Now unable to
separate her unusual tracking skills from Jeremiah's paranormal theory, she gave
into it, summoning her power as best she could, calling on her extra senses
that she had never questioned before.
Shading her
eyes with her hand, Isla pointed to a particularly treacherous looking cliff
before them among the rocky ridge that separated
Gleann Dubh
from the
Sheeans
,
or the Faerie Hills as the locals called them. "They headed toward the
Raven's Rock."
Callum cursed
colorfully under his breath. "Hell of a climb, that. That would be hard
for an experienced hiker without climbing gear, much less a couple of tourists.
No offense, Jeremiah."
"None
taken."
"We'll
follow the route they took until we can't go anymore. Or until we find
something," Isla said. No one questioned how she knew what route they
took.
As they walked,
the land began a steep incline until they were practically crawling up the
steep eastern face. Isla was impressed by the way Jeremiah kept up, although
they were all bruised and bloody from scrapes and falls.
Whenever she
stumbled or had trouble finding her footing, he was always there to lend a
hand. Her heart tripped over itself a little when they finally made it to the
rocky ridge where they could stand upright, and he shot her his shit-eating
grin, flashing pearly whites from a tanned and grubby face.
Following the
ridge northward, a jaggedly pointed peak rose above them, blocking the sun and
casting itself in a raven-black silhouette. Maybe that's where the name came
from, Isla thought, but she wasn't sure.
When they
reached the foot of the craggy monolith, they examined the trail that led to
its peak. It wasn't so much a trail, as it was a thin chimney corridor between
two flat rocks. They would have to crawl up, bracing their arms and legs on
either wall, a technique called
stemming
. This was a dangerous climb
without gear.
"I'll go
first," Isla declared. "Anyone feels unstable, turn back, no
questions asked. We don't need an accident out here." She looked pointedly
at Jeremiah until he gave her a quick nod.
Taking the
lead, Isla found handholds to pull herself up into the corridor, squeezing her
body into the tight space. Levering herself up with her legs braced on either
wall, she inched her way up.
Sweat dripped
down her neck and pooled between her shoulder blades. Her muscles shook from
the exertion, but she gritted her teeth and kept ascending. Jack began climbing
underneath her, to be followed by Jeremiah, and Callum to bring up the rear.
It was an
agonizing climb. Their muscles burned and screamed, but they kept on going.
Isla's hackles rose as her sense of dread increased, but they had no choice but
to press on.
Finally, Isla
took her final handhold and pulled herself up onto the flat peak of Raven's
Rock. What she saw there caused her heart to trip.
A woman stood
about a foot from the edge of the rocky cliff. Her face was bruised and bloody,
her blond hair, dark and matted. Her head hung, as if she didn't have the
energy to hold it up, so Isla couldn't see her face clearly. But instinctively
Isla knew that this was Kate, one of the missing hikers.
Holding her
hands out, palms up, Isla approached her slowly, afraid she would startle the
girl into taking a step back.
"Kate,"
she said softly. "Kate, we're here to help. We've got you." Isla
stepped closer, inch by agonizing inch. Hearing a sharp intake of breath behind
her, she knew that Jack had reached the summit and taken in the precarious
situation, and Jeremiah would be close behind.
Mere feet away,
Isla reached out to the girl. "Kate, take my hand. We need to get you to
safety."
The girl
finally stirred, raised her face to the sun that caused her pale—too pale—eyes
to glint and sparkle. Her mouth twisted into a gruesome smirk as she looked
straight at Isla.
"He'll
come for you too," she sang in an eerie, lilting voice. She took a small
step back, then another. Spreading her arms, she launched herself backwards
into empty space.
"No!"
Frantically Isla lunged after her, staggering on the edge, only to have
Jeremiah yank her back towards him. He held her there, bracketed in his steely
embrace as she punched, kicked, and clawed, trying to break away so that she
could try and save the girl.
"She's
gone." He gave her a little shake. "Isla, she's gone." The
fighting gave way to sobbing.
Jack crept
carefully over to the edge, looking down. "Damn," he breathed.
Callum paced angrily
back and forth behind him, raking hands through his hair. "God
damn
it!
What the fuck was she thinking?"
That was a
question no one but Kate would ever know the answer to. Jack was the quickest
to recover, unclipping his radio to deliver the news.
"Team one
to base."
"Base, go
ahead."
