to know what he was thinking—the Mountie was calling in to the local team, checking with the police for updates. The wind carried his voice away from her, so she waited. She was thankful for Cam’s jacket, which she’d put on again after leaving their boat. Looking at him with muscles tight under his uniform shirt made her shiver, both from the cold and the excitement that this man was actually interested in her—the plain, too-strong park warden. Cam closed the phone and Noire waited expectantly. He shook his head. “They’re still searching the missing persons’ reports for someone who fits the description of our latest victim. They’ve determined a few women our Jane Doe isn’t, but no one she is yet.” “So we’re still nowhere.” Noire felt her hopes sink. “Not necessarily. She’s too well-groomed to be homeless or a prostitute so it likely wasn’t a crime of opportunity. This lends credence to your theory, that she’s a young backpacker staying at a hostel like this one.” “It better be this one. Do you know how many hostels there are in Toronto?” she asked. “No.”
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“A lot.” Her dry retort made Cam smile, and Noire felt a small bubble of happiness in her throat. She’d noticed a change in his smiles—they were no longer the phony bared-teeth grins of a stranger. They were meant for her, and sincere. “We’ve got detectives and uniforms checking out some of the others now,” Cam reassured her. She rubbed a hand over her eyes. This was not the time to be falling for the guy. She inhaled shakily. “Are you okay?” He peered down at her, gray eyes worried. “Yeah. Just thinking crazy thoughts, I guess. I feel like I should be crying, and instead I’m laughing.” She surprised herself with her honesty. “I feel guilty. Like I should miss her more. Except I don’t know how it’s possible to miss someone more than I miss my sister.” “You’ve been through a lot. It’s not abnormal for your emotions to be all mixed up. Try not to judge yourself too harshly, eh? Grief makes people react in strange ways. What is it they say, don’t do anything drastic for six months after a major loss?” “Drastic how?” Noire wondered wryly. “You mean like jumping into bed with the first guy I meet?” “I was thinking more like don’t get any large tattoos.” “Ah. You don’t have to worry about that. I’m terrified of needles.” Where the hell were these confessions coming from? Noire’s mouth was like a runaway motorboat today. His smile and eyes were the softest she’d seen from him yet. He wrapped her in an embrace and they stood there for a moment, on the street outside the hostel, in the middle of the night as the wind blew furiously around them. She inhaled his scent, a musk like the woods and fur and rain. She loved the way he smelled. And the way his body warmed her down to her bones. “Come on now,” he said. “I can’t imagine you’re afraid of anything.” Burying her face in his shoulder, Noire muttered, “I didn’t say I was afraid of needles. I said terrified.” At that, he chuckled. “Come on, let’s get this over with.” She shrugged out of his embrace and attempted to look professional. They climbed the four small steps up to the hostel together. After the cold outside and the constant sound of the whistling wind that had accompanied them since the original ferry ride hours before, the hostel felt warm and welcoming. The foyer opened into a large room with a reception desk on one side manned by a perky brunette, and large wooden tables nearly covered with beer bottles and snacks. The air was filled with the laughter of young women and a few men. Noire felt Cam’s hand on her back. The contact loaned her strength, and she hoped it worked the same way for him. Feeling generous, she turned and said quietly into his ear, “Let me talk to the hostess since I’ve been staying here.”
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“It’s fine, I can manage—” he said, but another round of giggles from the backpackers at the tables drowned out the rest. Noire shrugged and figured he’d appreciate it once she’d identified their victim. She walked up to the reception desk, tossing back her hair, playing it cool. She flashed a broad smile at the young woman at the desk and hoped she wasn’t mimicking Cam—those wolf grins wouldn’t fool anyone. “Hi, I’m Noire, I don’t know if you remember me or have seen me around or what but I checked in a few days ago. I’m in house five, room sixteen. But that doesn’t matter. Except I just mean that I’m staying here—oh ask the Quebecois guy with the long brown hair, kinda scruffy, he checked me in. I’m looking for my friend, she has long blonde hair, about five-foot-eight? Have you seen someone like that around?” The hostess slowly lowered a novel she was reading. “Hi, Noire, I’m Maddie. What’s your friend’s name and I can tell you if I’ve seen her?” Noire’s mind went blank as a freshly Zambonied rink of ice. How was she going to explain she had no idea about her supposed friend’s name? “Uh—I don’t remember. We use nicknames. Uh.” What was a good nickname? “Hers was Blondie. Because she was blonde. Like the singer.” She couldn’t stop her mouth from moving, and her brain didn’t seem connected to the words coming out of it. So Noire was more relieved than embarrassed when Cam leaned over and whispered into her ear, “Blondie sounds more like a horse name.” “Uh—” Noire continued. “What I mean is my other friend, who is this guy right here beside me, is looking for Blon—” “Constable Campbell Dawson of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.” Cam flashed his badge at the hostess. “Maddie, is it?” The girl nodded. Noire tapped him on the shoulder and mouthed “Thank you” before moving aside. Cam’s returning grin sent her stomach into daredevil somersaults. Then he smoothed out his expression and she watched him go to work. Noire didn’t particularly like the way Maddie’s eyelashes fluttered at the Mountie, but he did have the information in less than two minutes. There were only three guests at the hostel this week that matched the description of Jane Doe’s body. Mel Vaughan, an American, and two sisters from Sweden, Hanna and Linn Jonsson. Mel, they discovered, was sitting with the group of women at the tables drinking wine. “I think I’ve met her,” Noire said quietly. “Have you seen the Jonsson sisters here before?” “Not that I know of. She’s the only blonde I remember. I asked her a few things about Fawn but no one was very helpful.” She wrinkled her nose, remembering her failure at trying to start up completely unsubtle conversations. “Mmm. Do you want to try interrogating them first?”
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“I think I’m good. I’ll leave the cop work to you. I swear I’m a lot better with animals—people just confuse me.” “I know what you mean. But not to worry, though I may feel a kinship with animals, half of me is human, and I’ve trained my human side well. I can show you how it’s done.” She couldn’t tell if this sudden arrogance was a part of the joke, or legitimate. She decided to tease him back. “But you’re so obviously law enforcement—perfect posture, perfect amount of muscle, the military-short hair—they’ll figure out what you’re up to right away.” “Exactly,” he said with an enigmatic smile. Cam gestured to his duffle bag. For the first time, Noire noticed an iron-on patch of Dudley Do-Right, the cartoon Mountie hero from The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show, on the pocket of his bag. “I just need a place to change.” Noire pointed him toward the first of the hostel washrooms, glad she could manage something helpful. Though she enjoyed the teasing, she was starting to feel a bit put-out at her lack of contribution to the investigation since they had left the island. She hoped she got to shoot something before all of this was done. Now, why would she think that? Her guns were all the way back in Algonquin. Unless she could borrow Cam’s. She wasn’t really a Smith & Wesson kind of girl, but she really wanted to shoot something right about now. She thought about walking over to the women drinking and sitting down with them. Taking a swig from the wine bottle and starting a conversation. She decided against it. Instead, she studied the group. Eleven in total. Mel was striking, with platinum blonde hair and an inch of purposeful dark roots showing that didn’t distract from a very low-cut V-neck blouse. Many of the other young women ranged from pretty to gorgeous, and the variety of accents floating out from the group (Australian, Quebecois, Japanese, something Eastern European maybe) made Noire feel as if she was watching a casual version of the Miss Universe competition. The two young men at the table definitely seemed to be enjoying themselves. Music played in the background, something Euro and ambient that Noire couldn’t identify. A scruffy guy with more beard than Grizzly Adams made some retort that was clearly hilarious, from the level of laughter at the table—and then the room fell suddenly silent. Noire turned her head to see what they were staring at. It was Cam, now gloriously dressed in full Mountie reds. The red jacket was perfectly un-creased and clung to his body like a second skin. Black pants and boots did not show one speck of dust. Noire had no idea how he kept the uniform in that condition in a duffle bag—magic, maybe. She felt herself adjusting her own posture to mimic his. “Excuse me, everyone.” His voice was deep and powerful, just like what Noire thought of as his normal speaking voice, but yet more somehow. More authoritative. More impressive. More sensual.
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Noire could swear she saw the women at the table actively swoon. She hoped no one fainted. That would be embarrassing. Especially if it were, say, Mel Vaughan—if she slid out of that chair in a faint, it’s possible one of her boobs would pop out of that shirt. “My name is Constable Campbell Dawson.” As he said his name, an auburn-haired woman sighed theatrically and fanned herself. Noire scowled. She relaxed a bit at the sound of her own name as he continued. “My associate, Noire Pelletier, and I are here on a police investigation. We’re looking for information about a young woman who may be staying here.” As Cam described Jane Doe, Noire watched the women at the table. They listened intently, eyes never blinking. When he finished, it was Mel who spoke first. “I think I know who you’re looking for, Constable. One of the Swedish girls—I haven’t seen Linn today but Hanna is in her room. Riko, sweetie, would you mind grabbing her?” A Japanese girl grudgingly stood and left the room without saying a word. Cam moved to the tables and began speaking to the group, but Noire held back. She didn’t want to embarrass herself again, and with the women fixated on the Mountie, she knew her presence wouldn’t help. However, she couldn’t keep herself from eavesdropping. What Cam discovered with his uniform and silver tongue was more than Noire had managed all week. According to Mel and two other girls, an older man (“older” apparently meant mid-thirties, since most of these women were younger than Noire’s twenty-eight years) had been skulking around the Jonsson sisters for a while. He hovered at the edges of hostel-organized events, paying for bottles at the wine and cheese night, and covering rounds of beer at the karaoke outing. “He sang some gawdawful Barenaked Ladies song once,” Mel remembered. “I mean, the song was great—who gets tired of ‘If I Had a Million Dollars’? Nobody. Unless you count my douchebag ex. It was the performance that was terrible. Dude had a three-note range, I swear.” The Australian hostess Maddie had joined the table by then (apparently the reception desk didn’t need manning if there was a hot Mountie in the room) and she perked up at this. “Yeah! He’s the one who signed in as Steve Page. Like the guy from Barenaked Ladies? Kind of an obvious alias, but his ID matched so we’re not gonna question it. Even if he can’t play guitar.” Cam asked Maddie to look up the name in their computer system; Maddie seemed both thrilled to do him the favor and sad to leave his side. Mel jumped back in at that point. “Hell, I almost slept with him myself though. Even if he was old, there was something kind of carnal about him. Beastly, almost. A real air of authority. What can I say, I get a bit slutty for a man of authority.” The girl touched Cam’s arm. If Noire had been a werewolf, she knew, this was where she would have ripped Mel’s throat out. 28
