He grinned easily. “And you were a bit rough when you were dragging me around. Fortunately I’m not picky any more than I’m a dog. So I guess we’re both lucky.”
Some of us more than others, Carly thought, still wondering exactly how she’d ended up with tall, dark, and preternaturally gorgeous hanging out in her kitchen and planning on staying for a visit. Maybe she shouldn’t look gift horses in the mouth. Maybe she should just enjoy and quit overanalyzing.
And maybe, she thought as her stomach rumbled, she should just get her ass in gear and go beg for food at Regan’s door. Now that was going to be an interesting visit. “I’ll be back in a few. Make yourself comfortable.” She headed to the front door, yanked her ski jacket off of the coat tree, and pulled it on while shoving her bare feet into her big, clunky winter boots. Gideon came around the corner of the breakfast bar, studying what she was doing.
“You’re going out in your pajamas? I don’t need food that badly. I think I can wait if you want to dress first.”
“Nah.” He might not need food that badly, but she needed some space, and immediately. Carly pulled on her hat and mittens and wrapped an enormous fluffy pink-and-white-striped scarf around her neck until she had to push it down to speak clearly. “It’s eight in the morning on a snow day, Gideon. I’m not even officially up yet.”
He eyed her scarf with a mixture of horror and amusement. “I think there might be a bit of that left to wrap around your head, instead of bothering with a hat. Though from the looks of that thing, I’m not sure you’d come out alive.”
Carly frowned at him, though she doubted there was an expression on earth that wouldn’t have looked silly surrounded by all that pink fluff. “For your information, a good friend of mine knit this for me. And it happens to be very …” she searched frantically for an adjective that was not a synonym for ugly and finally came up with “ … warm.” Which it was. And she’d be damned if Celestine, sweetie that she’d been for making it for her, would ever hear any more about it than that. Not that she would probably ever get Regan to stop referring to it as “The Pink Nightmare” on a regular basis.
Gideon considered her for a moment as though he could read her mind, giving her a wicked smirk while he studied her with eyes warmer than ten of Celestine’s scarves. Carly was suddenly thinking about removing layers to cool back down. “Well. I suppose it does match your pajamas, in any case. And there won’t be any losing you in the snow.”
Carly pursed her lips wryly as she stared back at him. A smartass. It figured, she thought resignedly. If there was one thing she couldn’t resist, it was a man who could verbally fence with her. Even, she thought as she made a point of examining the length of his sweatpants, if he was currently dressed like a refugee from Revenge of the Nerds.
“Not that you could come looking for me. I’d hate to be responsible for causing, however indirectly, frostbite of the calves.”
Gideon’s grin widened as he relaxed against the wall. “Maybe I should ring up your brother, complain about the length of his inseam.”
Carly growled, both in playful defeat and in frustrated reaction to the coil of heat that seemed to wind itself tighter at each upward curve of Gideon’s lips. She threw up her mittened hands and opened the door.
“I give. I’m going. Be good, as in, don’t break my stuff, throw a party, and/or leave all the toilet seats up in the house.”
Gideon looked slightly incredulous. “Have these things been problems before?”
“Hey, I have older brothers, remember?” Carly turned, and a gust of wind sent snow spraying onto her wood floor. A quick look at the sky confirmed what that weather report snippet she’d heard this morning had said. Nothing but dark gray as far as the eye could see, nasty wind, and lots and lots of blowing white. She wondered whether she shouldn’t have gotten dressed first, when another gust of wind sent slivers of cold straight through her worn flannel pants; but the prospect of getting this over with, coming back, and then covertly staring at Gideon in that tight shirt for the rest of the day got her putting one foot in front of the other and moving out into the snow.
Be good, she’d instructed him. Not that she really wanted him to, even though she was pretty sure he would be. Not that she knew how to be anything but, no matter how much she wished it were otherwise.
But hey, a girl had to dream.
t t t
She’d looked ridiculously adorable in her pile of winter clothes, telling him to behave himself. Gideon stood at the window, watching Carly make her way through snow that was now well above her knees until her small form faded into white.
And now that she was gone, he had to know.
Gideon opened the door, stepped out into the frozen waste that was now Kinnik’s Harbor without so much as a care for either shoes or a coat. The tough skin of his feet was barely chilled as he paused, gauging the direction of the wind, and then headed to his right, around the side of the house sheltered from the wind. Serpentines of snow hissed across the ground in front of him as he crouched slightly while he moved, scenting for the faintest hint of what he was looking for, his eyes changing, sharpening as they scanned.