"Found the
girl up on Raven's Rock, west of the
Sheeans
."
"Do we
need to send a medic?" A discreet way of asking if she was still alive.
"Not
anymore. She jumped." He heard nothing but static from the radio, and
then, "Come again?"
"She
jumped. We found her on the summit of the Raven, and she fucking jumped."
More static.
"We'll send a team to recover the...remains. Your team good to keep
searching?"
Jack looked
over at Isla who stepped away from Jeremiah and furiously scrubbed at her ruddy
cheeks with the palms of her hands. Her eyes sparked, as if daring Jack to say
she wasn't fit to continue.
"Team one?
Come back."
"Yeah,
base, we're going to continue on, look for the husband. Over and out."
Carefully
making their way down the western face of the craggy ridge, they came to a wild
area overgrown with shrubs and brush that led into another dense forest. The
wilds of the
Sheeans,
as Callum had called them, were thought to be a
playground for the faeries.
They pressed
on, through brush so thick that Isla was forced to unsheathe her machete and
cut their way through.
Callum called
out from behind them, "Isla, are you sure this is the way he came? There
are no signs that he cut a path through this." He made a broad sweeping gesture
toward the thick undergrowth.
She turned
fierce eyes back to him. "I know it."
No one
questioned her again. Jeremiah watched her cutting her way through the brush,
muscles flexing, sweat rolling. She moved with the grace of a mountain cat, no
obstacle slowing her down for long. More impressed than he wanted to be, he
continued to follow.
As the sun
began to sink below the trees behind them, Isla stopped in a small clearing
amidst the thick brush. "We should make camp. Don't want to lose the light
while cutting our way through this."
It was a warm
night, so they opted to spread out their bedrolls under the forest canopy and
forgo the tents. Seeing no need for pretense anymore, Isla and Jeremiah zipped
their bedrolls together. Jack and Callum did the same, and they all settled in.
An evening fog
rolled in, blanketing the clearing, as they all tried to block out the memories
of the day long enough to sleep. Finally, with her head resting on Jeremiah's
shoulder, Isla drifted off.
She dreamed of
an eagle, soaring through the sky over the island on a cloudless day. The sky
darkened to an angry grey and the eagle's feathers blackened, until she
realized it had become a raven. It dove toward her, hurtling through the steely
clouds, and just before it would have impacted her, she sat straight up in her
sleeping bag, panting.
Needing to walk
it off, Isla took a flashlight and her machete and left the campsite, cutting
her way through a thin curtain of brush to another clearing she hadn't seen in
the daylight. She turned in a slow circle, shining her light to check out her
surroundings.
A hand snaked
around from behind her, and the flashlight clattered to the ground,
illuminating the clearing with a sickly glow. Another hand reached across her
body to pull her machete from its sheath and hold it to her throat.
The hand left
her mouth and buried deep in her hair, pulling hard, sparking long dead
memories of another horrible night, nearly twenty years ago. Isla drew in a
deep breath in preparation to scream, when she was stopped by a sharp nick from
the blade over her jugular.
"Now, now.
We wouldn't want me to slip, would we?" he hissed into her ear.
His accent.
American.
Please don't let it be him!
But she knew it was. "Ethan,
you need to let me go. We're here to help you."
The answer she
got was a crazed cackle that she felt rumble up in his chest that was pressed
against her back.
"The
devil's own daughter!" he wailed in a high-pitched voice. "Gonna cut
the devil out, bitch!"
Nausea rolled
in Isla's belly as her mother's long ago words were thrown back at her.
Fighting it down, she calmed her breathing, willed her body into action. With a
sudden flick of her neck, she smashed her head back, connecting with the man's
nose.
Surprise and
pain caused him to loosen his hold slightly, and it was just enough. Isla
lifted her feet off the ground so that he carried all of her weight and twisted
her body to wriggle out of his arms, which had loosened even more with the
additional strain.
Hitting the
ground hard enough to knock the wind out of her, Isla rolled onto her back and
crab-crawled away from the man who was clutching his broken nose as it gushed
blood. He recovered quicker than she expected, stalking toward her with the
machete raised high above his head.
Standing over
her prepared to strike, he turned his pale, demented eyes to her face and
smiled. Raising her hands defensively, she braced for the blow. It never came.
With a feral
growl, a silver shape streaked out of the mist and pounced on Ethan, knocking
him sideways. While man and wolf grappled, Isla backed away and got to her
feet.