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But then Mel continued, and Noire heard her sister’s name. “He was all over this mousy thing, Fern or Fawn or something. You know the type, quiet, limp brown hair. She never came out drinking, only did the day trips to the art gallery or the ROM or whatever. Boring.” The ROM, or Royal Ontario Museum, was one of Noire’s favorite places in the city. She could stare at dinosaur bones forever, imagining the forests of the prehistoric world. “I didn’t know her or anything. But I think they were both from up north or whatever. Somewhere in Algonquin.” “Algonquin?” Noire said, shocked to hear this. Fawn had never mentioned that the guy she’d been seeing was from back home—had she? And if not, why would she leave that out? Surely she’d have known that Noire would’ve been happier and thought her sister safe with a man from home, rather than the city. Were there other things Fawn had kept from her sister? Had she known this man before moving to Toronto? Could her sister’s murderer be someone Noire herself knew? “Constable Dawson?” It was Maddie, back at the reception computer. “Steve Page checked out this morning.” Noire’s heart sunk and she saw the deepening of lines around Cam’s eyes, and knew he felt the same. They couldn’t lose their chance at this guy. He’d killed at least two women, probably more—Cam had been following a killer from B.C. They were sure that if he moved cities, he would kill again. Maybe another young starry-eyed, naive girl like Noire’s sister. “Is there an address with his reservation?” Cam asked. At the hostess’ affirmative reply, he called it in to his team. Noire wasn’t optimistic—the killer had been smart thus far—but any lead was worth following up on. “Uh, dude?” Grizzly Adams’ more hirsute twin, a young guy with a Canadian accent, caught Cam’s attention. “Steve told me this morning he was going to MEC. He’s the crazy brawny guy, right? If you catch up to him don’t tell him I told you, okay?” Adams was referring to Mountain Equipment Co-op, a large camping and outdoor clothing and supply store located a few blocks from the hostel. “I treat all my sources as confidential,” Cam assured him. “Yeah. So I guess he was planning some big camping trip. Only without a tent. Back up to Lake Opeongo.” “Lake Opeongo?” Noire spoke again. “Cam, that’s right in the middle of Algonquin Park.” “So, we think he came from here, and he’s going back?” Cam asked. “Maybe.” Noire chewed on her bottom lip, trying to think. “Why would he go back? Surely he had his pick of girls here, more so than in the middle of the forest.” “I don’t know.” 29
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By now, the chatter among the women had resumed and Noire almost didn’t notice when Riko returned, a tall blonde woman trailing after her. The blonde had dark circles under her eyes, smudged mascara from crying. Before anyone else could move, Noire was at her side. “Hanna Jonsson?” she asked. The woman nodded. Noire took her hand as Cam asked her about her sister Linn. Hanna revealed that she hadn’t seen her all day; she was getting worried because they were supposed to meet up for a pub crawl hours ago. “May I ask you some questions?” Cam asked. When Hanna nodded again, Cam asked the hostess for a private room and Maddie pointed them toward a staff office. Hanna refused to let go of Noire’s hand, so Noire went with them. Hanna’s fingernails were digging into her palm but she tried not to show any sign of physical pain. Once they were seated, Hanna’s silence broke and she rambled on, clutching at Noire’s hand. She had a slight accent, but perfect English otherwise. “I’m so scared. I told Linn not to sleep with that guy Page. You know sometimes you can just sense evil? That was him. I guess he was handsome—Page was made of muscle—but there was something in his beady black eyes that just gave me the creeps. Not to mention how fast he moved on to Linn after his last girlfriend left.” Noire wanted to ask—did she mean Fawn? But instead she wrapped an arm around Hanna’s back and held her close, letting Cam continue with the questioning. “Can you tell me about his last girlfriend, Hanna?” he asked. “Fawn. She was sweet. Way too young for him. Like Linn. I guess he has a type. But Fawn was all doe-eyed and, like, sixteen shades of brown. Linn’s like me—just like me.” Hanna was a blue-eyed blonde, at least five inches taller than Fawn. “I guess it’s just young that they had in common. I dunno. And that sort of wistfulness. Do you know? Girls who just drift off and stare at the sky sometimes. That was Linn.” “Fawn was the same,” Noire said quietly. Hanna’s frightened blue eyes focused on hers. “You knew her?” “She was my sister,” Noire confirmed. “Page claimed she broke his heart. She just left—didn’t check out or anything. Apparently she even stole a bunch of his money. But if he was so sad, why did he move in on my sister a few days later? It was like Fawn was just—poof—gone, and now he was totally focused on Linn. Like, stalking her. We’d find him outside of our room sometimes. Sniffing. I swear I saw him sniff the door once. I made Linn lock up her suitcase every morning, just in case he came back while we were gone. I definitely got the impression he’s a panty-sniffer of the first degree. Gross.” As she talked, tears formed in Hanna’s eyes. Noire wiped them off with the sleeve of her charcoal sweater and held the woman closer. Her mental image of Page grew clearer. She knew Fawn would never have stolen any money, and she knew that her sister was falling for the man and would not have left him without saying goodbye. It was likely a story concocted so that Page (whatever his real name was) could use pity to worm his way closer to Linn Jonsson. There was no doubt in Noire’s mind that Page 30
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was the killer. But how would they find him? And when they did, how would they prove it? Cam was writing in a notepad he must have produced from that bottomless duffle bag. “Thank you, Hanna. This has been very helpful. Can you give me a description of what your sister was wearing when you last saw her?” Hanna’s eyes went wide. “Did you find her?” Cam gave her a small, pity-filled smile, but did not speak. “She borrowed my shirt this morning—pink, cotton, long-sleeved. Jeans I guess. Cute black boots with a heel for the snow. And this, of course.” Hanna reached beneath her own green shirt and pulled out a pendant. It took Noire’s breath away—it was absolutely beautiful, a small dolphin carved out of a bit of turquoise, hanging on a silver chain. It matched Hanna’s eyes perfectly. “My sister had one just like this,” Hanna explained. Noire couldn’t take her eyes off the pendant. The dolphin’s grace was captured perfectly; she could easily imagine him sliding over the waves, jumping high as if he could reach the clouds. “Do you live by the sea?” Cam asked. “Back home?” “Yes.” For a moment, Hanna’s cloudy, tear-filled eyes seemed to grow a little brighter. “We do. Did. I just want to go home. I miss the smell of the sea like you wouldn’t believe. This wasn’t my idea. I didn’t even want to come here, and now— Linn’s dead, isn’t she?” “We don’t know that,” the Mountie said. “But I’m very sorry to say we do have a Jane Doe that matches your sister’s description.” Hanna began to shake under Noire’s arm. All Noire could think was, Thank God, he didn’t mention the state of the body. There’s no reason she needs to know her sister was likely skinned alive. Just like mine. “Now, do you have any other family or close friends in town who know Linn well?” Cam continued. The blonde shook her head. “In that case I’m going to have to ask for your help. We need someone to take a look at our Jane Doe. Make an identification.” Hanna nodded, and Cam thanked her. He pulled out his phone again and made a short call to the station, asking for a detective to come pick Hanna up at the hostel. When he was done, he asked one final question. “You mention it was Linn’s idea to travel to Canada. Why did your sister choose Toronto in particular?” Hanna explained that Linn had been posting online, at some message board she couldn’t remember, for a few months now. She’d been so excited one morning, talking about Canada—the girls had never flown overseas before. Hanna didn’t know if Linn had been speaking to Page in particular, but she remembered that she got the 31
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recommendation for the hostel from someone online. Perhaps it was him. It hadn’t taken much to convince Hanna to take the trip as well. The sisters were nearly inseparable, and Linn’s enthusiasm was contagious. Cam asked if Hanna had friends she could wait with until the detectives came to pick her up, and the Swedish woman returned to her group, dissolving into tears and throwing herself onto Mel’s lap. When Noire let the girl go, her arms felt empty. She thought about how less than a week ago, Fawn’s own voice had filled the dining area with laughter. She wondered what Fawn had told these girls that she hadn’t told Noire. It was only when Cam placed a steadying hand on her shoulder and said, “You can’t stay here,” that Noire was able to rise, gather her pack from her room and leave the hostel.
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Chapter Five When they left the hostel, Cam used his cell to call a cab, then the police department. He gave a detective Linn’s username and email address, which Hanna had jotted on the corner of a newspaper. Perhaps someone would be able to track down the message board where she’d been posting online. As they waited for the taxi, Cam turned to Noire and clasped her in a tight embrace. She hugged him back, shivering a little. He pulled a sweater out of his duffle bag and passed it to her. She had her own pack with her and could have worn one of her own, but was touched by his concern. She pulled the sweater over his head, inhaling the scent of it. “Thanks,” she said. As he zipped up his duffle, she spotted a silver glint in the dim hostel porch lighting. Handcuffs. “Kinky,” Noire observed. She could have sworn the Mountie blushed as he pushed them back in. “Those are for criminals, but maybe we can try them out. How are you doing?” he asked. “That’s a dumb question, I’m sorry.” “I’m holding up,” she said. He cupped her chin in one strong hand and studied her eyes. “Really, I’m not going to have a breakdown. I promise.” When he tried to lean in to kiss her, Noire pulled back self-consciously. “I said I’m fine—really.” She saw hurt and confusion in his eyes. She inhaled deeply. She was being an idiot. Yes, she was upset about Fawn, so why couldn’t she just let it out and have a good cry while this gorgeous man held her? Because she couldn’t stop picturing his red-uniformed arm wrapped around Hanna or Mel or one of the other gorgeous young women inside. In a sudden movement that surprised her, Noire leaned forward and captured Cam’s mouth with hers. She sucked at his bottom lip, claiming him for her own, savoring the taste of him, as his hand worked its way up her cheek and wrestled with her hair. His mouth opened and she leaned in, but he pulled back before she could touch his tongue with hers. She let out a small sigh of disappointment. “While I think we should definitely continue this back at my hotel,” Cam said, “the cab will be here any minute.” “Right,” Noire said, though she didn’t understand what that had to do with anything. She wanted to taste him again. Now. “I have to ask you more about your sister. This is still an investigation.” “Yes.” “I’m sorry. But do you know where she learned about the hostel? Was it from someone online, like with Linn and Hanna?”
