Frostbitten

BACKTRACK

THE FEDERAL BUILDING did have an excellent display of stuffed beasties. We found wolverine and several subspecies of bear. Getting a scent from a taxidermy version is less than ideal, but we could smell enough to know that none of the creatures there had been the one that attacked me.

As for what had attacked me, we both suspected our best source would be the notes we'd taken from Dennis's cabin. So, exercising my new powers as Alpha-in-training, I sent Clay back to the hotel room to get a closer look at Dennis's work while I grabbed supplies-energy bars, fruit, water, brandy, all the little extras a werewolf needs to call a hotel room home.

When Clay hesitated, I reminded him that he'd been the one to suggest the shift in roles. "So that's what I'm doing," I said.

"And that's what I'm doing," he said. "There's one area with Jeremy where I get to argue a call. Personal security. We can both get the stuff, then both go to the hotel."

"A waste of time. As you said, we have a lot to do. I'm heading that way." I pointed down the road. "I saw a shop a block away. The wind will be at my back. No one can sneak up on me."

He grumbled, but eventually gave in. I headed in the direction I'd indicated… and kept going to Joey's office. I'd planned to go inside and ask for him, but as I rounded the corner, I saw him ahead, a tray of coffees in his hand.

I jogged up behind him before he reached the doors.

"That was a shitty thing to do this morning," I said.

He jumped, sloshing coffee and cursing. I waited while he cleaned up with napkins from his pocket. He took his time and didn't so much as glance at me until he was done. He knew I was a woman and a werewolf-my scent would give that away-and I was pretty sure he knew who I was, but when he did look up, he still seemed startled. His nostrils flared as he drank in my scent. Then he rubbed the back of his sleeve over his nose, as if clearing away the smell.

"Normally I'd apologize for making you spill your coffee," I said. "But I shouldn't have been able to sneak up on you like that, not coming upwind."

"What do you want?"

I took the coffee tray, walked to a marble-topped raised flower bed and set it down, then sat beside it. Joey stayed standing.

"I'm Elena."

"I know who you are."

"And you know who Clay is, despite that stunt you pulled this morning."

His mouth tightened. There'd been a time I'd never have talked to a stranger like that. I could blame all those years with Clay, his attitude rubbing off on me, but the truth, as I've come to realize it, is that being with Clay just gives me an excuse. Years ago, I might not have talked to Joey this way, but I'd have wanted to.

I continued. "Maybe he caught you off-guard, and we're sorry for that. But you could have come out after your coworkers were gone."

From Joey's expression, he wouldn't have done that even if Clay had suggested it.

"You need to speak to Clay," I said. "If only for a few minutes. He has something to tell you. Something important."

"Then you can tell me."

"Clay really should."

He picked up his coffee tray.

I caught his elbow. "Please. It is important."

"Then say it and go. I'm not interested in a reunion."

I moved in front of him. "Whatever Clay did or said twenty-five years ago-"

He looked up sharply, his frown cutting me short. It took a moment before he seemed to understand what I meant.

"That's over," he said.

"I know you didn't part on the best terms."

"The terms were fine. He was annoyed, but we worked it out, and we parted. The key word there is parted." He glanced at me. "Didn't Clay get all those birthday cards I sent?"

"No, he never-"

"Because I didn't send any." He adjusted the tray, holding it in both hands now, between us like a shield. "Clay thought I was running away from trouble with the Pack. I wasn't. I was running away from the Pack, from all that werewolf crap he's obsessed with-they're all obsessed with. I only stayed as long as I did for my father's sake. I was happy for the chance to leave and now I have no interest in resurrecting past ties. Whatever Clay came all this way to tell me, you can get it over with and go."

"Is that an order?"

He seemed to flinch at my tone, then squared his shoulders. "I know I can't hold territory, but as a favor to an old Pack brother, I'd like Clay to respect my wishes and leave Alaska."

"How about you tell him that?"

A definite flinch that time. He turned to go.

"And what about the other werewolves in Anchorage?" I called after him. "Are they supposed to respect your wishes, too? I don't think they're going to leave that easily."

A slow pivot. "What other werewolves?"

"Three mutts. We found their tracks near the latest wolf kill. They also attacked a young werewolf yesterday, about two blocks from here. So in the past twenty-four hours, you've had six werewolves trespass on your territory, and you never even noticed?"

