Winter Howl (Sanctuary) Read online

  “Well, if you want to patrol the perimeter, go ahead. I’ll have my people look over it as well. I’m sure they’ll tell me if something’s wrong,” Renee said, closing her expression off.

  Detective Ebon noticed it and immediately stepped back. If he knew of her reputation, then he probably knew that she was not very good with people. Especially, Renee thought, when they were antagonising her sanctuary. And that was exactly what Ebon was doing, even if he was doing it under the guise of simple enquiry. She had no doubt that he would have people patrol the entire circumference of the perimeter, and if he had to use that complaint against her in order to get in without her permission, he would. All the more reason why she would be having a talk with Jake and Malcolm after the police left.

  “If you discover anything or have any information for me, here’s my card.” He slipped it out of his coat pocket and handed it to Renee, who put it in her own coat pocket. “Hope you have a good holiday season,” Detective Ebon said, nodding at no one in particular. He beckoned to his partner, who had not said a word, but who had been looking around more actively than Ebon. The dogs who had come up to greet them had probably distracted her a little. None of them had gone near Ebon—they had not barked or growled at him, but they just kept their distance. Renee could not blame them. He might pretend to be pleasant, but he was decidedly unapproachable. Dogs did not always have to be told.

  Renee waited until she could not hear the police car anymore before she turned to Jake and Malcolm. She did not have to say anything. Whatever they had been keeping from her was out in the open now, like frozen breath.

  Jake touched her shoulder. “This will probably be easier for you if you take one of the four-wheelers.” They had a few stored in a small, makeshift garage outside the shapeshifter barn. At least a quarter of the shapeshifters were too small in their dog forms to move quickly at greater distances, the way Jake, Britt, Malcolm or Leslie could as large dogs, and Renee herself could not get her truck everywhere in the sanctuary.

  Renee followed Jake, Malcolm, and Britt to the four-wheelers, turned one on, and backed out of the space. Jake and Malcolm had already shrugged out of their clothes and transformed.

  Renee could barely hear anything over the roar of the four-wheeler. She followed the shapeshifters as they led her into the western part of the forest. She did not drive very quickly. The forest did not have many paths cleared for it, so she had to improvise her way through. There were some places where it seemed the dogs liked to run, which opened up a few spaces for her, but other times she had to do some careful manoeuvring so as not to flip the vehicle over. The shapeshifters were patient.

  She was so focused on the uneven forest floor in front of her that she almost did not notice when she arrived. The burst of red halted her right on the edge of the clearing. The colour was first. The smell was next. She had never smelt so much rot all at once.

  The clearing was about twenty feet in a rough circle, with a few smaller trees in the centre. Some of the trees from there had been removed completely by the roots and thrown to the edge of the clearing. Bodies were strewn in the sunlight in a rough spiral from the centre. That could have been dismissed as pure coincidence, a rare, unusual act of nature. But other bodies were hung on branches, the skin attached and spread in such a way that suggested macabre artistry. No animal could have done that—hung the animal corpses a little higher than her head. Only something with hands and fingers, something large enough, could have positioned the gutted animals, which looked like sacrifices or strange ornamentation. Renee might have thought it was ritual, except there was nothing in the clearing but the light, blood, maggots, cockroaches, ravens, and the bodies.

  Renee turned off the four-wheeler, and the silence made the massacre even worse. Her stomach twisted, clenched, then heaved. By simple reflex, she managed to turn her head and let it out in a bush. She didn’t get anything on herself except a drip down her chin. She rubbed it off and swallowed, wincing at the sharp acid in her throat and the bitterness on her tongue.

  “How long?” Renee asked. Her throat clicked as she swallowed again. She wished she had some water or something to wash it down and take the taste out of her mouth. When she looked at Jake and Malcolm, who had transformed back into human form, she saw how taut their skin looked, pebbled against the cold. But they suffered through it, wrapping their arms around their chests and rubbing.