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“I don’t know.” She turned away from him. She felt like an idiot. Here he was trying to catch her sister’s murderer before he could kill again, and Noire was behaving like a jealous, lovesick schoolgirl. And she didn’t want to admit it, but she knew very little of Fawn’s life over the past few years. “I don’t know that much about the guy, either—she told me he was older, and that she thought he was her soul mate. He understood how hard it was for her to balance her dreams as an actress with how much she missed her home and the forest. I guess my own perspective was that if she missed home so much, why not just come home?” She chewed on her bottom lip, still tasting Cam. “The last time we spoke, it was a fight.” “I’m sorry.” Cam clasped one of her hands tightly and waited for her to continue. “We argued about it. She’d say, ‘Oh Noire, it’s so hard being here, I need you to visit—I miss home so much!’ She loved the city and felt she had to be there for her acting career, but she would also phone me sometimes with panic attacks because she felt boxed in, missed nature. I guess I told her kind of bluntly, if you miss home, Fawn, then come home.” She closed her eyes but held Cam’s hand between both of hers, drawing his warmth in as if it could reach down to her soul and thaw her out. “That was almost three months ago, and the last time she phoned me with a panic attack. I thought maybe it meant she was getting better—getting used to the city, not having the attacks anymore. I asked her about it once. She told me that since I was so judgmental, she wasn’t going to burden me with them. She said that she’d met someone online, and finally someone else understood what it was like being split between two worlds, the animal world and the human world.” “You mean—she told him her secret?” Cam looked shocked. “At the time I thought she was being dramatic. But maybe that was it.” Noire felt like an idiot for not seeing it sooner. “Do you think my sister meant that the guy was a shifter too?” “It’s possible.” Cam’s cell rang. It played an excerpt from the theme song to the show Due South, and Noire rolled her eyes. Secretly, though, she kind of loved it. Combined with the Dudley Do-Right patch on his bag, she realized that stalwart Mountie Cam Dawson was a bit of a dork. When he was finished with the call, Cam explained that the detectives had found activity from Linn’s username on a message board for a popular author’s books. The books include vampires and shapechangers, and fans often spoke as if they were the mythical creatures themselves. Another user, BearTooth99, had frequently posted in response to Linn. “Subtle name. What did he post?” Noire asked. “Apparently, rather unsubtle suggestions that Canada, with all its wilderness, is rife with shapechangers. He pretty much guaranteed Linn the chance to meet with some if she visited. Then he recommends the hostel by name.” “You think Linn was a shifter too? Like my sister?” 34
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“It makes sense. Perhaps even Hanna was. They share DNA, and those necklaces.” “Dolphins. I’ve heard of selkies—seal shapeshifters—so I guess it’s not impossible. Who knows what’s out there?” Noire mused. “But wait—if Linn was a dolphin, what about those feathers at the crime scene?” “Just what I was wondering. Is there a chance we were mistaken, and they’re native?” Cam asked. “There’s always a chance. But loons this far south, this close to the city? It’s doubtful.” The gears in her mind churned and Noire tried to piece it together. A killer that targeted shifters, to the point where he tried to recruit them from other countries. Bite marks from different animals on each body. A bear, a deer. Feathers from a loon near Linn’s body. Each animal, Noire realized, was native to Algonquin Provincial Park, which they now had reason to suspect the killer, alias Steven Page, also hailed from. Darkness pressed at her mind. Something she’d heard before, perhaps. Something she didn’t want to remember. The cab pulled up then and Noire and Cam got into the backseat, tossing Noire’s pack and Cam’s duffle into the trunk. Cam gave the driver the name of his hotel—a large, rather swanky place down at the waterfront. Clearly, the RCMP had more money than Noire on her own. She wasn’t sorry to leave the hostel. The streets were deserted now and it was almost three a.m. As they drove, Noire remained silent, thinking to herself. She broke the silence briefly to borrow Cam’s cell phone (they rarely worked up north, so she hadn’t bothered to carry one of her own) and started running Internet searches from half-remembered thoughts. As they drove, she continued her Internet sleuthing. Noire discovered that back in Algonquin Provincial Park and the surrounding areas, at least seven women had gone missing over the past ten years, supposedly victims of black bear attacks. Bear—like the bites found on the first body. She did quick background checks and felt pretty confident that none of the women had been shifters. Several were completely inexperienced tourists, which was why their deaths hadn’t been investigated thoroughly. They had been on canoeing or camping expeditions for the first time, and were extremely inexperienced. All were tourists; none were from anywhere near where they were killed. Most interestingly, the deaths had primarily happened in different sections of the park, spread out over the years, so that no one warden would have investigated the same potential murder. “That explains why they were so easily picked off from their groups—most of the women, it seems, wandered off alone. And more than the past ten years—some of these deaths go back over a hundred years.” She shared this information with Cam as she worked and he grew more enthralled, leaning up against her shoulder, watching the cell phone in front of them. From time to time he dropped small kisses down her neck. She found them horribly distracting but in no way wanted to ask him to stop. They pulled up at the hotel. It was beautiful—all fancy chandeliers, shades of gold, doormen in uniforms nearly as red as Cam’s waiting at the front. She wanted to gawk, 35
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but turned her eyes back to the cell’s display and continued working. The next time she looked up, they had reached the elevator. Cam pressed the button for floor fourteen and it lit up—gold again. The elevator was covered in mirrors and Noire spared herself a glance—wild, near-black hair escaping in every possible direction, a pale face with large eyes, doe-like, resembling her sister, but darker. A stark contrast to the man beside her in the pristine uniform. She went back to the phone and clicked on a newspaper article. “Look,” she said excitedly. “This one here. Bree McGregor. I knew this woman— she was a were-hawk.” “What?” Cam said, taking the phone from her. “She was a hawk. I swear, I’ve seen her shift. She was one of the women who took Fawn under her wing. Uh. So to speak. Her family said she’d been killed in an accident, but they never mentioned a bear. According to this, she twisted her ankle, couldn’t make it back, and they found her at the bottom of a cliff. But I knew her—Bree—she was smarter than that. She’d lived in the forest all her life. It says here they know she fell off the cliff because her back was all scraped up, to the point that her shirt had been torn away and her skin was missing. Scraped off by the cliff wall.” “Or by our killer,” Cam said. “Yes. You think she was the first shifter he killed?” “How old was she?” “Seventy-five. At least. I remember her, just barely, from Fawn’s childhood. She knew Fawn’s dad, I guess? He was the shifter; my mom just carried the recessive gene. But I remember the hawk lady, Bree. She was wrinkled like an apple doll’s face. And she had the most beautiful deerskin moccasins. Fawn was afraid of them until Bree let her touch them. And then she never left her side, the entire day. I guess that was the last time we saw her.” “So he started with random hikers,” Cam observed, “and then he moved on to shifters—but vulnerable ones, the elderly, then young women who desperately wanted to find someone who understood.” Noire was impressed by his insight even as she wanted to argue. Couldn’t Fawn have talked to Noire? Didn’t she understand? She supposed she didn’t. She could never be just like her sister, because she could never be a shifter. You had to be born with it. Born with the shifter gene from both parents, and then at puberty, your animal chose you. One animal—that was it, for life. Wasn’t it? That darkness in her mind crept forward again. This time she let it. She embraced it. “Skinwalkers,” Noire breathed. The elevator doors opened. “They don’t exist.” Cam shook his head. He stalked through the doors, turning left down a narrow hallway. Noire had to jump-skip to keep up, his legs were so long. It wasn’t something she was used to. 36
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“What if they did?” she asked. Noire had heard of the legends of Native men who were born shifters—and those who weren’t. Those who weren’t often grew jealous and looked for magical ways to increase their own power. Out of myth then came the skinwalkers. These were men who stole shifters’ pelts. Wearing the shifter’s skin and performing the right ritual could turn an ordinary human into a coyote, a hawk, a deer—or whatever he wanted, providing he had the right pelt. “These bear attacks continued for years, then the sudden switch.” Cam had taken the phone from her now and was searching related news articles, his head buried in the phone as he strode through the hotel hallway. “So he was a bear at the start, and got greedy. Wanted more skins.” “Maybe.” “He killed my sister for her pelt. She was a deer—that’s not exactly powerful. Why kill Fawn?” “I don’t know. I’ve heard stories that in skinning the animal, the skinwalker absorbs its life force. You said the original attacks went back decades.” “You think it’s immortality.” “Or close to it. Kill enough animals, take their life force, and add it to your own. Take their pelts too, and if you get enough, you can become anything, anywhere. It’s the perfect way to hide. Forever.” “Immortality.” Noire stopped and leaned back against the wall, waiting for Cam to join her. Her shoes sunk into the plush maroon carpeting. “Let me see.” She took the phone back. “These attacks were pretty spread out,” she said. “They’ve occurred in every section of the park so far,” Cam noticed, “except one.” “There are over three thousand square kilometers of forest in Algonquin. That’s an insane amount of territory to cover. What do you think that means?” “I don’t know. If he killed where he lived, it means he moved a lot. But there’s only one section with no deaths.” “So either the murders were missed by the authorities or…” Noire grew excited. She didn’t want to finish the thought in case she was wrong. Cam finished it for her, “Or that’s where he lives. Where he stays in between killings. We think he’s a black bear, right? So—” “So that’s his den. And with all that gear he was buying today, maybe he’s going back. We have to track him.” “We?” “Yes. You and me.” Her enthusiasm faltered. “I’m a part of this too now.” His look was sympathetic but final. “You’re not even a cop, Noire. You’ve contributed an amazing amount to this investigation so far, but it’s not yours to finish.” “It’s my sister lying in that drawer in the morgue.”
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“I know. And I’m sorry. But that’s why you can’t be a part of this. You’re not trained for this, you’re emotionally involved. This isn’t the place for this discussion. It’s the middle of the night, the last thing we need is security called on us. Let’s go back to my room, get some sleep, you’ll see how it makes sense in the morning.” “I’m not leaving you. I’m finding my sister’s murderer.” “I know you want to help. But this is what I’m trained for—both as a cop and as a werewolf. My pack back home in Prince George will fly out at a moment’s notice. I can call them right now, and they’ll be here.” “Right. How often are direct flights from Prince George to Algonquin?” Noire was proud of herself; she was arguing rationally now. She just had to keep him distracted with intellectual arguments while she figured something out. “They can fly down to Vancouver, and then across to Toronto and up from there. It will only take a few days.” “A few days we don’t have, Cam!” She was raising her voice again. He was right, any minute now someone was going to hear them and report them. She glanced around the hall, trying to orient herself. Everything looked the same, a mix of maroon carpet and beige walls. “What room are we?” “Fourteen-oh-six,” he said, pulling the room key from his duffle bag. Noire squinted at the doors nearby. Fourteen-thirty-seven, fourteen-thirty-nine. They must have turned completely the wrong way. The next door was a stairwell. “Fuck it,” she said. “We need to finish this now.” She sprinted to the door, not giving him a chance to do anything but follow. When they were both inside, she let the door close behind them. The loud thunk echoed on all sides. Noire turned to face him. “Look, if this creature is a bear—it’s November. I think I know why he’s going home. He’s getting ready to hibernate. If Page has a den and holes up in it for the winter, his tracks will be completely covered over the winter. We have no way of finding him again, unless he starts killing again. And then we’ll be way behind.” “Noire—” “And just how are you supposed to find him without me? I know the forests up there like the back of my hand. How much time have you spent in Ontario?” “Not a lot,” he admitted. “Exactly. What are you going to do, look it up on Google Maps? Doesn’t work like that in the park.” She knew that he realized this, but she thrust the phone at him on purpose, taking his duffle bag from the crook of his elbow as he struggled to hold them both. He staggered and caught himself on the stair railing, then leaned back against it, taking a deep breath. “It’s too dangerous.” “I can handle myself. I’m a crack shot, you know. I can trap. I can track. I can run. I can fight.” As she spoke, she unzipped his duffle. Aha—there they were! She pulled out
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the handcuffs, holding them behind her back. “I can do anything you need.” She made her voice low and sultry. It wasn’t a tone she was accustomed to using, so she hoped it worked. By the way his eyelids closed and he tilted his mouth toward hers, she knew it had. And with that, she slipped one cuff around his wrist and slid the other around the stair railing and to his other arm, effectively trapping him. “Shit,” he said. He looked so confused and flustered that Noire laughed. He mockstruggled against the cuffs. “How did you do that?” She leaned in, pressing into him with her breasts. “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe you were distracted.” She pushed her hips against his and felt his erection through her jeans. Perfect. She leaned in for a long, chaste kiss, no tongue, just pressing her lips against his. His mouth opened and he tried to return the kiss. Noire suddenly pulled away. “You’ll need a guide,” she said, keeping her voice quiet and seductive. She undid the top button on the sweater she wore, keeping her eyes on his. His own eyes drifted south to her neckline. She undid another button. “Admit it,” she said. “You can’t find the den on your own.” The sweater was nearly open now. She pulled the rest over her head, sliding her hands down her own nearly naked torso, across her flat stomach. His breathing was shallow and fast, and his eyes flickered from one piece of skin to the next, taking her all in. Noire let her muscles flex as she removed the sweater, showing him her strength. She was not a victim—she was not Fawn. She would survive, and he needed her. Her bra was purple, a touch of femininity that Fawn had talked her into. Plain cotton, as she’d regretted earlier, but at least the panties matched. She undid the top button of her jeans, moaning slightly in anticipation, letting herself get into the act. She unzipped as slowly as she could, watching his eyes follow her movements, and she let her own gaze drift down to his crotch. His cock pressed against his black uniform pants, straining to escape. She felt powerful and strong, knowing it was her body turning him on. She let the jeans drop to the ground, then stood there for a moment in her bra and panties. “Now,” Noire said, letting a hand rise to her breast, dipping inside her bra cup and playing with her own nipple. It was hard; she was just as turned on as he. Her other hand slid inside her lavender panties, slipping against the soft fabric. She parted her legs and felt the wetness between them. “If you’d like to see more of me, it’s very simple.” “Is it?” he choked out. “I think I’d like that.” “Sure,” she said. She slid her middle finger inside her cunt, groaning with pleasure. From the way Cam was straining at the handcuffs, and the way his glorious cock was straining at his pants, she thought they might be running out of time. “Just agree to let me be your guide.” “My guide to pleasure?” 39
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“That too. But you know what I mean.” She removed her hand from between her legs and walked forward. She held her fingers up to his mouth. He sucked her middle finger between his lips, licking her pussy juices from her hand. His tongue was warm and rough, like his voice. “All you have to do,” she said, “is tell me I can go with you to find Steven Page.” She pulled her finger out of his mouth. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he muttered. “This isn’t going to be fun. We’re going up against a known killer who can possibly change into any predator on Earth.” “We?” Noire asked. “I just think you’re letting your thirst for vengeance blind you to your own safety.” “I’m not.” “Can you promise me that? You won’t go off half-cocked on some revenge quest? You’ll help me find Page, but you’ll let me take him down?” It was better than Noire had hoped for. “I promise,” she said. Her own breaths were coming faster now. She wanted him more than she knew how to handle. “Then you can come with me.” “So that’s settled. Let me uncuff you so we can finish our previous, mmm, discussion.” She reached down to do just that, when suddenly the Earth spun and she found herself with her back pressed flat against the wall. Campbell stood in front of her, one hand free and holding her shoulder to the wall, the other still cuffed to the stair railing. His free wrist had the remaining cuff wrapped around it, with the chain in between broken. It had happened faster than her ears could register the sound of metal snapping. Noire knew she should be afraid, and her body did shiver—but it was arousal more than fear. Men didn’t normally intimidate her. She could haul a large buck back from a hunt as well as any man; she was not a small woman. But it seemed Cam had a strength that completely outmatched hers. Unfortunately he didn’t look as turned on as she felt. His nostrils flared and his lips were drawn back. He spoke from between bared teeth, “This creature is dangerous. He’s not human. Do you understand that?” “I’m not an idiot. He killed my sister. Do you understand that I saw her in the morgue, her body covered by a sheet? They didn’t show me her toe-tag but I’m sure there was one. I get that he’s dangerous. I want to make sure he doesn’t do this to another vulnerable young woman.” “And I want to make sure he doesn’t do it to you.” “Maybe I’m not a cop or a werewolf, but I’m not helpless, Cam. I’ve taken down a black bear at full strength with a shotgun. I’ve rescued a six-year-old boy from white water in the middle of a thunderstorm. I’ve given talks about conservation to rooms full of hundreds of teenagers. I do not intimidate or impress easily, Constable Dawson.” “I’m glad to hear it.”