"I must have missed them on my daily border patrols." He shifted the coffee tray to one hand. "You don't get it, do you? No, I didn't notice them, because I don't care. I don't want to live my life like that-constantly on alert, constantly watching, working out so I can meet the next challenger, knowing there's always going to be one right around the corner. That's exactly what I came to Alaska to escape."

"Which would be just fine, if you could convince other were wolves to respect your wishes. Live and let live is not the werewolf motto, no matter how hard you and I might wish otherwise."

He looked at me then. Really looked at me for the first time since I'd approached him.

"This isn't my world either," I said. "I was born human. Raised human. I like being a werewolf-I won't lie about that-but there are parts of it that I really don't like. I've spent two days chasing a twenty-year-old kid about to be framed and killed by a couple of mutts for man-eating. I follow him to Anchorage and what happens? Completely different mutts find him first and cut off two of his fingers. He didn't challenge them. He even said he wasn't sticking around. But they wanted him gone now. That's the world we live in. These mutts are going to find you and when they do, you won't be able to ask them nicely to leave you alone. They already kil-" I stopped short. "Clay needs to talk to you."

The shields fell again. "No."

"It's about your father."

Joey scowled. "Oh, hell. Let me guess. Dad whined to Jeremy about me, and sent Clay to have a little talk. My old buddy to set me straight."

"No, your father didn't say a word to Jeremy. But I did talk to your dad's landlord yesterday. I take it you two had a falling out?"

"No, we just… We drifted apart."

From what the landlord said, it sounded like Joey had done the drifting. Further separating him from everything werewolf in his life, including his father.

"Look, about the mutts?" Joey continued. "Tell Clay I appreciate the warning. If you're having trouble tracking down my dad, I'll do it and I'll pass on the message. But Clay doesn't need to worry about me. I'm not a werewolf anymore-not like you two are, not like my father is. I'm a regular guy struggling with a disability that makes me disappear into the shed twice a month and change into a wolf. I don't run in Anchorage. I don't run in the forest. I don't even hike outside the city. These guys aren't likely to cross my path and if they do, I'll go the other way. Now if you'll excuse me… "

He started walking away.

"Joey."

He stopped, shoulders tightening. "It's Joseph."

"I'm sorry." I walked up behind him. "Joseph. About your father. I really wanted Clay to tell you, but we went to his cabin last night. We found him." I paused. "He's dead."

His head slumped forward. I stayed where I was, behind him, respectfully out of sight.

"Was it them?" he asked, turning toward me. "Those werewolves?"

I nodded.

His gaze moved to mine. "And you wonder why I don't want anything to do with this life? Because this is where it gets you. No matter how nice you are. No matter how hard you work to avoid trouble. This is your end. Murdered by mutts. Buried in the woods." He paused, glancing away. "I take it that's what you did. Pack protocol and all." The words carried a bitter twist.

"Yes. We had to."

"Exactly my point. A short, brutal life ending in an unmarked grave."

I waited a moment, then said carefully, "Your father seemed to be researching something."

"Oh, my father and his damned research. There was a time when we were on the same page, wanted the same thing-to be left alone. Then I decided that wasn't enough. But just when I'm backing out of the life, he's diving into it. Gets that cabin. Decides to rediscover his inner wolf. A damned midlife crisis."

"Do you know what he was-?"

"I know nothing about my father's life in the last couple of years. I didn't care to. Now, please tell Clay I'm sorry, but I don't wish to see him, and I would appreciate it if you'd both leave Alaska as soon as possible."

He started walking away quickly.

"Joseph, please. We just want-"

He disappeared into the building.

I waited, hoping he'd come back out. When he didn't, I made it to the corner before a familiar sensation washed over me. I didn't turn, just waited for Clay to fall in step beside me.

"Didn't go as well as you hoped, huh?" he said.

"No."

We crossed the street.

"Thanks," he said. "For trying to get him to see me."

We walked half a block before I asked. "So how's the research going?"

"Do you really think I'd go back to the room and read? While you're walking around with three killer mutts on the loose?"

"It was, I believe, an order."

"Not exactly. More of a firm suggestion. You need to work on your wording,"

I shook my head. "So how much did you hear?"

"Most of it."

"I guess your friend has changed."