The ground was nearly bare right along the side of the house, what he could now (between vicious gusts of wind, at least) see was a quaint little New England cottage, white with dark blue trim and flowerboxes that held nothing but miniature snow banks to match the ones piling up alongside the road, or what was left of it. It truly was awful weather, as the plows obviously hadn’t even been able to venture out yet. He’d picked a hell of a time to come for a visit, Gideon thought as he moved, slowly placing one foot before the other, trying to ignore the stinging slaps of snow. He almost wished he’d just stayed home.
Almost.
He straightened, satisfied, as he neared the back corner. Nothing. If they’d been here, they would have had to come around this way because the snow was up to the windowsill around the other side. And wounded as they were, it was so unlikely as to be ludicrous anyway. But something about the Gray niggled at him, though he couldn’t put his finger on just what had disturbed him so. Something, something about the odd collar he’d been wearing. And his behavior, his ability, hadn’t been like anything he’d ever seen before. Nothing, Gideon decided, could be discounted. Because he wanted, needed, to make sure that the woman who had so trustingly taken him in would be safe, just as he’d promised. For reasons he didn’t care to think about, keeping his word to her was important to him for more than just his own personal sense of honor. Now it looked as if that was going to be much easier to accomplish.
And then he saw it, at the back corner of the house where the snow began its steep, wavelike ascent; familiar grooves dragged into the white wood. Claw marks. Territory markings. And within the impressions, faint streaks of crimson.
Shit.
A low, menacing growl poured unbidden from his throat as he glared first at the print that had just ruined his morning, then at the stormy sky which threatened to ruin a lot more if it remained as it was. He would have to be on his guard.
Against all odds, it appeared they were being watched.
And any animal who could keep hunting after the injuries the Gray had sustained last night demanded a great deal of caution, and even more concern.
Gideon stalked back through the snow, ignoring the chill that was beginning to prick at his bare arms, and stepped back through the doorway into the comfortable warmth of Carly’s house. Immediately his nostrils flooded with her scent, nearly knocking him back with the intensity of longing and fierce protectiveness it provoked in him. He needed to go. He needed to keep her safe. He needed … he needed.
Be good, her voice whispered in his head. Except the look in her eyes told him something different, although her shyness would never permit her saying so if the frequency of her blushes was any indication. Be good. Except that if he was still here when night fell and the wolf within grew stronger, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to. Or if he even wanted to.
Gideon stomped over to the breakfast bar, picked up the portable phone, and began to dial a number he knew by heart. He needed to speak to someone else who had a Y chromosome for a while, clear his head.
He needed to figure out what the bloody hell he was going to do about getting back as soon as possible, and in one piece. He needed to decide how to turn the tables on Malachi and his unexpectedly resilient henchman. And he really needed to talk to someone who had a way of putting relations with the opposite sex in sharp, unflattering perspective.
There was a click as someone picked up on the other end, the sound of a merry, chattering crowd in the background.
“Wolf at the Door pub, Gabriel MacInnes at your service.”
Gideon closed his eyes, relieved.
It was a lucky thing he happened to be related to just the man for the job.
Chapter Six
“SO LET ME MAKE SURE I HAVE ALL THIS. YOU’RE somewhere in remote upstate New York, our idiot cousin has sent some non-Pack werewolves to kill you, one of whom is too stupid to know he should just go home and bleed for a bit, and meanwhile a blizzard has rolled in, trapping you with some succulent little blond who saved your sorry hide and is currently off getting you breakfast. Have I missed anything?”
Gideon relaxed on Carly’s bed, figuring what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, and gave into temptation, rubbing his head against her sweet-smelling pillow. “Did I mention exactly how succulent she was?”
Gabriel groaned. “I know it may shock you to hear me say this, Gid, but I think there are more pressing things we need to deal with right now than your little conquest.” He paused thoughtfully. “Not that I don’t approve. I’ve often said you could do with a good …”
“I doubt it would be the curative you’re hoping for. And in any case, I don’t think it would be a good idea.”
“Always the martyr. When are you going to allow yourself a bit of pleasure, eh? I know you’re the mighty and self-sacrificing future Alpha, but I don’t think that being no bloody fun has ever been an official part of the job description.”