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“Would you like me to let you out of the second cuff now, or do you have another demonstration you’d like to make?” “So I did impress you?” he asked. His smile echoed that of a young pup with a new bone. “It will take more than a little bit of physical strength to impress me. A quick snap of the cuffs is one thing, but do you have endurance?” The double entendre was intentional. Noire realized she liked flirting with him this way—with absolutely no subtlety. It was refreshing and, well, easy. She leaned down to uncuff Cam herself. Before she could, he broke out of the final cuff himself. His strong arms picked her up and carried her from the stairwell, down the hallway across thick carpet, moving confidently now. Apparently he’d known their whereabouts all along. Noire hung in the air, blood rushing to her head and making her giddy. Anyone could open their door at any moment and catch them, Noire wearing only that matching set of lingerie. She made a mental note to go back to the stairwell for her clothing later. He balanced her on one shoulder as he slid a card into the door lock, and when they entered the room, he placed her carefully on the bed, leaning over her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth and kissing her long, deep and hard. Noire kissing him back, her lips bruising. Her tongue explored every part of his mouth that she could find, wanting to possess all of him. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his red uniform and he had to help her remove it. The skin beneath was just as hot as the rest of him. His muscles rippled beneath her fingers, beneath his mouth. All she could hear was their breathing as she removed his pants. His body pressed down on her, heavy, hard and hot. Every inch of her skin was afire with his heat. Strong hands combed through her hair, undoing her braid, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He was solid and firm on top of her. He barely fit on the bed, he was so long. His fingers slid across her skin, skimming the surface, leaving her wanting more. She watched his gray eyes drift downward, toward her bra again. The size and the strength of him was more a turn-on than any man she’d met before. And the way he had looked at her in the stairwell—she felt delicate and feminine for the first time since she’d grown a foot during puberty. When he tugged her panties off, finally, and pressed his cock between her legs, she felt ready to come right then. The head of his cock was velvet-soft against her, such a contrast to the strength in the rest of him. It teased at the opening to her cunt and she grabbed at him, pulling him inside her, fingernails digging into his ass. She shifted her hips, thrusting forward, and yes, there it was—he hit the center of her just so. She kept her hands on his ass, holding him tight for a moment, savoring the complete fullness before they began to move together again. Noire had never been one for the missionary position, preferring the angle she could get from doggie style or the control she felt on top. But there was something about the weight of him pressing her into the bed that hit her in all the right places tonight. The tan skin of his biceps glistened with sweat, and her own dark curls were 41
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plastered to her forehead. She made a cavalier attempt to blow the hair out of her eyes flirtatiously and failed. He chuckled and with a tenderness that shocked her, brushed the hair from her face with his hand before leaning down to place a soft kiss on her lips. Moaning, she opened her mouth and sucked his tongue inside, kissing him hard. He grunted and acquiesced, stroking her tongue with his own. She wanted him inside her in all ways possible—his cock, his tongue, his emotions. She met his eyes with hers and dared him to break contact. The air was heavy with sweat and for a moment Noire could hear everything—her gasping breath as they kissed, the syncopated thumpathump of his heartbeat, the whirring of the hotel furnace, the distant late-night street traffic fourteen stories below. She blinked first. He grinned. He thrust into her again and again, moving agonizingly slowly. She clenched at his cock from inside and watched his eyes, staring at the black pools of his pupils surrounded by clouds before a storm. That’s what his eyes were: tempestuous. Stormy. She knew she was affecting him, but nothing changed in his pace, only his eyes. Stormy, with a kind of sunshine—she could swear his eyes were laughing at her. He knew he was in charge now. She raked her nails from his ass up his back, knowing he’d heal by morning— shifters always healed quickly. He was gentler with her, catching her mouth again in a kiss as he thrust into her one last time, moaning into her mouth as he came. When he pulled out of her, she was still hungry for more. He laid a trail of kisses down her neck, across her breasts, stomach and farther down. When he thrust his tongue deep inside her cunt, it felt warmer even than his cock, and she came right then. He sucked hard between her legs, lapping up every last drop of her pleasure. When her moans subsided, he kissed her once, then cradled her against him. As she drifted off to sleep, Noire began to dream of large men, howling wolves and her sister’s wide eyes. She thought about the promise she’d made to Cam, and then made a new one to herself: If it comes down to my life or catching Fawn’s murderer, I know which one I’m going to pick. I won’t let you down this time, Fawn. Not this time.
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Chapter Six They left early the next morning, heading north in Cam’s jeep rental. A call to Detective Wahid, the woman Noire had met on Ward’s Island, brought news—Steve Page had purchased a sizeable amount of camping supplies the day before, including a new set of hunting knives, fire-starters, water bladders and protein bars. Clearly, he was planning on a long, potentially hard, journey. This gave credence to Noire’s theory that Page was returning to Algonquin Park and his potential den to hibernate for the winter. They drove north, through the skyscrapers of Toronto, continuing past suburbia, farmlands, and then finally at Burleigh Falls the great limestone rocks of the Canadian Shield rose up on either side of Highway 28. Here, the highway had been cut into the stone. Unlike in the city, where the occasional lone tree seemed like an intruder between buildings, now their car was the one that didn’t belong. They were nearly three hours into their journey, almost halfway to the park. Rocks and pines towered over them, and for the first time since last night’s orgasm, Noire began to relax. She saw a similar awareness come into Cam’s posture, and she wondered what it was like in his mind. Did he think of himself as a wolf trapped in a car, yearning to run over the rocky terrain? How did it feel? Noire had always been a little jealous of Fawn’s shifting abilities, though she never could have seen herself as a deer. Too skittish, too passive, too…gentle. Perhaps Noire was more of a wolf. At one point, to pass the time, they turned on the radio and sang along to the Tragically Hip. Later, they shared stories. As he drove, Cam told her of growing up as a young pup among a large family of cousins in the forests in British Columbia, just north of Prince George where he worked now. “We would run for days sometimes,” he said. “Even before I reached puberty and could turn into a wolf. We’d just run and run, some in wolf form, the rest of us human, our feet tough as moccasins with calluses.” As he spoke, he kept one hand on her thigh. She was preternaturally aware of the warmth of him, of his presence beside her in the car. She napped and when she awoke, his hand was still on there. She drifted in and out of sleep for the rest of the ride, comforted by his presence beside her. I could definitely get used to this, she thought. The life of a park warden was fairly solitary, and with Fawn now dead, she had no family left. Noire wanted a large family and had always looked forward to raising her children the way she had been raised—to know the woods inside out, and to be capable and able to survive anything, the way she was. She’d almost given up on the idea, as there weren’t many men who shared her lifestyle. She shook the daydreams from her mind as they arrived at the beginning of Algonquin Provincial Park. As Cam continued to drive down a winding path into the 43
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park, Noire pressed her face against the passenger window, thrilled to be home. Her eyes took in the towering pines and the few remaining spots of orange and yellow as the deciduous trees lost the last of their leaves. She rolled down the car window and inhaled the scent of home—a heady combination of pine, moss and fresh air. They drove past a sign that noted a popular deer crossing, warning motorists to slow and keep an eye out for wild animals on the road. She couldn’t stop smiling. God, she loved this place. Noire tossed a quick glance at Cam and saw he shared her pleasure in finally arriving at the wilderness. They made eye contact and grinned at each other before he turned back to the wheel. Cam and Noire stopped at Noire’s cabin for supplies, knowing they might have to hike the forest interior for several days. It was a small wooden building that had running water and electricity, but that was the end of the creature comforts provided. The main room was decorated much like a hunting cabin, all in shades of wood brown and moss green, but without any trophies hanging on the wall. While Noire did hunt, stuffed moose and deer heads had always bothered Fawn, so she kept no reminders of what she’d killed—simply ate the meat, and shared the hide with local Natives who turned them into moccasins or clothing for themselves, or to sell to tourists. At this southern edge of the park, there were quite a few small gift shops run by locals. Noire and Cam each took a shower, knowing this might be their last chance for hot water. Noire re-loaded her pack with supplies, including maps, a tent and a large amount of ammunition. She tossed two shotguns in the trunk of the rental car; they would be able to drive a bit farther before heading out on foot or canoe. She knew Cam’s plan was to fight their enemy as a wolf, though he hadn’t said as much. They were on the same page as far as Page’s fate—they wanted him dead, not in jail. For Cam, the issue was exposure—the fewer people who knew about shapeshifters, the better. And if they were right about the possibility of their enemy being a skinwalker, it was possible a prison wouldn’t hold him. A smart skinwalker would find a way to smuggle in the pelt of a small animal like a squirrel or bird, and simply slip out of the cell. Noire didn’t care about practicalities—as long as he was dead at the end of their trip, she would be happy. She agreed that the best way to do it was to have Cam fight him. A wolf kill was much less traceable than a bullet, and they wouldn’t have to explain anything to local authorities or the detective team from Toronto. Still, it would be foolish not to pack her own weapons, since they didn’t know which pelts Page had obtained or how dangerous they might be. She added a knife to her belt as well. Better safe than sorry. Noire felt more comfortable now in hiking gear and knowing her shotgun was nearby. This was the one place in the world where her body didn’t feel awkward or too strong. The beautiful forests of Algonquin were her territory, and she was an Amazon. Her warrior woman self simply carried a gun rather than a bow and arrow. Modern times, after all.