"Some. But of all of us, Joey was always the least into the wolf stuff. It doesn't surprise me that he's gone this way. I don't understand it, but it doesn't surprise me."

We walked another block in silence.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get him to talk to you. I really-"

"-tried, I know. You went back because you knew I was looking forward to seeing him again. I appreciate that. I really do."

"I wanted the news to come from you, but I couldn't walk away and not warn him, about the mutts and about his father."

"And that's all we can do. Warn him. Then leave him alone."

AS WE WALKED back to the hotel, I made two calls, the first to Lynn Nygard, the "paranormal enthusiast." She still wasn't home. I'd try again this evening. Thinking about that interview made me realize there might be an easy way to get it. So I placed the second call.

"Hope Adams," a young woman's voice answered. "True News."

"Hey, Hope. It's Elena. How are you doing?"

Clay rolled his eyes as I launched into small talk. He would have gotten straight to the point. I asked Hope what she was working on and told her what we were doing, and while part of that was civility, most was genuine interest.

I've never been what you'd call a social butterfly, but there had been a period in my life, after Clay bit me, when I didn't have any female friends. Even during the stretches when I wasn't living at Stonehaven, I couldn't seem to get past the acquaintance stage with other women. I felt too different. When the werewolves rejoined the supernatural world, I started to fill that void, first with Paige, then with Jaime and Hope. And while I'd never be one to chat on the phone for hours or set up shopping weekends in New York, it was nice having other women to talk to.

I liked Hope. In her I saw determination and a need for self-reliance undermined by shaky self-confidence, and I could relate to that. I'd been the same way at her age and some days I don't think I've come far since.

I'd met Hope through Karl Marsten. Their friendship moved to romance a couple of years ago. I'm still not sure how I feel about that. I worry that Hope will get hurt, but Karl seems committed enough… as committed as a werewolf jewel thief mutt-turned-reluctant-Pack-member can get.

"Anyway," I said. "I called to warn you that I'm now your assistant."

"Cool. I've been telling my editor for years I need one. When can I start forwarding all my alien abduction mail to you?"

"Whenever you want Logan and Kate to start answering it."

She laughed. "Actually, that's an idea. Reply in crayon scrawl and they'll spend weeks deciphering the coded message from E.T… weeks during which they won't pester True News's beleaguered Weird Tales girl. So what's this assistant business about? You need a cover?"

"Exactly." I explained about Lynn Nygard. "I thought I'd buy myself some street cred by saying I work with you. I'll say I'm on vacation, not officially following a story."

"But intrigued by her theory, you're checking it out, with the unspoken hint that maybe, just maybe, she'll make it into our hallowed pages. Sure, go for it. Not like anyone here will deny it. When your job is investigating the paranormal, no one questions a phantom assistant, as long as they don't need to pay her salary."

"Speaking of paranormal… " I told her about our encounter with the mystery beast. "And no, I don't really think it was Bigfoot or a yeti or the Abominable Snowman, but if you have a spare moment to check your files, see if there are any reports on strange encounters in Alaska, I'd appreciate it."

"Consider it done."

I'D BARELY HUNG up when I got a call from a number I didn't recognize, one that looked like it came from overseas. A wrong number, I was sure, but I answered anyway.

"Elena Michaels?" an accented voice asked.

"Yes?"

"It is Roman Novikov. Jeremy said that I would be calling?"

Shit. That was the part of the message I'd missed-not that Jeremy would call back, but that Roman would. I gestured for Clay to stop walking and ducked into the mouth of an alley, getting away from the traffic noise.

"Yes, he did," I said. "Thank you. We appreciate this."

"It is no problem." He chuckled. "Though it is different, speaking to a werewolf and hearing a woman's voice. A nice difference, though. You are well?"

"I am, and yourself?"

A brief exchange of pleasantries followed. My heart thumped throughout it. I'd never had any contact with Roman before, and now, talking to an Alpha, knowing I'd soon be Alpha myself, wondering whether that would put a sudden end to any international relations… Let's just say I knew I had to make a good impression.

He asked how Clay was and how the kids were, then about the weather in Alaska.

"That is weather for the beach!" he exclaimed. "I thought your Alaska was supposed to be like our Siberia. It is colder everywhere in Russia this time of the year. But I suppose you do not mind the cold. It is in your blood. Jeremy says your mother is from Russia. An Antonov. What city did she come from?"