An almost
supernatural speed and strength lent itself to the fight, and Ethan was able to
swipe at the wolf with the machete, across its ribcage, as it lunged for his
throat. The blow propelled it off of him, and with an agonized whimper, the
wolf crumpled to the ground.
Isla let out a
strangled cry and started toward the wolf, only to draw up short when the men
exploded into the clearing, each armed with a hunting knife.
Realizing he
was cornered and outnumbered, Ethan held out both hands in a submissive
gesture, though the right one still held the machete. He threw his head back
and laughed to the trees, the sound sending chills down Isla's spine.
Pointing the
machete at Isla, he curled his lip at her and spoke in that high-pitched whine.
"He's
in
you. Don't you see?" Isla's hand flew to her throat,
and she backed up until her back hit the solid wall of Jeremiah's chest.
Before any of
them had time to speak, Ethan cast one last wild, shadowed look at the four of
them and drew the machete across his own throat. Blood ran like a river, and
his lifeless body collapsed onto the forest floor.
With a choked
scream, Isla turned her face into Jeremiah's chest and he held her tight. Jack
went back to the camp and returned with a bedroll to cover the body. Isla could
hear Callum's hushed voice as he radioed their position to base camp.
In her daze of
shock and horror, Isla suddenly remembered what had saved her. "The
wolf!" she shouted, breaking out of Jeremiah's hold and running for the
spot where the wolf had fallen. There was nothing there but a pool of blood. No
trail, no tracks—nothing.
Hearing
footsteps behind her, Isla turned toward Jeremiah and swiped at tears she didn't
realize were falling. Placing both hands on her shoulders, Jeremiah spoke in a
calm, soothing tone. "Sun's rising. They're going to send out a retrieval
team. We need to go home."
It was full
afternoon by the time Isla and Jeremiah finally stumbled through the front door
of the cabin. There had been hours of hiking back to base camp, and then hours
more of being interviewed and questions from the police about the night's
events.
Their clothes
were dirty and torn, their bodies bruised, their minds traumatized. Without a
word, they both headed for the bedroom to the roomy tiled shower. Jeremiah
started the water running, allowing it to heat up and fill the room with
soothing steam.
Quickly,
silently, they discarded their ruined clothing and stepped into the spray. Isla
moaned as the scalding water washed over her aching muscles.
She wanted to
close her eyes and give herself up to the comfort of a warm shower and a strong
man, but every time she tried, the gruesome images from the search would
flicker through her mind like a bad drive-in film. She could feel the dull
edges of shock scraping against her consciousness. She needed something to
ground her into reality, and safety.
She opened her
eyes and blinked as water droplets clung to her lashes. Looking at the man in
front of her, it suddenly dawned on her. This was her lifeline, her reality.
She had no doubt that he would do anything to keep her safe, and the
realization was nothing short of life altering. Sliding her arms around Jeremiah's
neck, she captured his mouth with hers and tried to pour every ounce of her
depth of love for him into one searing kiss. Feeling his need as strong as her
own, she explored his body with hands and lips until his breathing sped up to
match hers.
He let out a
sound halfway between a groan and a growl, and she felt his big body shudder.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed her away gently. "Isla, I don't think this
is a good time to be—"
"Shut
up." Again, soapy hands lathered and caressed him, teasing and arousing
along their wicked path. When he tried to back away, she stayed with him,
continuing her exquisite torture. His head fell back against the tile wall, and
his muscles twitched and rippled.
"Isla,
you've had a tough night," he breathed. "You shouldn't be—"
"Shut. Up.
Let me." She ran her tongue up and down the length of his neck, reveling
in his delicious shudders. "Isla," he said her name on a sigh, and he
was losing the fight. He'd let her have her distraction.
Turning her
deep, green eyes up to his face, his skin flushed with desire, lids at half
mast, she quirked a small smile at him. "Jeremiah."
"Hmm?"
"Shut
up." She reveled in having such a strong, powerful creature willing to
give up complete control to her whim. She rained kisses all over his neck and
torso, smiling at the gasp he let out when she grazed him with her teeth.
Teasing him with mouth and hands, she drove him almost to the point of no
return, until his fingers were clenching—but never pulling—in her hair.
The essence of
him swirled around her in a cloud of vanilla-scented steam, and her mind spun
with want as he turned her to face the ceramic tiled wall. Biting down on the
back of her neck, right over her
signa
, he filled her—more than just
physically—he filled a part deep inside that she hadn't known was empty.