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They stopped at a nearby Tim Horton’s coffee shop after that, hoping to catch the local gossip. Cam ordered an apple fritter and a black coffee, and Noire took some chamomile tea, hoping to calm her nerves. She recognized Patrick McLennan, an older gentleman who was the father of one of the other park wardens, seated at a table with two of his friends. Pat was in his midseventies and could always be counted on to share the local gossip. She grabbed Cam’s arm and pulled him over to their table. “Well, if it isn’t Noire Pelletier! Haven’t seen you in a few weeks!” The older man pulled Noire into a bear hug. She thrust her tea at Cam so it wouldn’t spill as each of the men hugged her in turn. They all sat down at one of the large plastic tables. “Hey, Pat, great to see you but we can’t stay long. This is my friend and colleague, RCMP Constable Campbell Dawson.” The men greeted Cam with firm handshakes, pleased to see a Mountie among them. Noire knew Cam’s presence would supply their gossip for the next week or two, so she let them enjoy it. “Pleasure to meet you all, gentlemen,” Cam said, nodding to Noire to take the lead. She inhaled a deep breath, hoping that she wouldn’t fuck it up again like she had at the hostel. “Pat, Duncan, Liam, you all heard about my sister Fawn.” As she spoke, the men took turns patting her arm in sympathy. “We’ve been looking into her death in Toronto. We think the man who killed her might be coming back this way. Have you heard of anything strange happening here while I was away? We might be looking for animalrelated kills or attacks in particular.” “You mean you haven’t heard then, lass?” Liam turned up his slight Irish accent, the way he always did when he meant for something to sound extremely serious. It had the opposite effect. “Heard what, Li?” Noire asked. “Jedd Tisdale was killed early this morning before dawn.” Liam crossed himself and the other men murmured to themselves. “Official word is a bear did it, but they found him naked, clothes back near his house.” Noire’s heart sank. Jedd Tisdale had been another park warden. She’d known Jedd well—so well that she knew he was a shifter himself, a moose. After they got the location of the potential crime scene and determined that the men had no more information on the death, Noire and Cam went back to the car. They turned northwest, taking a detour from their original plan. The location of Jedd’s death would be a fresh trail. Perhaps they could track Page to his den and surprise him there. As they headed into backcountry, they stopped at a rental shop and tied a canoe to the car—Noire figured they had no idea where they might end up after the crime scene. “You say he was a big guy, strong?” Cam asked as he drove.
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“Yeah. Jedd was at least as big as you. Tough as nails. The only reason he’d be caught without his gun is if he was out shifting last night.” “So Page is getting more confident then. He’s moved on from those he identifies as helpless, easily influenced young women. He’s not just after prey animals anymore—a moose can really fight back. Are you sure you don’t want to sit this one out, Noire? Let me handle it?” “If he’s stronger, that’s the dumbest thing we could do. One wolf against one giant bear—or worse, whatever else he has killed? You need me.” Cam snorted at that, but looked pleased at her concern. Noire ran a finger down his cheek and against his lips; he sucked it inside and nipped softly at it. She sighed and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Maybe he’ll get cocky enough to mess up?” she offered. “Maybe,” Cam said. “But I wouldn’t count on it.” When they arrived at the clearing where Jedd had been killed, all signs of the body had been erased. Noire wondered if she would get back in time for the funeral, and if she’d get to see her friend again before he was put to rest. Jedd’s death seemed completely surreal. She’d protected these woods for so many years and couldn’t imagine a killer stalking her friends through the trees. There were all kinds of dangers in the park for the untrained outdoorsman—wild animals, poisonous mushrooms, storms of lightning or ice, unpredictable terrain. But in general, other people weren’t one of them. There was something different, more nightmarish, about the killer coming into her home. Coming after people she knew, where they were supposed to be safe. Fawn had chosen to go to Toronto, and knew she wouldn’t be protected in the city. She’d considered the risk worth it. But for a killer to take her sister’s life, and also destroy the safety of Noire’s home? She felt violated in every way imaginable. They had to stop him. No matter what. They walked the clearing in silence. Noire had called in to the local police and received more information—Jedd, like Fawn and Linn, had all the skin removed from his back. While they couldn’t see any remaining traces, Cam picked up the scent of a black bear and human blood leading farther northwest. Noire pulled out a map and plotted the best course. They would camp nearby overnight, then start off by canoe in the morning. Based on the way the bear was headed, she expected his den would be slightly west of Lake Opeongo. They set up a small, orange two-person tent, and Noire set up tinder, kindling and logs in a tepee pattern to start a fire. They had several days’ worth of freeze-dried rations for the trip. Before she could open one of the packs of rations, Cam stopped her. “Do you trust me?” he asked.
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“Yes,” Noire said. She didn’t even have to think about it. Though she’d only known the man a scant two days, she trusted him completely. At times, she could tell what he was thinking. Right now, by the tightness in the skin around his full lips, she knew he was worried. “What is it?” “I was just thinking—I could use a run in wolf form before we get some sleep. I’m all jittery from the city. Sometimes my wolf goes a little loopy when I let him out the first time in a new forest. I don’t want to have to deal with that if we run into the bear tomorrow.” It was the most he’d spoken in a while, so Noire knew this was important to him. “You mean you want to change? Go ahead. I’ve seen my sister do it. It doesn’t bother me. Or if you’d prefer to do it in privacy, I’ll make a mental note not to scream if a strange wolf wanders into the campsite,” she said. He smiled at her. “Should we have a code so you know it’s me? Don’t want you getting eaten by an actual wolf.” “What, howl twice and growl once? Shake a paw?” Noire teased him. “Roll over and let me rub your belly?” “You can rub me any day.” “Don’t worry,” she said dryly. “I think I’ll recognize you. Catch us some rabbits while you’re at it? I’m not exactly looking forward to rations, but after the past few days I’m just not up for setting snares.” “You don’t mind rabbit stew for supper?” He sounded surprised. Noire surmised that he likely wasn’t used to women who thought of bunnies as food rather than cute pets. “I would love some rabbit stew,” she said. “I’ll get the pot started.” “Perfect,” Cam said. He started to unbutton his shirt—that gray uniform shirt again. Noire took a break from the fire to help him with his tie. She tugged on it first, pulling his face close to hers and giving him a swift kiss on the mouth. Then she started on the bottom buttons, working her way up to meet him. As they removed his shirt together, she marveled again at the taut muscles along his chest and down his stomach. She felt lightheaded, wanting nothing more than to take one of his nipples between her teeth and tease him to distraction. She was surprised at the fierceness of her desire, and knew there was something else bothering her. He took both her hands in his and stood there for a moment, wearing nothing but his pants and boots. “Noire,” he said, “I’m going to be fine. I’ll be back in less than a half hour with supper, eh?” “Okay,” she said. “I promise not to worry.” “Bullshit.” “Fine. I promise not to worry too much.” “That’s better.” He placed a soft kiss on her forehead and she closed her eyes, refusing to open them until he’d left the clearing. She listened to him unbutton his
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pants, unlace his boots, and then heard the soft footfalls of bare feet. When she finally did raise her eyelids, his clothing was folded and left on a log by the fire. Her body felt strange, like it wasn’t hers. Noire sat herself on the log next to his clothing, touching the fabric with her fingertips as if she could pick up the smell of him with skin alone. She closed her eyes again and concentrated. What was it like to be him? She imagined herself taller, her shoulders broad, her chest flat, containing that strange syncopated heartbeat she thought she’d heard the first time they made love. She remembered the sound of his voice, and how his laughter trembled against her mouth as they kissed. Her body seized. Her mind wasn’t with her body on the log in the clearing anymore, but deeper into the woods. The pungent scent of moss filled her nostrils. And then—pain. If someone had asked her to describe it afterward, she wouldn’t have been able to. There was no temporal order to the feelings that assaulted her next, just varying shades, scents and sounds of pain. She felt her muscles and skin tear. Pain ran down her body in waves and she opened her eyes, biting back a scream. Blood seeped out of her lip where her teeth had closed too tightly. The scream escaped and it was raw, animal as a wounded wolf, but human as a terrified child. The thunder of her pain filled the woods as she screamed. Everything hurt—bones popped out of their sockets and reshaped themselves. She could see them, ghostly white under her skin, then outside of her skin, ripping her flesh to shreds, splinters of bone falling to the ground. At some point the screaming stopped, or perhaps it had never started. Each breath became a gasping struggle as her lungs changed. They filled with fluid, suffocating her. She spat up blood. It ran down her snout and as she licked it clean her tongue felt fur. She wrapped her arms around her legs, curling up into a ball, running hands across what had been her skin but was now leathery and sprouting coarse gray fur. Each place the fur grew brought more pain—a million tiny pinpricks on every piece of her skin, only the tough hide on her paws and nose escaping the needles. She took an exploratory sniff and cocked her head. She could hear mice skittering beneath the ground. She could smell them. She raised her head and sniffed at the air, smelling pine all the way down to her bones, like she’d never smelled it before. She rose on all fours, trembling and tentative as a new foal. The damp moss was heaven against the padding on her paws, and she shook her body, stretching deeply from head to toe. Before long, she was running, running on four legs, darting between trees and leaping over rocks and logs. She could smell a rabbit’s burrow and her mind dissolved into words repeated over and over like a mantra— hungry, rabbit, hunt, hunt, food. She ran, maybe chasing the rabbit, maybe just for the thrill of running, and she felt a part of the forest like never before. When the agony was over and she opened her eyes, she was still seated by the fire. Nothing was different. Noire’s body was her own, human, and her clothing was whole and clean—untorn. What had she felt? 48
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Was it Cam’s change into a wolf? She supposed it had to be. That psychic connection again that she’d felt with her sister. Only she’d never accompanied Fawn in a change like this. She’d never felt anything like this before. Was it because she and Cam had made love? Was that what took their psychic link to a new level? Or was it just that she’d never opened her mind before, embracing that part of her heritage from her mother? While she wasn’t a shifter herself, could she have felt what Fawn felt, if she’d only tried hard enough? And if she had, would Noire have realized how desperate her sister was to find understanding—desperate to the point of trusting an evil man who skinned her alive, alone in the middle of the night on an island hundreds of kilometers from home? As Noire checked on the fire and stirred the water as it boiled, she felt tears run down her face. Shortly, she was sobbing full out, as she hadn’t really let herself do since she’d received the first call to come identify her sister’s body. She cried to the point of sickness, gagging over the fire, trying to vomit up her guilt and horror, to let it burn away into the night. She heard footfalls behind her and she calmed herself momentarily, turning to see a large gray wolf. The wolf held a bloody rabbit corpse in its mouth. It walked toward her and dropped the rabbit at her feet, like a gift. She smiled her thanks. The wolf was beautiful. She’d never seen anything like him before. He was at least twice the size of the Eastern Timber Wolves she was used to. His coat was pure gray with occasional bursts of black—the color of Cam’s eyes and hair. As the wolf drew closer she stroked his ears back, running both hands through his fur, on his head, down his body, tracing the lines of his paws. He was both soft and brittle at once. She buried her face in his coat and wept for her sister. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just can’t stop thinking about Fawn. I could feel you changing. It was like my own body belonged to the wolf, and it to me. I had no idea. I’ve always thought of it as a curse, something that made my sister different than everyone else. It was never something I wanted. But I understand now. I do. It’s beautiful. I felt strong. I felt powerful. I felt more alive than I have in years. And I can’t believe she threw away that gift, caged her deer in the city and refused to let it live. For a moment there, I hated my sister as much as I missed her. How could she turn her back on this? How could she leave the forest?” She sobbed as she spoke, holding him close, petting his fur. After a while, her words were silent, spoken not out loud but only in her mind, and she knew he heard her still. I am going to find the creature that took her from me. I am going to find him, and I am going to kill him. The wolf made no sound, but his breathing was relaxed and deep. She matched her breath to his as he rested his head in her lap. The rabbit and stew forgotten, the wolf and the woman curled up together by the fire and slept.
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Chapter Seven They woke in the morning ready for rabbit stew, and found that the dead rabbit was gone. Cam had changed into human form sometime during the night and was shivering slightly, naked in the cool morning dew. Noire at least had her clothes, but she huddled closer to Cam for warmth as she looked around her. “What the fuck happened?” Cam asked. The campsite had been torn apart. Their tent, unused, hung in shreds from the poles. Tiny white feathers were spread everywhere from the down sleeping bag. “I don’t know—I didn’t hear anything.” Noire reached for the knife she kept at her belt, comforted to find it was still there. She rose and scoured the ground for animal tracks, finding nothing. “He was here,” Cam said. A shiver went through Noire’s body as she realized he was right. There were no tracks. They’d been stupid to fall asleep before making sure their food was tied high in a tree to keep it safe from bears, but the devastation of the campsite had not come from a bear. Or any other animal that walked on four legs. The only traces of footprints left behind were two humans and one wolf—Noire, Cam and Cam again. “He was a bird,” she said quietly. “He changed into bird form, then snuck up during the night, likely in flight, and shredded everything.” Yes, talons from a large bird of prey, perhaps a hawk or owl, could have done this. “It must have taken hours. Why didn’t we wake?” “I don’t know. I was exhausted, but still—we should have heard something.” “His mind is still human. Even within the bird, he knew how to keep quiet.” Bile rose in Noire’s throat at the thought of her sister’s murderer next to them in the night as they slept, content and guileless. “This was a warning, wasn’t it? He could have killed us if he wanted.” “Yes, I think you’re right,” Cam said. “But just in case, we should probably get out of here.” Noire’s eyes widened. He couldn’t mean what she was thinking? “I’m not leaving.” “I don’t mean the forest,” he calmed her. “Just the campsite. We can still track him.” She agreed, and they packed up what remaining supplies they could find—the pots from the fire, a few protein bars, their water bladders, some clothing. The canoe, fortunately, was intact. Noire supposed even a large bird could not do damage to something that size.