  “We noticed it on a run three weeks ago,” Malcolm said. “It wasn’t this bad then. We weren’t sure enough.”

  “You let me go off with him after seeing this?” Renee asked.

  “You didn’t exactly leave us a lot of choice,” Jake said dryly. “You’re a big girl, figuratively speaking.”

  “I would have appreciated the information.”

  “Would it have changed your mind?” Jake asked.

  Renee looked at the rabbit on the tree closest to her. It was open and spread like an anatomy lesson, the insides ravaged beyond recognition although its skin was largely untouched. The eyes had already been eaten by the ravens. Its head had fallen back so that it seemed it implored for mercy to the sky, its empty sockets looking straight at her. But she looked beyond, saw the birds, the rabbits, the vultures, the hares, the deer. No dogs. He had not touched her dogs. And there were no humans in the small, bloody pocket of ruin. In spite of the fact that this kind of destruction spoke of a deranged mind, she’d already known what Grant was. She’d known he was a wolf, vicious and impulsive. And that was what had made her go with him.

  “No,” Renee answered. It still would have informed her decision, Renee thought. She would have been even more on her guard.

  She walked around the edge of the clearing. She knew there was a fence nearby—this was the edge of her land. But she could not see the fence unless she walked a good way, and when she did reach the fence, she could not see the clearing. There was a bit of blood on the barbed wire, and the area looked worn and used, but maybe not enough to alert a green policeman, or one that did not know what he or she was looking for.

  She walked to the clearing again and swung her leg over the four-wheeler.

  “Are you just going to let him keep doing this? The police are noticing,” Jake said. He spoke a little louder as she turned the four-wheeler on.

  “It’s what he is, and I can’t change that,” Renee said.

  “Do you really want to let him do something to one of your dogs or one of us before you do something?” Jake snapped, moving in front of her and grabbing hold of the handlebars. “Or maybe to you.”

  “I’m not going to kick him out for something that he might do,” Renee said. “Any of us might do something. He may be more likely to, but I still can’t do it on a might.”

  Jake’s eyes were hard, his jaw tense. Renee’s fists tightened over the handlebars. “You’re making a mistake,” Jake said.

  She wanted to thumb the throttle, make the vehicle growl, but she restrained herself. She waited until he let go of the handlebars in his own time, the way she would treat a tense dog. He stepped aside and let her drive back. Britt followed her. She had stayed in her dog form the entire time, just watching Renee. When they arrived at the house, she transformed back into human form.

  “Jake’s right,” Britt said quietly. “You’re making a huge mistake. And you know it.”

  She did. Renee knew there was a mistake, a flaw in her logic, but she could not quite put a finger on it. Any way she turned it, she felt she could not make a pre-emptive decision, even if she knew better.

  Her mouth opened, but nothing came out but a cloud of her breath. After her lips tried to form words for a few moments, she eventually gave up and went into the house without saying anything.

  * * * *

  She did not see Grant all day, and all things considered, it was probably a good idea on his part. When she went to bed, mostly avoiding a subdued Britt and Jake, she slept in the loft rather than in her old bedroom. It was freezing—Max was working on the breaker, and it meant
that she needed about four quilts and one crocheted blanket on her bed, not to mention her warmest pyjamas. It was fairly warm under the blankets, but her nose was still cold enough above them that she was easily awakened by the loud thump against the front door. At first, she thought she had dreamt it, although the tendril fragments of her dream were already slipping away. As time passed, the thump didn’t return, but she became more convinced that it hadn’t been a dream at all.

  Her skin immediately tightened and broke out into gooseflesh when she pushed her blankets down. She wrapped a quilt around her, and though it did not work as well as she would have liked, she did not think she could manage more than one blanket at a time. Max must have fixed the heat, because she was not quite as frigid as she had been going to sleep, but it still took time to heat up a house that had been freezing before. The spicy woodsmoke that they had used until the heater came back on stung her nose, but it was still one of her favourite smells—it saturated the walls from all the winters. Her slippered feet brushed quietly against the hardwood floors.

