The engine revved to life and the SUV lurched forward.
“Seat belt,” Bridger snapped, buckling his without taking his eyes off the road or his foot from the gas pedal.
As we sped away, I peered out my window. The night seemed like any other summer night—innocent, starry, warm.
“Who the hell messed with the ring of protection?” he snapped.
I looked at Bridger. Obviously I wasn’t very coherent, because the only thing I could think to say was, “Where are your shirt and shoes?”
He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “I didn’t have time to put them on,” he said, as if this should have been obvious. “I would have been too late. And why wasn’t the barn locked?”
“W-what?” I couldn’t think. My body temperature was plummeting, my teeth chattering uncontrollably.
“Maggie?” Bridger grabbed my hand. He swore under his breath and sped up, his SUV practically flying down Swan Street, till it skidded to a stop at the gated entry to his house. He pushed his gate remote control and the wrought iron parted. The car lurched forward, then slammed to a stop just past the gates.
Silently, he took the gun from my lap, cocked it, and got out of the car without shutting his door. On a keypad beside the gates, he typed in a few numbers and I felt more than heard the sudden hum of electricity. The gates slid shut and Bridger waited, gun pointed at the gates till they closed completely. When he climbed back into the car, I stared at him wide eyed.
“I’m so sorry. I thought if I left you alone, they’d stop hunting you,” he said. “Pretty brilliant.” My mouth fell open with shock, but he didn’t notice.
Bridger stopped the car in front of the mansion and got out. He pulled his phone from his pants pocket and hit speed dial. Even though the car doors were shut, I could hear every word.
“Alex. We need help. My house.” Bridger glanced at me and caught me listening, so continued his conversation in Navajo. “Ho-nez-da. Al-tah-je-jay yea-go. Yeah. Lots of them.” He put the phone back into his pocket and walked around to my side of the SUV. I stared at him blankly. He opened the door.
“Maggie?” he prodded gently. When I didn’t respond, he reached across my lap and unhooked my seat belt. “Come on.”
He took my hands and helped me out of the car, then wrapped an arm around my shoulders and guided me toward the house.
It wasn’t until we were on the front porch that I snapped out of my trance. I stopped moving, refusing to let him guide me a step farther.
“What is going on?” I asked shakily, trying not to look at the wolf blood drying on his chest.
“You’re in shock. That happens to a lot of people when they experience trauma. You need to lie down and—”
“I don’t mean what’s going on with me!” I shouted. “Why the heck am I being hunted by those animals? Why do they keep trying and trying to kill me? And how are you a part of this, Bridger O’Connell?”
Bridger’s face hardened. “How many times have they tried to kill you?”
“I don’t know! At least two. Or three.” I thought for a minute. There had been tonight, the night at the mine, the coyotes on my way to work, the pack of dogs that attacked me the first time I’d shifted in Silver City. “Freaking four times! They have surrounded me four times; I have been physically attacked three. And that’s not counting graduation night.”
Bridger’s hand turned icy cold on my upper arm, and the blood drained from his face. “How have you survived?”
I looked into his eyes and wondered if I could tell him the truth, that I had survived by becoming an animal, just like them. Would he shoot me if he knew that?
“Can we go inside, please?” I asked, for I didn’t know what to say.
He opened the front door.
“What? You didn’t lock your door, either?” I taunted bitterly.
“Not when I was rushing to save your butt.”
“You know, I don’t know why you bothered. I sort of thought we weren’t friends anymore,” I muttered under my breath, but loud enough for him to hear.
He chuckled and shook his head. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re not.”
That hurt.
He stepped through the front door. I followed him into the room with the giant fireplace.
“So where’s your girlfriend?” I asked.
“Maggie, it’s not what you think,” Bridger said, walking away. When I didn’t follow, he turned and grabbed my hand, pulling me through the room.
The next room was some sort of office with floor-to-ceiling windows and a desk in front of them. Cozy leather chairs were in two corners, and deer antler lamps glowed in here, too. The next room was a dining room with a long, narrow table that had to sit at least twenty people in chairs that looked carved out of knotty pine branches, with a deer antler chandelier centered above the table. Then we were in an oversized kitchen with stone countertops and rows of polished wood cupboards. The marble floor was frigid under my bare feet.