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As they carried the canoe to Lake Opeongo, they were both silent. By the time they reached the lake, Noire thought she’d finally calmed down enough that her anxiety wasn’t noticeable. During camping season, the lake was generally fairly peaceful, shared between canoeists, kayakers and the water taxi that took the less adventurous out to private campsites. Today, it was completely deserted. The November wind had stilled and the surface of the lake was smooth as a mirror. Northwest of Lake Opeongo was where Cam and Noire thought they might find the bear’s den. It was the only location in which a body had not been found in the past decade. If his body-dumping grounds were intended to throw pursuers off the trail, he had failed. However, if his killings were designed to lead them into a trap, he was going to succeed nicely. They had to keep their wits about them. The canoe slid into the lake with a small swish. Cam entered first and Noire passed him what was left of their supplies—her own pack, filled with changes of clothing for both of them, fire-starting equipment, a remaining water bladder and a few small protein bars. After that, she passed him his service weapon and then her own long shotguns. They seated themselves, moving gracefully in unison. The canoe tipped side to side lightly and Noire pushed off from the side of the lake bed. They each picked up a paddle and began to move through the water, Noire at the back steering, Cam at the front providing powerful strokes. It was rare to find a paddling companion who felt this natural. Noire wondered if it was an echo of the psychic communication between them that had happened the night before when she’d felt his change. Possibly, they just worked well together. After a few hours of paddling and talking, they settled into the rhythm and Noire zoned out. She watched him paddle, the sinews in his arms standing out as he strained to keep them steady. Her own arms felt heavier than they did after her first day of shotgun training at age eight. She signaled to Cam to switch hands again. “Hang on a minute, we need to rest,” he said, resting his paddle across the top of the canoe. “No, we don’t.” “You look exhausted.” “Well, looks can be deceiving.” She continued to paddle as he watched her, not making a move of his own to reach for the remaining paddle. “On your own you’re just going to steer us in circles.” “So help me. We don’t have time for a rest. If Page settles into his den before winter, if the snow falls or we even get a rainstorm, his tracks will be lost for good. We won’t be able to start looking for him again until spring. What chance do you think we’ll have then?” He gripped her paddle with his hands, holding tight so she couldn’t continue. “We have to rest, Noire. We’ll never make it if you keep going like this.” He took the paddle from her and then moved closer, running his hands up her arms, pulling her closer. 51
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“We took a rest last night. That’s when the bird attacked—it knew we weren’t paying attention.” “We won’t sleep this time.” He leaned in to kiss her. “This is a mistake. It was a mistake to get involved with you at all, Cam, I’m sorry— but that bird could have killed us if he had wanted to. He could have ripped our throats out and then how many more people would die? Do you think the Toronto Police Department is really considering a skinwalker from Algonquin as one of their suspects? What are the chances of catching this asshole without us?” “We’re going after him, sweetheart. But your arms are shaking and mine aren’t much better. We can’t paddle all day without stopping.” She gave in and let him place both paddles at the bottom of the canoe. Looking around, she could still see land to the west and east of them, proud Algonquin pines stretching for acres past the lake. Behind them, however, the land was long gone. They’d been paddling for hours. And in front of them, there seemed to be only more water. They shared what was left of their purified water and filled up the bladder from the lake. Noire added tiny white pills to kill off any harmful bacteria. “Fawn never needed these,” she observed. “Anything she caught she could just shrug off with a quick change to deer form and back.” “It’s the same with me,” Cam said. They grew quiet. She tried to think of something else to say, but she felt awkward and strangely alone. The trashed campsite this morning had really shaken her, and for the first time she realized that one of them might not make it back from the trip. If she had to choose, it would be her, but she was scared that the choice would be Page’s and not hers. Cam tried to engage her in conversation but it faltered and she tried to hold her emotions together. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t be falling for him— they’d just met! “What are you thinking?” he asked. She shook her head. “Nothing important.” “Come on,” he said. “That little psychic trick of yours goes both ways. I can tell you’re upset. What is it?” “It’s silly. I was just thinking how close I felt to you, and was admonishing myself for it.” “Why?” “Well, for one thing, we just met. For another, we’re on a case, my sister is dead, and you live on the opposite side of the country.” When she said it out loud, it really did seem ridiculous that she had considered a relationship with him. “Hmm,” he said, seeming to consider her words. “I suppose that all makes sense. But I would prefer not to throw away something potentially great because of fear. Why fuck it up before it even starts?” 52
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“And do what, exactly, after we’re done here?” “I don’t know.” “I can’t move to B.C. This is my home. It’s my soul, and I’m not giving up a piece of that, no matter what. Not like my sister did. Not for a career and not for a man. Not unless you can promise me something serious, which you can’t.” “Why can’t I, exactly?” He moved closer to her. They floated now, paddles resting in the bottom of the canoe, forgotten. She was very conscious of his body, of the smell of him, the sheen of sweat on his forehead and under his shirt from the strain of paddling for so long. “What if I could?” he asked. She tilted her head and studied his face. His gray eyes were thoughtful. Possessiveness stirred behind them, his desire to call her his. She didn’t know whether that was his wolf speaking or the man. While the wolf had curled up on her lap last night and kept her close, the man had been distant all day. Was that her fault, or his choice? She wondered what it would take for her to continue this partnership when they left the woods. But she knew—an admission of what he felt for her. I love you. It was within him, but his mouth never moved to speak the words. It swirled beneath the surface as her own words did. She leaned forward and kissed him. Their tongues met hot and fast in a duel to say silently with their mouths what neither of them could say out loud. His hands wrapped in her hair, fingers sinking between strands of the braid, pulling her close. She moaned into him and the canoe tipped to the left, nearly sinking them. Cam used an arm to steady the canoe and leaned to the right, rebalancing their weight. “This isn’t a great idea,” he said. “I think it is,” she replied. “You don’t want to?” “I do,” he said, and the heat in his gaze told her he was speaking the truth. He wet his bottom lip with the tongue that had driven her crazy only yesterday. It felt as if it had been weeks since she’d touched him, and she wanted nothing more than to taste the sweat currently running down his neck. Then she saw his forehead wrinkle in frustration. “But if we tip over that’s one change of clothes gone already. We have no idea what’s going to be waiting for us when we make it to the bear’s den. We have no real proof there is even a den. We could be out here for days, weeks, and if we tip now—I can dry off as a wolf, but you’ll freeze.” She smiled and licked her own bottom lip. “So I guess we’ll just have to be extracareful that we don’t tip.” Noire moved forward again, being careful to keep her weight in the center of the canoe. She placed a hand on his chest and pressed him back into the canoe until he lay down. For a moment she watched him—his gray eyes searching her body hungrily, the bluish highlights in his hair that shimmered under the sun, the way his shirt clung to his stomach with sweat.
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She placed her body on top of his, measuring the length of him. Their mouths found each other instinctively, with neither starting the kiss. Through his mind she could taste her own lips, and she could smell her own hair. She reminded him of home, of moss and pine trees and a slight taste of pumpkin, everything autumn. His hands fumbled with the buttons at the waist of her hiking pants. They didn’t break the kiss and the canoe rocked side to side wildly as he lifted her up and slid the pants down her legs until she was free of them. She held out a hand on each side of the canoe, slowing the tilting until it remained still, then moved her mouth to his. For a moment they kissed, wanting nothing more than to share the moment and each other’s desire. Then something broke inside her and Noire wanted to taste every part of him. She whispered in his ear, “Keep still,” and nipped down the side of his neck. He moaned as she continued downward, pulling up his shirt so she could run small kisses down the trail of hair beneath his navel. In the distance, they heard the mournful call of a loon, and though she knew the loon was one of Page’s pelts, she didn’t care. Dipping her tongue into Cam’s navel, she listened as his breath quickened. His fingers teased at the black hair between her legs. One of his firm hands was wrapped tightly in her hair, and he pulled her up to kiss his mouth again, murmuring against her lips, “I want to be inside you, now.” She freed his cock from his pants and, holding the sides of the canoe carefully, lowered herself onto him, straddling him. “Hold the boat,” she said breathlessly. He nodded and took hold of each side of the canoe, balancing it as she moved. He slid inside her cunt perfectly, filling her completely. She never felt warmer than when his cock was buried deep inside her. Their voices mixed together, gasping and wild, as they fucked on the glassy water of the lake. Just as Noire thought she was about to come, Cam grasped her around the waist and lifted her. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and he moved them both so she was now at the bottom of the canoe, on her back. The boat rocked furiously and water splashed over the side. Noire felt drops of it on her face, so cold in contrast to her own lust. Cam was on top of her now, thrusting into her again and again. At the same time, she was Cam, on top, straining to hold himself together until Noire was close to orgasm. They came together, both shouting out to the lake and the birds, each lost in the other’s passion. After a short rest, they dressed and began paddling again. Noire was more out of breath than she had been before their “break”, but she was also more content. “Is that normal?” she asked. “What do you mean?” “Us—feeling each other orgasm.” He looked surprised. “No, of course not. I’ve never felt that before. I’ve heard it’s normal between two shifters, but I haven’t experienced it.”
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“You’ve never slept with another werewolf?” “No. Sex within a pack brings too much drama. Not worth it, trust me.” She had to smile at that. Noire was glad to hear that her issues still made her less drama than the competition. “It’s the first time I’ve noticed it too. Well, during sex, I mean. I felt you the moment you snuck up on me at the ferry, only I didn’t know what it was then. Guess it must be the half-shifter blood. The first time we had sex, in your hotel room, was when I really noticed it.” “If that’s what sex with another shifter is like, I’m not going back to regular humans,” he said. “But I’m not a shifter.” “You’re pretty close to it.” “Still.” She turned her head from him, not wanting to see his face. She concentrated hard on her paddling, telling herself it was just because she wanted maximum stroke efficiency. “It’s not the same, is it? This morning, when we saw what Page had done to our campsite, you were worried about me.” “Of course I was.” “No, you were worried about protecting me. I’m not an equal to you, am I? Because I’m not a werewolf, I never will be.” “So what? Why should that matter? We’re different, that’s all.” He was getting frustrated with her, but Noire couldn’t stop herself from speaking. It seemed to be a bad habit of hers. “I can sense it in you. I could with Fawn too—her yearning to be an actress, her curiosity about the city, her skittishness and fear when she arrived there for the first time alone. I could read her feelings as if I were reading the trails of a young deer venturing into a clearing in the trees. With her, she was chasing a dream, only to find the rifle of a hunter at the end of it. And even if he missed she would be back, a week later, that same skittish deer in that same sunny clearing, because you can’t kill her curiosity and she never learns from it. That’s what killed my sister, as much as any monster did. “But you’re not a deer,” she continued. “You’re a wolf. Through and through. I could sense you dominating the other detectives on Ward’s Island, working your alpha male tricks, and I can sense you missing your pack so dearly it’s like you’re howling at your moon. Then I can sense you, the wolf you, turn your attention to me, looking for a mate, protecting me like a mate.” “I’ll always want to protect you, Noire. Even if you were the most powerful woman on the planet, I would still want to keep you safe.” “But I’m not your mate.” “No. Maybe I’d like it if you were some day. The wolf wants you now, but the human can wait until you’re ready. And I hope you will be. Your sister wasn’t a deer
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completely, though, was she? You could feel her deer side, that part of her that was curious but terrified of the world.” Noire nodded, confused at where he was heading with this. “But what kept her in the city, then, if she felt alone and scared?” Noire replied, “Fawn always said she wanted to be an actress more than anything. And you can’t do that from the inner reaches of the forest.” “Fawn always said—you mean, you talked to her about it.” “Yes.” “So you couldn’t feel it.” Noire furrowed her brow. She realized he was right. She could picture her sister’s wide brown eyes hidden beneath a fringe of brown hair, like a deer peering out from the foliage. She could almost taste her sister’s fear, and it had churned like a whirlpool inside Noire when she first set eyes on Fawn’s body. But she had never understood the human side of Fawn, the part that persisted in staying in Toronto, following a dream long after she should have woken from sleep. Cam’s gray eyes searched her face. His face was so serious. She took one hand off her paddle and ran a thumb along his lower lip and managed a small smile, showing him that she was going to be okay. Maybe. “So what you’re saying,” Noire said, “is that just like my sister wasn’t completely a deer, you aren’t completely a wolf?” “Exactly. My wolf may want to run home to my pack and celebrate that I’ve found a mate, and my wolf may want to drag you back there with me. But my human side— and I am shaped like a human most of the time, you’ll notice—is willing to wait until you’re ready. And he’s willing to start a new pack, wherever his mate wants to live.”