  When she opened the front door, she winced against the wind. The warm spell had run from this front. Renee could almost feel the moisture in her eyes and mouth turn to ice.

  The door opened wider. There was a burst of red out of the corner of her eye, and she saw where the carcass of a racoon had stained not the door, but the wall right next to it, a macabre declaration. Grant stood as still as a totem at the bottom of the porch steps.

  “I could smell you at the blood grounds,” Grant said. The air was rarefied, and it was as if he were right next to her ear.

  She didn’t say anything, just stood there with the cold getting into the house, wrapped in a wholly inadequate blanket.

  “If you’re looking for an apology, I’m not giving one,” Grant added.

  “No apology,” Renee replied. “But the police are looking for you.”

  “I was wondering how long it would take the pups to tell you what I was doing,” Grant said, as though he hadn’t heard her. “They’ve known for a month. What does that say about how much they respect you and your opinions, I wonder?”

  “They thought I was attached to you,” Renee said.

  He climbed the stairs, his right foot almost against the animal’s body. “But you’re not.”

  The blood was bitter. Fresh, it smelt stronger than the woodsmoke. Grant was all shadow in front of the door, but she saw enough of him to know he was naked and ready. Her quilt slipped down her shoulders and onto the floor when he reached for her with the hands that had thrown that animal carcass against her house. She tried to recoil, but his grip became stronger.

  He grabbed hold of both of her wrists, yanked her out onto the patio, then shut the door behind her. He had to let her go to rip the front of her sweatshirt apart, but by then, she could not go far—it was too damn cold. Her nipples felt hard as rocks, and they hurt terribly when he pinched, but even so, she felt her cunt soften inside. The moisture made her colder there between her legs, even as her blood tried to make it warmer. Grant’s skin steamed, and he was slow but insistent in pressing her against the door. When he pushed too hard, tiny splinters slid, stinging, into her shoulders. She should have run then. But then he closed his mouth around her right nipple. In contrast with the cold, his mouth felt as if it was at boiling temperature, and she bit her lip, choking in a rising cry.

  His nails lengthened into claws as he yanked her pants down, tore off her underwear and clutched her hips. The tips thrust through her skin. The pain was sharp and warm. When he pushed his thigh between her legs, lifting her from the ground, she found herself riding him. She hadn’t known just how hot he had made her—her skin had been too cold for her to feel the pulse of veins beneath—but now there was no mistaking it.

  He was growling between her breasts, really growling. His mouth was too wide, and his teeth too sharp. He was trembling, as though he was trying not to lunge down and rip open her stomach like he had all those animals, like the limp animal on the ground in front of her. She squirmed, trying to move away from the door, but she only succeeded in digging splinters deeper into her back. She hit his shoulder even as she thrust her hips towards him, but he was as immovable as rock. Then the heel of her hand found his mouth and smashed his lips into his sharp teeth.

  She could feel the hot blood drip from his mouth and fall on her shoulders as he pulled back. He ran the back of his hand—too-long fingers—over his mouth, and when he put his hand down, he was grinning toothily. Her feet found the ground, and she turned the doorknob, then pulled the door open. She was now keenly aware of the fact that her sweatshirt was torn apart, and her sweatpants were halfway down her legs. She tugged them back up with one hand, held her shirt together with the other.

  He followed her in while she was deciding whether to slam the door in his face or yank him in with her. His lips were on hers again as they stumbled blindly to her bedroom. Every time her shoulders flexed and her shirt moved, she could feel the drying blood and the stinging of the splinters.

  Grant kicked the door closed behind him. When he came after her again, she sidestepped out of the way.

  “No. Not yet.”

  Grant gave a short, quick sigh. “I suppose you want to talk about those animals,” he began.