I admitted that I didn't know. My mother died when I was five, and I wasn't sure whether she'd come to Canada as an immigrant or her parents had. While there'd never been grandmas and grandpas and aunts and uncles at my childhood Christmases, I had a vague recollection that such people existed. To research my family tree, though, would mean confirming the suspicion-that I had family who, on the death of my parents, turned their back on me and let me spend my life in a succession of increasingly worse foster homes. I don't care to face that truth, so all I know is that my mother was of Russian ancestry. I explained that to Roman.

"And there was no family to take you? That is not right."

"I survived." I thought of my foster families. Thought of that letter and felt the rage boil, needing only the smallest reminder to surge to the surface again. I squeezed my eyes and forced it back.

He continued. "I ask only because, I have been thinking after Jeremy mentioned it, that it is rare for a bitten werewolf to survive. We have one in my Pack. He was the grandson of a werewolf's daughter, and I have always thought that is why he survived, because he had the blood. I have two Antonovs in my Pack. It is an old family of werewolves." He chuckled. "But it is also a common enough name, so I am likely mistaken. I only thought it was interesting. I should like to meet you someday, see if you look like our Antonovs, if you would like to come. With your mate, of course, and Jeremy."

"Sure. I'd love to." But would the offer evaporate when he found out I was to be Alpha? Did Jeremy really know what he was doing?

"Enough of my old man ramblings. I am calling about this problem you are having. With the… I do not know what you call them. Stray dogs?"

"Mutts. It means a dog that isn't purebred."

"Ah, that is the same thing we call them. Interesting. But it would seem these 'mutts' of yours really are ublyudokii of ours, a group we thought we had gotten rid of. The leaders, though, are yours. Americans. Originally, that is, though it has been many years since they were on their home soil. They are a pair of brothers. The Teslers. Travis and Edward."

Travis-that was the name of the big guy who'd cut off Reese's fingers. "I have a Tesler in my records, but I think the last time he was seen was before I joined the Pack."

"That is not a surprise. It would seem this Tesler brought his young sons to Ukraine many years ago. We heard nothing of them until a few years ago, when the sons decided they wanted a pack of their own, a pack of criminals. Murderers. Rapists. Thieves." He spat something in Russian, and I was sure it wasn't complimentary.

"A gang of troublemakers, then?"

"No, that would have been easier to deal with. They are smart, organized criminals. Their specialty is guns-the buying and selling of them, not the using of them."

"Gun-runners."

"Yes. If they had stayed in Ukraine, perhaps we would have, how do you say it? Looked the other way. But they were not happy with that. They started to move around. First Romania, then Belarus, then Georgia."

"Circling your borders."

"Yes, as I said, they are smart. They did not dare trespass, but they caught our attention. We watched. Then they recruited two of my Pack, new members."

"Culling from the edges. They were getting brazen."

A humorless chuckle. "Brazen, yes. I sent my wolves after them. When they escaped, they only got more brazen, crossing our borders to do business. It was then, as we were tracking their activities, that I discovered the real reason they moved so often. When you hire rapists, you hire men with a habit they will not easily overcome."

I thought of the missing Alaskan girls. "They were raping locals."

"At least one was. Raping and killing. While I would like to take the credit for scaring them out of Russian lands, my wolves were only an added incentive, as you would say. The police got too close. That is why they fled and, it would appear, became your problem."

"Well, they're on our radar now, and it seems they're tired of running. They're taking a stand, killing off the local werewolves. With any luck, that means they'll stay still long enough for us to eliminate them."

"If you need help with that, I could send some of my wolves."

"I appreciate the offer, but for now, let us get a better look at what we're up against. Do you have any idea how many there were? We're only finding traces of three, but from what you say, there are more than that."

"My sources tell me they did not all leave with the Teslers. A falling out, perhaps? Five or six went, including the brothers. Others stayed behind. Another four or five. Of course that does not mean they intend to stay behind forever."

"Let the Teslers and a few others come over, scope out new territory and clear it before the others make the trip. In that case, it seems we've found them at just the right time. Our Pack can handle five or six. If we need help, though… "

"We are only a phone call away."