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Chapter Eight They stored the canoe on the northernmost bank of the lake and continued on foot. They weren’t sure where they were going but knew the bear had to be close. Noire noticed the sounds of the forest had almost completely disappeared. While the slight wind still shushed through the trees, it was accompanied by no bird song, and no squirrels or mice darted at their feet. They headed for a series of caves that Noire had heard about, but had never visited. They walked for over an hour in the eerie quiet, until Cam paused and said he’d caught a strange scent. He motioned her to be quiet, and leaned in to whisper in her ear, “It’s him.” “Are you sure?” she mouthed back. “Either that or we’ve got more than one of them. Let’s hope it’s Page.” Emboldened now by knowing they were on the right track, they began to jog. Cam took Noire’s pack, shouldering the burden so she wouldn’t fall behind. They lost Page’s scent at a fork in the path. Cam held up a hand, asking Noire to pause, while he hunched over slightly and inhaled. Noire tried it herself, but the spruce trees towering around them were the only thing she could smell. Once they had smelled like home, the sticky sweet sap, but now she saw the neverending forest as an obstacle to finding the monster that killed her sister. They would find him. And then he would pay. She caught Cam looking at her with concern. He reached out a hand to touch her face, attempting to comfort her, but Noire moved out of the way. Fucking him these past few days had been amazing, but now they were too close. She couldn’t give in to her desires. When the bear was dead, she would take him every which way she pleased. To distract herself, she took another deep breath, ignoring the scent this time, and thought of how she’d track a non-supernatural animal. Sharpening her focus, she peered into the underbrush of the forest around her—looking for broken-off branches, slightly trampled weeds and any softer moss or mud that might retain prints. “This way,” Cam said, pointing. He turned to head into the brush. “Wait,” Noire said. When he stopped, she clasped his hand in hers. “Why that way?” “I can smell him down here. It’s strong.” Noire took an experimental sniff and couldn’t smell anything; but then, she didn’t expect to. She believed him though, trusted absolutely in his abilities. But… “Cam, there’s some vegetation broken down this way too,” Noire said as she gestured to the northwest. “Can you smell anything here?”
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The werewolf furrowed his brow thoughtfully, and she saw his nostrils flaring again. “Just a little. Very faint, compared to the other trail.” “Ah, guess you were right then,” she said, though it went against her intuition. She frowned. He reached out and touched that frown, pressing into her lips. She deftly bit down on his finger, a puppy’s love nip, eager to get going. “Nope,” he said. “You were right.” Campbell breathed in deeply, and Noire’s gaze caught on the rise and fall of his powerful chest. “It’s urine,” he declared. She must have looked confused, because he smiled playfully, baring his teeth like a wolf. “He walked that way awhile and then marked a tree with his piss. Then he retraced his steps and headed back, and continued on the trail you found—northwest. He thought the strong scent eastward would throw me off, but you outsmarted him.” He leaned in and kissed her, just once, quick and hard. “Lead the way,” he said. She turned and started off after the northwest trail, then paused. “What is it?” “I figured you out,” she said. “You just want me to go first so you can look at my ass.” He grinned. “Guilty.” As she picked her way through the woods, careful not to lose sight of the trail, Noire swore she could feel the heat of his gaze on her ass the whole way. From the outside, the den looked like a regular black bear habitat. Bears could make a den out of nearly anything—a rock cave, the inside of a rotted tree trunk, the shelter of strong roots or a simple hole in the ground. This one was larger than most, cave in the side of a cliff that towered over them. The walls were earth and dirt, crumbling slightly, and vegetation all around the opening had been ripped out of the ground. There was nothing that unusual about it, but when they approached, Noire felt her entire body go cold. It came from deep inside her, a point in her chest that until this week had been one of her greatest joys—where she normally felt her psychic link with Fawn. Until Fawn had died screaming. “It’s here, Cam,” Noire whispered. “Her pelt. I know it.” She knew Fawn was dead and her suffering was over—there was nothing of her baby sister’s soul left in the pelt. But Noire’s eyes still filled with tears, and everything came rushing back—Fawn’s pale face, bites marring her neck and shoulders, the rest of her body shrouded under the white sheet, surrounded by metal drawers in the morgue. “Hey.” Cam’s voice was soft and kind. He turned her to him and kissed her forehead, wiped the tears from her cheeks with the sleeve of his mud-stained uniform. “We’ll get him, love. Trust me.” He comforted her with an embrace and she let herself relax for just a moment. 58
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Then she pulled back and hardened her face. “What’s the plan now?” she asked. “Back to camp, I’ll grab my shotgun and cover you?” She could sense his hesitation; Cam knew she wouldn’t like the answer. “Listen. I can’t smell anything distinctive, so I don’t know what’s in there. It’s just a lot of blood.” “My sister’s? Jedd’s?” “I don’t know. Maybe from different people. It’s all just melding together, acrid and horrible. I don’t think we’re ready to attack.” He guided her back into the cover of the trees. They kept their voices low in case the bear was nearby. She was so connected to his wolf side that she could sense a lie and would call him on it immediately. He wasn’t lying, but he was hiding something. “We need to know more about the situation first.” This was truth. “Let me do some recon. Then I can figure out the next steps from there.” She pressed her mouth together and bristled at the word “I”. “I’m just as quiet as you are,” she said. “I’ve been tracking animals since I was four.” “I know,” he said, kindness apparent in his voice. “But you don’t have my sense of smell, sweetheart, or my hearing. And when I’m in wolf form I can’t be distracted by you.” “Distracted?” She scowled at him. This was not the time to be joking about their mutual attraction. She sensed him floundering, trying to decide whether to go with a lie or the truth. Which was more likely to chase her away? Even Noire herself wasn’t sure. “I’m going to tell you something, and I need you to promise not to freak out on me.” He held both her hands in his. She felt him willing her to remain with him. “I can’t promise that. What if you’re going to say something stupid?” “My wolf won’t let me observe the bear without using part of my senses to keep an eye on you as well,” he started. “I can take care of myself.” Noire yanked her hands out of his. “Just tell me what you’re thinking.” “My wolf sees you as his mate. Werewolves…we don’t take a lot of time to find our forever partner, love. My wolf bonded to you almost immediately. And because of this, there’s nothing I can do to block out my worry for you if you’re there. It will be a liability. Noire, if you feel anything for me, and if you want your sister avenged, I need you to let me begin this on my own. I need you to go back to camp.” “What are you saying, exactly?” she asked. She thought she knew, that every piece of him reached out to her, but she had to hear the words. “I’m saying that I love you, and I need you to trust me on this.” “Oh. Wow.”
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“It’s okay. You don’t have to say it back. You’re human, after all, and our two species don’t play by the same rules, even if you have a piece of shifter blood inside you.” She kissed him softly. “Keep safe,” she said. “Promise me you’ll keep safe. Remember, if you make it back alive I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.” She kissed him again. “Wherever you want.” “Noire, you’re a lot more special than you realize. The shifter blood in you, it connects us, werewolf to shifter. Maybe not as strong as with you and your sister, but when we’re apart, I feel you. Can you sense me?” She had tears in her eyes, but she nodded. “Then that will keep me safe,” he said. “You’ll know it if I get into any trouble.” She managed a small, brave smile. “Then I guess I’d better stay alert.” She turned to walk away, back to the campsite. She could let him do this. And she realized she had a secret of her own—he had no idea how strong their psychic link had grown. Halfway back to the camp, she knew when he shifted. It was different than when she’d first seen him as a wolf. He’d shifted in the forest and returned in the other form, like magic. This was the first time she could really feel him. Cam pulled his service weapon out of its holster. She shared his regret at setting it aside, but knew the pistol was useless to a wolf. He placed it in a small tree stump nearby. His weapons today would be his sense of smell, his intelligence, his teeth and his claws. He stripped off his clothes and though Noire was still dressed warmly for the late autumn weather, the cold breeze cut through her sweater. She shivered with him. Naked, he changed. The bones popping out of their sockets, the muscles tearing— she knew all that pain brought him clarity and purpose. For Noire, feeling it for the second time, it was agony. When he was done, she was curled up on the forest floor, shivering and sweaty. In a few short moments, the massive gray wolf stood, shook himself off and entered the bear’s den. With each passing minute, Noire liked Cam’s plan less and less. She was back at the campsite now, trying to distract herself with chores. What he’d said about their connection made sense. Carrying the recessive gene for weres gave Noire a natural affinity for wild animals, and also for those almost-humans like her sister Fawn—and Cam. Their physical and emotional bonding made this even stronger. Combined with her ability to read animal gestures, it was almost as if she could read his mind. So surely, as Cam said, she’d know if he was in trouble. Right?
