What the hell did they think they were doing?
Scott Hudson leaned against one of the upright posts on the porch of his cabin with his arms folded across his chest and watched the hunters moving through the trees. He listened to their loud laughter and chatter, and shook his head when one of them accidentally fired off a shot. He sighed. After all these years, he still couldn't understand why the city types insisted on coming to his mountain and disturbing his peace with their drunken hunting. Didn't they realise the dangers of the area, and carrying a gun when under the influence? If someone got killed tonight, it wouldn't be the first time, and he was getting tired of the inquests. The local police knew he had nothing to do with it, but they still insisted on questioning him every time a bunch of suits got it into their head to get drunk in town and get killed on the mountain.
When he'd first arrived in this part of the world all those years ago, he'd thought that being two miles from the nearest town would buy him a little peace, but it didn't.
He glanced up at the bright hunter's moon that was bathing the world in a silvery light and then at the mountains on the horizon.
Turning his back on the falling night, he walked into the cabin and closed the door. He locked it and then drew the little curtain aside and checked that the hunters were gone. Seeing no sign of them, he moved to the windows, drawing the drapes so they shut the world out.
He kicked his boots off beside the door and then walked across the wooden floor to the fireplace. Taking hold of one of the irons beside it, he stoked the embers and threw another couple of logs on, watching the flames lick hungrily up their sides.
He sighed and looked at the door again.
There was nothing good to hunt on the brink of winter anyway. Only the wolves remained high up in the mountains and they'd be somewhere safe tonight because of the approaching storm. He'd been watching it on the horizon when the hunters had caught his attention. It was going to be a big one. They'd not had much snowfall so far this autumn and it looked like tonight it was all going to come at once.
If the idiots didn't kill each other, then the weather would.
He supposed he should go after them, but it wouldn't get him anywhere. He'd done that once a few years ago and after nearly forty minutes of arguing with them, he'd realised it was hopeless. There was no talking sense into them. He was better off just keeping out of their way and letting them sober up and realise that a mountain like this was no place to be at this time of year.
Walking across the room, he moved between the armchair and the couch and went over to the cupboard beneath the staircase. He pulled the door open, removed a glass and a bottle of whisky and poured himself a good glassful.
He sipped it while he moved back to the fireplace. Sitting down in the armchair, he listened to the wind picking up outside, whistling through the trees and down the chimney. It stirred the fire, making it dance and roar. His eyes lingered there while he drank.
It had been a long day. Living up here at this time of the year was difficult to say the least but he only had to rely on the generator for power a handful of times in winter. The snow rarely affected the power, leaving him free to do his work and stare out of the window at the white peaceful landscape. He had the best office in the world.
It was lucky that he'd gone down into town today and got some supplies in. Something in his bones had told him that bad weather was coming and once it did, the road would become impassable. When he'd first arrived, the people in town had told him that the mountain got into your blood and spoke to you. He had thought they were joking at the time, but now he was starting to think they had been telling him the truth. Even the old man of the mountain that lived across the valley had been in town today, and he only saw him once or twice a year. There was something about him that always piqued his interest. He never seemed to look any older. He'd been here for years, and the old man had always looked the same. His long grey hair and beard were probably hiding his aging. He ran his hand across his jaw. Maybe he should grow one so he never looked any older. His brown hair was a long way from turning grey, but it would one day. He wasn't a kid any more. Hell, he was going to be forty next year.
Nine years. If he was forty next year, then it meant that he'd arrived in these parts nine years ago. It didn't seem like half as long.
He'd been surprised at how well they'd received him. No one had ever asked why he'd come here, not in all the years he'd spent in the cabin. This town was like the end of the earth, the kind of place where people came when they had secrets and those secrets were the type that people didn't want others to know about. Every person in this town had something to hide. Only the ones that had been born here didn't, and even then he was sure they carried the secrets of their parents. So long as he didn't ask them about theirs, he knew they would never ask him about his. That was half the reason he loved this place so much. It had been the only place in the world where he'd felt he could start over.
Finishing his drink, he slouched into the chair and put his feet up on the stool. He placed the empty glass down beside him and closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the fire and the sound of the growing tempest outside relax him. It was always nice to be safely tucked up somewhere warm in weather like this.
He stretched, yawned and smacked his lips together a few times as sleep wrapped its comforting arms around him.