Resting her
forehead against the cool tile, she allowed the feel of him to swamp her.
The beautiful
agony of calloused hands sliding over slick skin, lips caressing, brought her
to the ultimate surrender—body and heart.
He followed her
shortly after, shuddering over her as his own body was overcome with sensation.
They stayed where they were, joined and panting, for quite a while before
Jeremiah eased back to let her up. Turning around, Isla took his mouth again in
a deep, lazy kiss.
"What was
that for?"
"For being
exactly what I needed."
Smiling, he
kissed the tip of her nose. They leisurely lathered up and washed each other,
lingering longer on certain parts than was exactly necessary. As the water
began to cool, they stepped out of the shower to towel off.
Isla went to
the bedroom to change into clean clothes and dug out some of Callum's old
sweats he had left over one day for Jeremiah to wear.
By the time they
were fully dressed and had made a pot of coffee, the sun was setting. They were
just settling down on the couch with their mugs, when they heard a shrill whine
and a loud thump from the front porch.
Still
overwrought from the events of the night before, Isla flew off her couch and
had her shotgun trained at the door before Jeremiah even stood up.
"Easy,"
Jere coaxed. "Probably nothing. I'll go check."
She was
embarrassed by her reaction, and by the way the barrel of the gun was shaking,
but not enough to put it down.
She watched as
Jeremiah crept up to the door, unlocked the deadbolt, turned the handle, and
peeked out.
"What
the—? You've got to be kidding me." He flung the door wide, so that Isla
was able to see the motionless mound of blood tinged grey fur that lay on the
doormat.
"Oh, my
God," Isla gasped, running to the prone form and kneeling beside it.
"Help me get him inside!"
"What?
Isla, are you serious? That's a wild animal!"
She rounded on
him, ready to go to bat for the wounded creature. "He saved my life."
With a sigh,
Jeremiah knelt down and carefully scooped up the wolf and brought him inside.
Up close, the animal was smaller than she'd imagined, leaner.
Dragging the
coffee table out of the way, Isla laid a blanket over the scratched hardwood
floor and motioned for Jere to set the wolf down. Disappearing for a moment
into the bedroom, Isla returned with her first-aid kit, just as she had when
Jeremiah had been injured.
Checking the
wolf's gum color, she saw that he was pale from blood loss and his breathing
was shallow. She gingerly probed the deep gash across the wolf's ribs.
"This needs to be sutured. It's not very deep, but we've got to stop the
bleeding."
"So,
what?" Jeremiah asked, at a loss. "We take him to a vet?"
"No need.
Jack's the island's only vet, so I help him out with assisting whenever I need
extra quid. I can stitch it."
Taking an
electric clipper out of a drawer in the kitchen, she painstakingly shaved the
fur around the wound. She pulled out a pair of surgical scissors from her kit
and trimmed the jagged edges of the gash.
After cleaning
the area with an alcohol swab, she meticulously stitched the edges together
until it was completely closed. She then placed a dressing over the site to
keep it clean and dry for as long as possible.
"He's lost
so much blood, he'll be out for hours, if he makes it through the night at all.
We should get some sleep while we can."
Turning out the
lights, they retired to the bedroom to rest. Long after Isla had fallen asleep,
Jeremiah lay awake listening to the sounds of the night. He had almost lost her
today, he thought, as he watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest. It
surprised him just how much that scared him.
The sound of
shattering glass woke them both from a sound sleep. Jeremiah stumbled out of
bed, grappling for the shotgun he'd placed underneath it. "Now what! How
the hell long have we been asleep?"
Pressing a
button to illuminate the display, Isla checked the bedside clock. "Only
three hours. I can't imagine he would be recovered enough to move around
yet."
"Well,
something's moving in there. Damn it, I told you this was a bad idea. There's a
wolf in your living room."
Isla clapped a
hand over her mouth to stop the hysterical laughter he heard bubbling up to the
surface. "Okay, okay, let's figure this out. Maybe one of us can distract
him while the other slips by to open the door. Then we can, sort of, shoo him
out."
Tossing an
annoyed look over his shoulder at her, Jeremiah padded to the bedroom door.
"Stay here."
"Be
careful," she whispered.