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But the last she’d felt from him was entering that cave as a wolf. She could close her eyes and remember what it felt like to walk on four paws, her tail ready to tuck between her legs at the first sign of danger. But she couldn’t stop imagining everything that could go wrong. As she pitched their tent, she thought about how small the den was and how easily Cam could be trapped inside. She shivered and a tiny point just left of the center of her chest grew cold. As she set up trappings to catch a rabbit for supper (she thought Cam’s wolf side might appreciate the treat, and Noire herself would never turn down rabbit stew), she thought about what the bear might eat, which led her to picturing bear teeth and claws—perfect for ripping bugs out of a fallen log, or for ripping the viscera out of the stomach of a vulnerable mammal. The cold spot inside her seemed to freeze, like an icicle ripping into her heart. She’d only seen the result of two bear attacks in her career as park warden, and she couldn’t dismiss either from her mind easily. When a human got ripped apart by a wild creature, it didn’t look like the neat autopsies she conducted on cadavers in school. All of the organs she’d been taught to carefully identify were mush, smashed together and torn to the point where blood darkened everything—intestines, lungs, heart, liver—into something resembling haggis. The cold spot in her heart was at the point of pain now. Noire sat down hard on a log, slipping slightly on wet moss. She barely noticed. She closed her eyes and clutched at her chest, focusing on the pain. She’d felt just like this earlier this week. A few hours before she’d received the call that they’d found someone matching her sister’s description. But Fawn was dead, so this new pain—this new pain had to be Cam. Without thinking, Noire hoisted herself off the log and picked up her Beretta, pocketing all the extra shells she could find. The plan had been for Cam to kill the skinwalker. Making his death an animal attack would have diverted any suspicion, but with the Mountie in danger, Noire couldn’t worry about that now. She grabbed a camping knife and an axe they’d planned to use for firewood. Just in case. And then she took off down the path they’d followed earlier, this time with no attempt to avoid leaving a path. She trampled on grasses and let twigs snap off in her hair, picking up her pace into a full sprint, breathing heavier, the air in her lungs exhaling in a scream as the pain in her heart grew unbearable. But she pressed on. As she ran, memories not her own flooded her mind. The bear had surprised him. One minute, Cam was standing deep inside the lair, staring at a pile of bloody furs, skins and feathers—Page’s collection of pelts. He kept his senses attuned for the smell or the scent of another predator, knowing that Page had access to several different shapes. They couldn’t even be
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sure his original form was a bear. So Cam’s wolf senses kept watch for bears, wolves, coyotes, hawks—even deer, knowing that the bear might try appealing to Noire’s love for her sister. None of those smells reached his snout. When the blue jay attacked him, he wasn’t expecting it. The bird struck first for his eyes, raking small talons across them. Fluid streamed out of his eyes as he was blinded. The pain was unbearable, but he had to bear it. With a howl of frustration, Cam lashed out with his teeth, his claws, his whole body, throwing himself at the walls of the cave, trying to find the tiny bird to crush it between his jaws. Next, the talons raked his nose. He couldn’t see it coming—he couldn’t smell it coming—and the mad caws of the murderer they’d been tracking echoed off the cave walls. His only sense left was hearing, and it was useless. Cam’s wolf self took over. He howled. He rubbed his head along the dirt ground, grit nestling into the scratches on his eyes like sandpaper. He snarled at the air and snapped his teeth at nothing. All the while the jay laughed at him. The wolf flattened himself to the ground, almost submissive, crawling on all fours. Forward, forward—sensing the wind in his fur. His tail between his legs, the wolf crawled as the jay laughed. Every instinct in his body told him to be dominant—he was an alpha, damn it! He could eviscerate a tiny bird. But the human part of his soul that was still left thought of Noire. Eventually he reached the opening to the cave again. The cold night air numbed his pain. For a moment, he let himself lie there in the dirt, wolf chest heaving, sucking in giant breaths of air. He couldn’t hear the jay anymore. His human self knew that wasn’t a good sign. He’d seen the pile of pelts—dozens, so many more deaths than Cam and his team of detectives had realized, and Page had access to all of them. Any animal he could imagine might attack him next. Cam rolled onto his back, whimpering, showing his belly at the air. He shut his eyelids, trying to take stock of his ruined face. The eyes were gone, destroyed. The nose was useless. His only hope was to change to human, speed up the healing process. But he’d left his pistol in the woods. His human body, naked, would have no defenses. With a scream Cam changed. Fur melted into flesh, front legs molded into arms, his tail pulled up against his body, and what was left of the flesh of his eyes reshaped itself. He lay in a fetal position, pink flesh exposed to the world like a newborn. And then he opened his eyes, and he saw the black bear coming toward him. Nearly eight feet tall and over five hundred pounds in mass, the bear roared. Before today, Cam thought he knew what teeth were—he’d had many a fight with young wolves challenging his position in his former pack. But he’d never seen a bear’s teeth this close before. Cam the human stood, naked and vulnerable, and met the bear’s attack. There was simply nothing else to do.
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When Noire found the clearing by the cave again, her worst fears were realized. As she saw the bear—her sister’s killer—attack her nude, defenseless lover, raking claws down his chest, Noire raised the shotgun to her shoulder and fired. Her shot went high. She’d been sloppy, so distraught by seeing Cam in danger that she hadn’t braced herself for the recoil. The shotgun hit her cheek and she knew there’d be a large bruise the next day, if she survived. If they survived, for she knew that if Cam died, she wouldn’t make it out alive either. This creature was not killing both of the people she loved more than anything in the world. The bear roared in pain. Noire had struck the top of his head, just a graze, but enough to throw him off balance. Cam darted to the side, changing as he went—Noire could see his body slipping out of humanity, growing fur. She raised the shotgun to her shoulder again, reloading as she went. She aimed and fired. This time, the bear ducked, but she’d scared him. He squealed and roared and turned, heading back not to the cave but behind a thicket of bushes. Still carrying her weapon, Noire ran to find Cam in wolf form. He lay on his side. His right eye was oozing something horrible and the skin on his chest beneath the fur was made up of red ribbons of flesh. His chest rose and fell with his breath, out of time, not steady like a healthy animal’s should. She crouched over him, protecting the wolf with her body. She leaned down, pressing her face to his, and kissed his snout. “Please don’t die,” she said. “I love you.” With that the wolf whimpered and rolled onto his feet. Noire felt the coldness in her heart warm and fill, and with that her own strength grew. The wolf whimpered and she looked up, readying her shotgun to meet the bear again. The bear was gone. Instead, a beautiful young doe stood in front of her. The white-tailed deer was graceful and perfect. She stood less than four feet from Noire and the wolf. Everything about her matched Noire’s sister Fawn perfectly. The tan firmness of her back, the skittish stance of her legs, the big, brown, guileless eyes. But she knew it wasn’t Fawn. This thing had killed Fawn, skinned her alive, enjoyed her screams and then came after her lover. Noire raised the shotgun and fired point blank into the face of what used to be her little sister. Then she reloaded and fired again. By the time Cam had changed again, wolf to human and human back to wolf, his flesh had finally started to heal. Noire couldn’t look at him. She was seated on the ground, weeping helplessly. She barely noticed when he rose on four legs and limped to the dying body of the white-tailed deer. He leaned down and ripped out Page’s throat. She felt Cam lick the blood off his snout, willing it to fill him, warm his belly and give him strength. Some of that strength made it to Noire and she held it close, deep inside her. When the wolf placed his head gently in her lap, she cried into his fur.
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Later at the campsite, Noire finished cooking their supper—soup from a freezedried packet. She didn’t have the heart to kill and skin a rabbit tonight. Her heart lifted as she heard Cam’s footsteps—or rather, she sensed them even before he reached the site. She kept her eyes lowered at first, scared of what she might see. He’d sent her back alone, knowing she couldn’t watch him dispose of the body of her sister’s killer wearing the flesh of her sister. He must have burned it; she didn’t want to know. “I’ve got it.” His warm, deep voice soothed her and she managed a small, wan smile. She raised her head, looking him in the eye. “Here,” he said, and held out his arms. He carried a small tan piece of fur—what was left of Fawn’s pelt after Noire’s shotgun had torn a hole in it. On his back was his pack, and his clothing seemed whole, with no blood seeping through. His eyes were gray like his wolf’s, healed, and looked straight at hers. Relief shook her whole body as she took him in an embrace. They burned Fawn’s pelt and said a small Native prayer, wishing her safe passage to whatever lay beyond. Then they ate the soup, warming their insides and recovering their strength. They couldn’t stop touching each other and Noire sat in Cam’s lap while they ate, feeding each other from a single spoon, licking chicken flavoring from each other’s lips. Noire, the consummate loner, never wanted to be alone again. “There’s something I want to show you,” Cam said hesitantly. “What is it?” “It’s… I’m not sure how you’ll react. So I’m asking you to please keep an open mind.” She’d never seen him looking this shy before. His long black lashes hid his eyes and his left cheek dimpled as he smiled. “Don’t I know all your secrets by now?” she asked. What could be stranger than knowing the man she loved turned into a wolf? “This isn’t my secret, Noire.” Cam reached into his pack now and pulled out a patch of fur—black as the night sky. He held it up to Noire’s hair. “It matches,” he said. “I think it’s meant to be yours.” She knew what it was right away. The bear’s pelt. His original pelt, she supposed, from whatever creature he was before he sold his soul for immortality. But what was she supposed to do with it? Cam answered her unspoken question. “You’ve got shifter blood in you, sweetheart. The legends say, if you kill a shifter, and you take their pelt, you can become them. This was your kill, Noire. I merely finished the job.” She took the bear’s pelt in her arms. It was soft. Softer than she ever would have imagined. It should have disgusted her. It was the torn skin of the creature that had
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murdered her sister, and tried to kill her and Cam. But as soon as she touched it, she realized the fur felt…well, it felt like home. “I want to lock you away somewhere,” Cam said slowly. “I thought sending you back to the campsite would protect you, but instead my foolishness almost got us both killed. You’re a warrior, just like I am. And, Noire, I don’t want to lose you. Come with me? Or let me stay here, in the forest, with you. Wherever we are, we’re fighters. I’ve made a pledge to fight against evil and restore nature to the world. You can help me with that. This pelt will give you strength you never imagined.” She stroked the pelt with her hand, then held it against her cheek, breathing deep. It smelled of the woods, the depth of pine needles, the pungent scent of animal dung and sweat. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was hers. “So, you want me to change, like you? Become an animal?” she asked. “Well, no. I mean, I can teach you how not to lose your human self. You’d never become like him.” “Oh I know. I have no fear of that. I was just thinking. If you want me to change, like you, well, I suppose I’d have to fuck like an animal too.” She placed the pelt down beside the fire and lifted her shirt over her head. His eyes warmed with understanding and he began to unfasten his belt. She leaned forward, crouching onto her hands and knees like a wolf (or a bear), pressing her limbs into the dirt. She felt his warmth against her back and he kissed the nape of her neck. His tongue trailed, hot, down her spine, sending her into shivers of ecstasy. His hand found her clit through the fabric of her jeans, teasing her until her cunt grew wet with need. With a moan of frustration, she pushed his hand away and removed her jeans and panties on her own, kicking off her shoes and tossing them aside. When he came up behind her and pushed his cock into her cunt, she was ready— beyond ready, she’d been waiting for this all her life. He filled her up and she whimpered, leaning into him, pushing him in as far as she could take him, embracing the pain. She murmured, “I want it fast this time—fuck me fast and hard,” and he slammed against her, balls hitting her wetness in time to their thrusts. They rutted like animals next to the fire and she loved every minute of it. She embraced it and him, letting him into every part of her body and soul. Of course, an alpha bear like Noire couldn’t let a wolf totally dominate her, so just as she sensed he was about to come, she flipped around, grasping Cam’s face between her hands, pulling his mouth to hers. Her tongue invaded him, kissing him so hard she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began, and she lowered him onto his back. He pulled her down to straddle him and she placed herself over his cock, teasing him, taking him inside slowly, more slowly, and finally in one fast, sharp movement that had him gasping with pleasure. It wasn’t long before he came inside her and she raised her body. He dripped down her thighs and she dipped her finger in her own come, wiping the juices down his chest,
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on his forehead, between his lips, marking him as her own. They kissed, mixing their bodies together, and she had never before felt such love. After making love, they lay together in the dirt by the fire and watched the sky. Neither of them knew any constellations other than the Big Dipper, but they were content to look and imagine their lost loved ones looking down. Once Cam fell asleep, his silky head of hair resting on her breast, she slid out from underneath him. She thought about his offer—partners, as weres and as hunters, ridding the world of evil. How could she say no to that? How many innocent girls like Fawn could they save? And with this man by her side, she knew that even in the darkest of nights, she would have joy. She picked up the bear’s pelt, black like the hair on her own head, like the curls between her legs, like the name her shifter mother had given her. She placed the pelt around her shoulders like a shawl. And then Noire Pelletier began to change.
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About the Author Lena Loneson is pretty much a Canadian cliché: she complains when the temperature rises above zero, says “Eh?” far too often, and loves her beer and poutine. However, she somehow missed the memo on learning to play hockey, so she constantly lives in fear of deportation. Please don’t report her to the Mounties so she can continue to write stories about love and sex in snowbanks, forests, canoes, and maybe one day (if she gets a chance) atop the CN Tower. Lena’s favorite erotic romance stories are those with a bit of the unusual: you’ll see her reading and writing a lot of paranormal, sci-fi, fantasy, and horror. Other hobbies include playing piano, walking large dogs, searching the forests for unicorns (they *must* exist!) and anything outdoorsy. Lena loves to hear from readers, so please check out her website or drop her an email!
Lena welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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