The sound of a gunshot echoing around the mountain made him sit bolt upright. All tiredness was pushed right out of his body and his eyes went wide. He blinked and realised that he was tightly gripping the arms of his chair. He looked down at his hands. His knuckles were white. He struggled to convince himself to let go and when he did, he shook his hands as though by doing that he could shake off how badly that shot had frightened him. It was almost as though he'd felt it. He'd been on the edge of dreaming, could almost see the mountain and the forest, and then he'd been zooming towards a wolf and the shot had awoken him.
It had been close. The hunters must have circled back around. He'd thought they'd be long gone by now, deep into the woods.
He was about to relax back into his chair when a shuffling sound on the porch made his heartbeat accelerate. He swallowed hard, listening to what sounded like the scraping of claws on wood. Standing slowly, he eased across the room to the gun cabinet and took down his rifle. He pulled the bolt back and checked it was loaded before sliding it back into place.
His heart thudded heavily against his chest while he moved to the door. He took a few deep breaths, his senses still firmly focused on the scratching sound. It was too late in the season for bears. It could be a wolf.
Unlocking the door, he frowned when the noise outside stopped. It must have heard the key grating in the lock. Maybe it had run off.
He almost ripped the door open and immediately levelled his gun at the porch.
His brain took a few seconds to compute what he was seeing, but his heart didn't. It raced at the sight of her naked form. He lowered the gun, unable to find anything to say. He took in the way she was curled up on the porch, her hair strewn across her face and her hands trembling where they held her upper arms. His gaze travelled down the length of her body. The sight of the blood on her leg made his head become painfully clear and the world felt real again.
"Christ," he cursed and ran into the cabin, almost tripping over his boots as he did so.
He grabbed the white fur blanket off the back of the couch and tossed his gun onto the table. Hurrying back to her, he went to wrap the blanket around her but she whimpered and curled up into a tighter ball.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said and held the fur out to her, showing her it. "I just want to get you warm."
He eased the blanket towards her and wrapped it around her. When she was safely tucked up inside it, he picked her up, gathering her into his arms. Standing on the porch for a few seconds, he scanned the woods in an attempt to see if the hunters were nearby but the snowfall made it impossible.
Had they shot her?
Why the hell was she naked?
He looked down at her and walked into the cabin. He'd never seen anything like her. She was beautiful but it was the mystery of her that held his attention. He'd never seen a woman so young with such silvery grey hair before. Here he was worrying that he was going to go grey but she had to be ten years younger than him. It suited her somehow. She opened her eyes a little, enough for him to see the golden colour of her irises and then her eyelids drooped again. He told himself that they must be a shade of brown and that it was the firelight making them look so yellow. No one on earth had eyes that colour.
Kicking the door shut, he carried her over to the couch and laid her down on it. He checked that her pulse was strong and she murmured, her fine brows knitting into a frown. She shifted a little, pulling the fur up around her bare shoulders and he took it as a good sign that she was so conscious. Going back to the door, he locked it and drew the curtain aside enough for him to see the outside world.
The snow was falling fast now. It would have covered her tracks to his cabin, hiding them from the hunters.
Was she one of them?
Why was she naked?
Rousing himself, he went into the kitchen and retrieved the medical box he always kept stashed underneath the sink. He brought it back into the lounge, picking up the bottle of whisky on his way past, and went to her where she was still laying motionless on the couch.
He knelt down in front of her and swallowed hard.
)
Scott Hudson has a secret but he's not the only one on the mountain with something to hide. The brink of winter is a bad time for hunting, but the hunter's moon attracts them anyway. Scott Hudson curses the drunken huntsmen that disturb his peace and seals himself away in his cabin, waiting for the impending storm to drive them back down the mountain. The snowfall is heavy and he's convinced that nothing could disturb his solitude now. Then a gunshot punctuates the air, echoing around the mountains. And a noise on the porch makes his heart pound. But not as fast as the naked woman he finds lying outside does. Neoma has watched Scott since he first arrived on her mountain years ago but has never dared to speak to him for fear of him discovering what she is. Shot by the hunters, she has no choice but to place herself in his care and hope that she can hold the wolf inside at bay. When she notices his attraction to her, she can't help acting on her own and prays that he won't turn her away because of what she is. Can Scott's secret be the answer to Neoma's prayers? Can a human ever love a werewolf?