CLAY STOPPED IN the lobby to grab a snack from the coffee stand while I went up to our room. I stepped off to the sounds of a couple fighting so loudly that I backed into the elevator to give them privacy before I realized the foyer was empty. So was the hall. The voices came from a room at the end of the corridor. Even without werewolf hearing, I'd have caught every word. Small rooms and lousy soundproofing. Great. I wondered how many guests we'd woken during our room-wrecking romp last night.

As I walked down the hall, the fight continued, the man giving the woman shit for flirting. If that was her perfume I smelled soaking the hall, I didn't blame him for being concerned. Or maybe her husband dumped the bottle in the hall. I hoped not-if we could smell it from our hotel room, we were definitely switching. The stench was already giving me a headache.

I opened our door, stepped in and took a deep breath of what I hoped was clean air. It wasn't. And what I smelled made me realize the perfume hadn't been spilled accidentally-someone had been covering an odor that might stop us from opening this door.

I backed up into the open doorway, still sniffing, trying to catch any scent in the air that would suggest a mutt was still in our room. Even when I didn't smell that, I eased in, my back to the wall, moving slow. I kicked open the bathroom door. Empty. The maids had left the shower curtain open, so I could see the tub was bare.

I ran into the main room and leapt onto the bed to check the other side. The room was empty. But it still stunk of werewolf-two of the ones who'd killed Dennis.

It stunk of something else, too. The scent wafted up from under me. I looked down at the sloppily made bed. Then I bent and yanked back the covers. The smell of semen rushed out. I swore and hopped off the bed.

As I leapt, I caught a glimpse of something floating in the water bottle I'd left on the nightstand. I picked it up. Inside were two partial fingers. Reese's.

At the whirr and click of Clay's card in the lock, I raced over. I grabbed the door, pushing my way out and pressing him back into the hall.

"The mutts were here," I said. "We'll find a new hotel."

He caught the door before I could close it.

"You don't want-" I began.

He shouldered his way inside. I strode after him. He stopped in the middle of the room, his back to me. He looked at the bed, and inhaled sharply. The tendons in his neck pulsed. Another sniff. He grabbed an open drawer I hadn't noticed earlier-the one I'd been stuffing my dirty clothes in.

He lifted a pair of blue cotton underwear. I could smell the semen from here. He threw them down and strode past me to the door. I caught his arm. He shook me off.

"Clay, don't-"

The door banged open, hitting the wall.

"Clay-"

He was gone. I paused to get my own temper under control. Racing into the hall screaming at him wasn't going to help. When I did hurry out, the hall was empty. I could still hear the couple fighting, the woman now protesting that she hadn't been flirting, but simply trying to help the man find his friend's room-he obviously hadn't spoken good English.

Broken English? Looking for a "friend's room"? The mutts hadn't been here long ago, not if this couple was still arguing about it.

I raced into the stairwell after Clay. The door five floors below banged shut. I flew down and caught up with him outside. He stood on the sidewalk, nostrils flaring as he tried to catch the scent.

I walked up behind him.

"Don't," he growled, not turning.

Rage poured off him, his profile rock-hard, the pulse in his neck pounding.

"I'm not going to stop you," I said. "I just want to be sure you know you're walking into a trap."

His shoulders stiffened.

"They broke into our room in the middle of the day," I said. "They left Reese's fingers in my water bottle. They jerked off in our bed and in my dirty underwear. Do you think they're trying to scare you off?"

"No, they're trying to piss me off."

"As much as they possibly can. Invade and soil your territory. Insult your mate. Insult you. Then sit back and wait until you come charging after them, too enraged to see that you're walking into a trap."

He was breathing hard, condensation streaming through the cold air as he fought every instinct that insisted each moment he delayed was hesitation, a sign of weakness.

I reached to touch his back, then stopped myself.

I lowered my voice. "If you go after them now, you'll have no problem finding them. They'll have laid a clear trail leading straight to the perfect ambush spot."

He said nothing.

"We have to pull back," I said.

He shook his head. "I can't ignore this. I need to-"

"-meet the challenge or they'll think you've lost your edge, and they'll come after me."

A curt nod, his gaze still moving along the street.

"They're giving us the best chance we've had to get to them," I said. "Or at least to get a good look at them. Do you think I'd turn that down?"

His shoulders moved, barely more than a twitch, but enough to tell me I'd made my point. I laid my hand against his back for a moment. Then we set out.