Whitewater Hunter
Skye is dead, victim to a raging river. In the year since his violent death, Aileen has made peace with what she had a hand in and is moving on. But forces from deep underground have taken control of Skye’s spirit and turned him into a wolf—a predator who remembers little except lust and need. He stalks Aileen in the wilderness, coming closer, driving her to the ground. She will submit. And when the claiming is complete, he’ll force her to tell him how and why he died.
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Excerpt
Comforted by the river’s sound, the brown-eyed wolf slowed. His steps were silent, claws sinking into ground softened by centuries of pine needles as he made his way toward the gravel path he usually avoided. Head high, he drew a multitude of scents into his nostrils while his eyes carried countless impressions to his brain.
Deep underground, ageless energy reached up to warm the wolf’s blood and stir his mind. Although the wolf was incapable of putting a name to or reason for the energy, he sensed that without it, he’d be dead.
Again.
Why are you doing this? The wolf accompanying him demanded. You risk exposing yourself.
I don’t know. Something pulls me, he replied in the thought-language that served as communication among those of his kind.
Fight it! We must remain hidden.
Do we? Something must change, somehow. I can’t go on this way, living in the shadows.
Risk a second death then. Just don’t jeopardize me or the others.
I won’t. You’re all I have.
When he first acknowledged what he’d become, the creature hadn’t known how to handle the mix of human and predator existing in the same body. But in the year since a raging river and cruel boulders had shattered arms and legs, he’d learned how to separate a hunter’s simple yet vital needs from a man’s complexity. At least most of the time. Today, although he relied on the body and senses he’d been given by forces he barely comprehended, he thought of himself as a man.
He again sniffed the air. A thousand aromas reached his keen nose. Some like those of chipmunks and snakes represented food, but others belonged to the humans drawn to the dangerous stretch of river known as The Gorge in the mountains of southern Oregon. He’d grown accustomed to the pungent smells humans adorned their bodies with and wondered if they had any idea how much of themselves they gave away.
Something about what reached him now was different. New and old, unfathomable yet fascinating. When he sniffed again, the aroma stirred a long-buried and denied memory to turn him hot and cold, reminded him of what it was to be male.
We’ve been here too long, the other wolf told him. So many people are drawn to this area. I say we must move deeper into the wilderness.
Go then.
Come with me.
He couldn’t. No matter how many times he’d started to leave, something always drew him back to this place of his death. Do you really want to spend the rest of what passes as a life never hearing another human voice, or seeing a woman’s body?
A woman?
Yes. Smell. One is near.
Stopping, the smaller wolf tilted his head, bright blue eyes narrowing. His body was tense and alert, and he panted, proof he was sexually excited. Maybe I’ll fight you for whoever this female is. After I’ve defeated you, I’ll take her into the mountains.
You defeat me? The wolf who’d once lived and loved here curled back his lips, exposing fangs capable of ripping flesh and bone. What a fool you are to think that. Besides, you know she wouldn’t want anything to do with you.
You think you’re different? That a human female would fuck with you?
No. My days of walking like a man are over—like everything else I once had.
Fighting back the hot energy running through his veins, the larger wolf waited for his companion to respond, but he said nothing. Looking at each other, they continued to sniff the air, panting in unison, united in resignation and regret.
And when the breeze brought an even more potent scent, the larger began walking again. The other kept pace but remained behind as the leader wove through great evergreens that all but blocked out the sun. Despite the challenge they’d thrown at each other, he was grateful for companionship and friendship. Without him and other wolves with human eyes, lonliness might tear him apart.
The forest and whatever lay beneath the ground was home to him. Back when he’d thought and moved as a man, he’d embraced these mountains in large part because he’d earned his living in them. In many respects, the wilderness was responsible for his violent death, but it was what it was. He couldn’t hate it for what essentially had been his doing.
Wondering why the faint memory of his death stalked him today, he took note of his body’s lean, meshing muscles. He barely remembered what it felt like to walk upright on legs and feet and to have arms and hands. Neither could he recall his features. The only thing that remained clear was the swift yet endless seconds before the Rogue River’s violent current had swept his body into hell.
One other thing. A woman had watched him die.
* * * * *
Although she loved this land, Aileen Magle fought herself with every step she took. She should have stayed home and finished paring down her belongings in preparation for the transfer and move to Crater Lake. Darn it, she had only one more day off before the change in job assignment that would result in her living some seventy miles away. Or if not packing, she could hide from herself by visiting friends. Anything but coming to The Gorge. Damn it, why had the compulsion to do what she’d avoided for a year become so powerful today?
You know why. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t say goodbye.