Cracking open
the door, Jeremiah squeezed through the opening to slip into the pitch-black
room. While waiting for his eyes to adjust, he listened for unusual sounds in
the darkness, keeping still so as not to attract the animal's attention.
Hearing first a
muffled thud, then what sounded like a whispered curse, Jeremiah's finger
tightened on the trigger of the twelve gauge, and he reached out his other hand
to flick on the lights.
The shadowy darkness
quickly dissolved to reveal an impossible scene. A young man, nineteen, maybe
twenty at the most, stood naked in the middle of the living room. Frozen like a
deer caught in headlights, his glittering, blue eyes were wide and fixed on the
muzzle of the gun.
"What.
The. Fuck." Jeremiah started toward the kid, and he backed away in fear.
At the same
time, Isla burst through the door, machete drawn—the new one Chief Sinclair had
given her, as hers was still evidence.
Not expecting
to see a stranger stark naked in the middle of her house, she stumbled to a
stop, squealed and covered her face—but peeked through the cracks between her
fingers. "Oh, dear God."
Seeing Isla,
the boy's expression calmed. Smiling, he made as if to approach her when he was
stopped by the shotgun barrel nudging his chest. "Easy there,
partner," Jere said in a deceptively flat voice.
After casting
another wary glance in Jeremiah's direction, the boy lowered his eyes and began
to tremble. An inexplicable protective instinct sparked inside Isla, so she
placed a hand gently on the shotgun barrel, forcing Jeremiah to lower it.
Walking to a
wooden rack next to the fireplace, Isla pulled out a quilt and returned to wrap
it around the boy's naked body. "Sit," she ordered gently, gesturing
to the couch. "You too," she told Jeremiah, indicating the worn
recliner in the corner of the room.
Ignoring her
suggestion, Jere sat on the coffee table directly in front of the young man,
while she sat next to him on the couch.
Jeremiah pinned
the boy with a hostile glare. "How the hell did you get in here?" he
growled.
Patting his
hand where it clenched the couch cushion, Isla encouraged him to speak.
"It's okay, just tell us. We won't hurt you."
"Yet,"
Jere interjected, earning a quelling look from Isla.
Looking back
and forth between the two of them, the boy contemplated his answer with an odd
expression on his face, as if they had asked him a ridiculous question. When he
finally spoke, his trembling voice was lightly accented. Mediterranean, maybe
Italian. "You...you let me in."
Isla turned to
look at Jeremiah and saw her own confusion mirrored in his face. Had they left
the door unlocked? Had the boy somehow considered that an invitation? Leaning
in to study him closer, Isla noticed how his Siberian blue eyes contrasted
sharply with his olive skin and dark brown curls.
He had a
peculiar tattoo of three bands around his neck, just above his collarbone.
Looking lower, over a lean—bordering on emaciated—but well-muscled chest, she
gasped when she saw a jagged, angry gash across his ribcage that looked like it
had been clumsily stitched. Several of the stitches had pulled out, and the
wound was slowly leaking blood.
"You're
right. We did," she answered, and Jeremiah's eyes snapped up to meet her
gaze.
"Isla,
what—"
She held up a
hand to stave off his reply. "Look at him, Jeremiah. Look at these
markings on him. This wound. I think he's right where we left him."
"That's
ridiculous. This kid obviously must have broken in!"
"You were
the one that brought up the idea of the wolf being the
feradux
. Isn't
that right,
Doctor
Rousseau?" At least he had the grace to look
sheepish.
Hearing an
obviously familiar term, the boy brightened instantly, turning luminous, blue
eyes toward Isla. "
Domina mea, veni ut auxilium
," he said,
earnestly sliding closer to her.
"All
right, pal, that's close enough," Jeremiah growled, causing the boy again
to shrink back.
Isla turned
snapping jade eyes back to Jeremiah. "Don't pull that alpha male shit with
me. You're scaring him.”
Jeremiah
cleared his throat and looked away. "I'm sorry. After last night, I
just..."
Giving him a
sympathetic smile, she saved him from finishing the thought. "We're all
safe and alive. Now we just need some answers. I assume you understood what he
said?"
"He said
he's here to help you."
Nodding, she
turned her body to face their guest and smiled at him. "What's your
name?"
Pausing for a
moment, his brows drew together as if he were thinking, and Isla realized he
was probably translating her words in his head. When he smiled at her, her
stomach leapt into her throat when she realized he still had fangs like the
wolf that he was.