  Renee shook her head. Pulling her shirt off down her arms, she bit back cries as some of the splinters came out, and others stayed in. The shirt was ruined. She was glad it was not one that held any sort of sentimental value to her. Some of the sweatshirts she wore had belonged to her mother or father. She sat down on her bed and presented her back to him.

  “Fix it,” she said.

  She felt like a pincushion, a strange hybrid between a porcupine and a human. She thought that it probably didn’t look as bad as it felt, but she couldn’t see her own back, and she didn’t think she could reach most of the splinters anyway. Sure, she liked a little pain when she fucked him, but she didn’t like the way the splinters felt inside her at all, like stiff-legged spiders burrowing into her.

  Grant joined her on the bed. She shivered as she felt his tongue trace around and catch on them, as he tasted her skin beneath the blood.

  The first splinter out startled her, a sharp tug and a sting about five times more painful than she’d expected, but it faded almost as soon as she registered it. Renee looked over her shoulder and saw Grant spit the particularly large splinter into his hand.

  “You should sand your door,” Grant said.

  “I’ll put that on my list,” Renee replied.

  He continued about his business, sometimes just using his teeth, and other times having to use his fingers to pinch her skin swollen so that he could find the splinter. When he was finished, he ran his hand over her skin, asking her whether she could feel it sting anywhere. She shook her head. His tongue found her skin again, this time just the tip so she could feel him trace patterns over her, clean his blood from her shoulder, clean her blood from the wounds. It would probably be more sterile for him to put rubbing alcohol on, but her head was fuzzy, her cunt wet, and she was swaying in place, half asleep from his ministrations.

  He made her stand, pulled down her pants, and guided her down over his dripping erection. A moan escaped her as he warmed her from the inside out, moving slowly, drawing out each second so that she could feel him completely. Swiping her tongue over her dry lips, she twisted around. It took a little flexibility, but she eventually manoeuvred herself so that she faced him without letting him pull out of her. Her muscles grasped his cock in a steady rhythm, and his dark eyes burned. She pressed her small hands on his chest until he lay on his back with her riding him. She stirred herself in slow, sinuous circles with his cock, making sure he touched every inch of her cunt that he could. She eventually found that spot that made her buck. He ground himself into her, trying to continue hitting that same spot. It was an awkward angle, but he was strong and determined, rock hard and hot inside her, his legs quivering.

  “Come with me,” he murmu
red, edged with a growl.

  The orgasm climbed strong and slow, clenching and clenching more than she’d thought she could, until it felt as if she was constricting dangerously tight around him. His eyes rolled back into his head, his mouth in a blissful, sharp smile. He filled her, twitching and coming as the warmth swirled within her, pulsing all the way to her fingertips and toes. With her head thrown back, she could feel the ends of her hair brush the small of her back as her body shook through the prolonged climax, her back arched and tight. He slid his hands up her sides before pulling her down until her breasts pressed against his chest. She breathed and listened to him breathe until she felt like she could move her limbs again.

  Then she rolled off him and grabbed the modified rifle from under the bed. She had attached the silver knife with duct tape to the end like a makeshift bayonet. Completely naked, she cocked the gun and pointed it at Grant.

  “You need to leave,” she said.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A smile broke over his face, crooked and somehow disbelieving. After all, she had pointed the knife at him before. But a knife in foreplay was very different from a knife attached to the barrel of a gun.

  Grant stood slowly, his smile frozen. His eyes were dark and aggressive. The smile did not quite reach there.

  He took a step towards her. “You won’t shoot.” But even Renee could hear that he was not completely confident in the statement.

  Renee just kept the barrel trained on him, keeping her arms as steady as possible although the gun was a little big for her, and she was not one hundred per cent sure that she would shoot him either, or even prick him with the knife. If he got close enough, he could knock the gun from her hands without too much effort. She had to commit to act on the threat if it came down to it.