Kinked (Elder Races #6)(28)

At least she didn’t have to give up her hate on him. She just had to give up the whole “hunting for an act of God to squash him like a bug so she could innocently present his crushed and lifeless body to Dragos” plan.

She had to admit, that did make life a lot simpler.

And besides, giving up on the plan was one thing. She could still hurt him a whole lot if he gave her any reason to. She cheered at the thought.

They were going to have to leave the car, maybe for some time, so she had parked in an unobtrusive spot underneath some trees for whatever shelter that might offer from the elements. As she looked around, she noted that the campsite had permanent metal grills for cooking. Probably small animals had built nests in half of them. She preferred setting up her own fire ring.

It was early to stop for the day, but there was also no reason to wreck themselves. This land was beautiful, but it would not be friendly terrain in mid-March, and it was not like they could push hard, finish their assignment and go home early. And Dragos had already said they couldn’t show up again in New York before two weeks were up.

They’d already had a sleepless night and a transcontinental flight, and Aryal had eaten only one full meal since yesterday. Granted it was a big meal, but her body was telling her that it was ready for another one.

Quentin had exited the car too. He studied the scene with one arm resting on the car roof. Lifting his head, he scented the breeze. He said, “There are wolves in these mountains.”

Sentinel or no, a large enough pack of any kind of predator could bring one of them down, but the wolves weren’t really a threat to either her or Quentin. Any wolves would sense that they were the more dangerous predators and normally give them a wide berth. A wild pack would have to have an overriding reason to attack them.

She could also take to the air and leave behind any confrontation, and if Quentin couldn’t outrun them, he could go to high ground, maybe climb a tree, and wait them out. The weather wasn’t bitter enough to turn any wild pack desperate enough to tree him for days until he became desperate enough to take them on.

But wolves could become a nuisance, especially when they cooked food, so they would still need to stay wary. She said briskly, “We should set up camp.”

He tilted his head from side to side, stretching his neck muscles. “All right. I did the bulk of the work this morning, so I’m going to take off and see if I can hunt down some fresh game for supper. You can set up camp.”

“Hey!” she exclaimed. Hunting was the fun chore.

He didn’t stay to argue with her. Instead he shapeshifted into a massive black panther and after one expressive glance at her, he glided away. She made a face, looked around at the deepening dusk and set to work.

She was tempted to erect just one tent and claim it, but if he came back with fresh meat, she wanted some, so she set up a proper camp with a tarp strung between two trees in case of rain or snow, and the two dome tents set on more tarps on opposite sides of a ringed campfire. Modern materials made camping a breeze. The dome tents were light, portable, and erected within five minutes.

Not only had Quentin bought sleeping bags, but he also had picked up thin insulating pads that would protect them from the bitter chill of the ground. They weren’t as comfortable as air mattresses, but they weren’t as heavy and bulky either. Everything he had bought was top of the line and lightweight for serious, long-distance hiking.

The most time-intensive thing was gathering wood for a campfire. She worked on that quickly, and after she had gathered deadwood from the immediate area, she jogged around the larger campsite to see if anybody had left wood behind from the previous season.

She was in luck and found a couple of armloads. She hauled them back to camp, started the fire, and opened the bottle of twenty-six-year-old scotch she had found in one of the bags in the car. As she took her first pull from the bottle, the black panther slipped out of the gathering darkness, two winter hares in his mouth.

Reflected light from the new flames flickered in the panther’s strange, brilliant blue eyes and gleamed along his glossy black pelt. He was an oddity in that his Wyr form was so black, yet in his human form, his hair was a dark blond. It was probably a product of his mixed-race heritage. As he padded toward her, his heavy, graceful muscles flowed underneath his skin, causing the light to ripple along his long, powerful body.

The skin at the back of her nape prickled. This was why she was so convinced he was dangerous. If she dove at him as a harpy, he had the speed, power and size to snatch her out of the air.

She refused to let her reaction show, so she sniffed, took another swig from the bottle and told the panther, “You’re the one who wanted to hunt. You’d better not be bringing those to me to clean. The fire’s going to be ready in a few minutes. Hop to it.” The panther stared at the bottle of scotch then up at her with an unblinking gaze. She shooed him with one hand. “Go on, you stinky cat.”

The panther let the hares fall to the ground, then he shapeshifted into a crouching man who was every bit as dangerous as the animal. He said pointedly, “That is not your scotch.”

Up until that very moment, she’d had every expectation of sharing the bottle with him. After all, sharing resources was what camping mates did, but his attitude spun her in a sharp one-eighty.

“Of course it is. I found it, didn’t I?” She took another long swig, capped the bottle and tucked it securely under one arm. Then she pointed out, “I set up your tent. I didn’t have to.”