Bridger led me to a small round table nestled in a corner by French doors. “Just sit,” he instructed. “I’m going to get cleaned up a little bit, then make you something warm to drink.” I sat.
At the kitchen sink, he turned on the water and began sponging away the blood that had dried on his chest. Dried blood on human skin brought back unpleasant memories. I closed my eyes.
After a few minutes of splashing, Bridger said, “The blood’s gone.”
He went about the kitchen getting the things he needed, his bare feet silent on the granite tile, his muscular torso the object of my speculation more often than not. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from him. The urge to run to him, throw my arms around his neck, and kiss him for an eternity was almost overwhelming.
Bridger paused and tilted his head to the side, as if listening for something. His eyes met mine and one black eyebrow arched up. A brilliant smile spread across his face. Then he went back about his task, measuring hot chocolate powder into a mug, grinning.
I felt myself blush scarlet. “You know, that is so unfair.”
He looked at me devilishly. “I know.”
I rubbed my cold hands together and glanced under the table at my bare feet. Not really the time or place to feel underdressed, but I couldn’t help it.
“So, what’s her name and how come you aren’t with her tonight?” I asked, trying my hardest to squelch the sudden surge of jealousy that made my blood simmer.
“You don’t need to be jealous of Angelene.” He put the mug into the microwave and pushed some buttons. With his arms crossed over his chest, he leaned against the counter and watched me.
“I’m not jealous,” I lied. Bridger grinned. “Where is she? How come you two aren’t swapping spit at the health food store?”
“I put her on a plane for France this morning. She’s gone home.”
“Why’d she go home?”
“Because I completed my part of a family arrangement.” He opened the microwave and took out the mug. “It’s pretty hot,” he warned, setting the cup in front of me. He sat down, put his elbows on the table, and leaned toward me. I took a tentative sip of the hot chocolate. It wasn’t too hot, and I realized I was starving. I wrapped my cold hands around the mug and downed it.
When I set the empty mug on the table, Bridger was watching me with raised eyebrows. “What? No more questions?” he asked.
“I’ve really missed you,” I whispered, looking into my empty mug.
He let out a long breath of air. “Believe me, I know.”
I looked at him.
“Maggie, I don’t know what’s wrong with me—I feel everything you feel. Even when you aren’t beside me. Even when I’m asleep.” For the first time I noticed how tired he looked—how miserable. Black half-moons darkened the skin beneath his eyes and his cheeks were almost gaunt and covered with black stubble. “I took Angelene all the way to Deming for dinner, hoping to get you out of my head, but no. All that evening, all I could feel was miserable anguish. Your miserable anguish! And this morning at Wal-Mart, it was all I could do not to fall to the floor and cry, your emotions were so strong.” He reached his hand across the table and took mine. His eyes turned haunted. “And the night you were at the mine …” A shiver racked his body. “What happened? Why were you there?”
“You were there, too,” I accused.
“Of course I was there! Your fear—it was just like tonight! I thought you were going to be killed! But I couldn’t find you! What happened?”
“I killed three men that night,” I whispered, waiting for his look of revulsion, waiting for him to yank his warm hand away from mine. But he didn’t—just waited patiently for me to finish. “I killed some men who were trying to kill me,” I said, fighting a sudden surge of guilt that left me breathless. “And Mrs. Carpenter. They—”
His hand tightened on mine. “They what?”
“They got into her house again. I thought if I moved the ring of protection around her, she’d be safe, but I was wrong.”
“Did they hurt her? The house blessing. It should have kept her safe.”
“They didn’t hurt her. She fell and broke her hip. But Duke …” Tears started pooling in my eyes.
“No more tears!” Bridger insisted loudly, startling the tears into staying put. “And no more guilt! All I have felt for days is your guilt and your sorrow! It has been so hard to get out of bed every day, Maggie, knowing I have to feel what you are feeling and knowing I couldn’t be there to help you through it!”
“Why couldn’t you? I really needed a friend!”
“Remember I told you I had a fight with my father? It was because of you. I made a deal with him. I promised to stay away from you for two weeks.”
“Why?” I asked again, unable to hide the hurt in my voice.
“Because I am in love with you!”