Wolf Rain (Psy-Changeling Trinity #3)(50)

She far preferred his growling to this quiet and intense distance. Even his threat to eat her had been oddly controlled. No snapping his teeth at her, no glint in the eye that said he was provoking her on purpose.

Setting her jaw, she glared at his retreating form. The damn wolf was hurting inside and rousing his temper was the only way she could think to help him. When he was snarling and grumbling at her, he forgot to be sad and angry and in such terrible pain. She wished she were like other empaths, could take painful emotions from others and soften the edges of their hurt, but she wasn’t. The only thing she could do to help Alexei was aggravate him.

Cupping her hands around her mouth, she yelled, “Chicken!”

Alexei turned on his heel near the tree line. He was too far to see clearly in the rainy dark, but she knew he was glowering at her with eyes of wild amber. As she watched, he lifted his arms and tore his T-shirt off over the top of his head. A minute later and he’d taken off his boots and jeans. She couldn’t see his body except as a silhouette in shadow, but she saw the flickers of light that erupted around him.

Her breath caught.

A large gray wolf stood where Alexei had glared at her. Heart in her throat, she stepped out, going to the far end of the porch in an effort to see him more clearly. The wolf seemed to shake to settle his pelt in place, then—with a final “you’re in trouble” stare—it was gone, a primal ghost in the darkness.

Wonder bloomed inside her at the idea of him running as a wolf . . . and other doors opened around her, curious empaths poking their heads out to search for the crazy woman who was yelling “chicken” at a very dangerous wolf. Suddenly vividly aware of her ill-fitting clothes and matted hair, her nerves jumping, Memory melted back into her doorway until they closed their doors again. But she didn’t go inside and shut her own door.

When all was quiet again, she made herself step out, even though she was afraid of the Arrows who watched over the compound. That fear angered her, but she knew it was a survival mechanism. It told her to be careful.

Reminding herself that her golden wolf would’ve never left her in this place unless it was safe, she clenched her stomach to quiet the queasiness, and walked quickly across the compound. Her movements had become less erratic hour by hour, but she did still have the odd jerked motion; when they came, she took a second, then carried on.

Once at her goal, she began to pick up the clothing Alexei had left in a tidy pile by the trees. He’d set his boots down sideways under the clothing, to stop the rain from getting inside. She knew people here must be used to finding piles of clothing discarded by changelings who’d shifted, but she collected everything anyway and returned with it to her cabin, holding his scent close. There was no need for his things to get wet when she could keep them dry inside.

Where the crabby wolf would have to come to retrieve them.

Her skin heated, her teeth sinking into her lower lip.

Door shut behind her, she put his clothing neatly on one of the two chairs she had around her small kitchen table, his boots just underneath, then walked into the bedroom and began to prepare for bed. A kind stranger had left soft flannel pajamas for her, as well as a simple change of clothes for tomorrow morning—a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a sweater. A set of underwear was also included, sealed inside the store’s floral packaging.

She put on the bottom half of the pajamas, then snuck back into the kitchen and stole Alexei’s T-shirt. It swamped her and it felt like being cuddled by him, his scent in every weave and thread. She hugged it around herself. “He shouldn’t have left it behind if he didn’t want me using it,” she said to Jitterbug . . . and remembered too late that her pet was gone forever.

It hurt, just hurt.

Drawing in Alexei’s scent in a desperate defensive action, she decided to distract herself by ordering more clothes. It appeared she wasn’t going to be kicked out of this lovely green landscape; the least she could do was make sure she looked presentable.

After getting into bed with the datapad, she was a second away from ordering a sensible hard-wearing pair of pants when she said, “No.” She wasn’t a captive anymore. She didn’t have to wear anything but what she wanted.

A woman who taunted a dominant changeling wolf wasn’t exactly sensible anyway.

When a howl rose on the air currents, she shivered and stared out toward the silhouettes of the firs visible from her bedroom window. And she wondered if her golden wolf would find peace this night. “Don’t hurt, Alexei,” she whispered.





Chapter 23


“Promise, Lexie . . . you’ll put us . . . together. Promise.”

—Etta Harte Vasiliev’s final words


ALEXEI RAN UNDER the falling rain, the ghosts of his past running beside him. His big brother had never been anything but proud of Alexei’s rank in the pack, not the least annoyed that his baby brother was the more dominant wolf of them. But then, when it was just them, the dominance rules of the pack hadn’t applied.

At those times, Brodie was the big brother and Alexei the younger follower.

It had always been that way, the roles of childhood carrying on into adulthood, as was often the case between siblings. Ten-year-old Brodie was the one who’d climbed the tallest trees first, as younger, smaller Alexei jumped up and down below, urging his big brother on while asking him to be careful. Brodie had teased him for being a nag, but it had been gently done—because Brodie knew why Alexei worried.