Cold Mercy (Northern Wolves) Read Free

his face one last time, Bay rinsed out his mouth, brushed his teeth, and then headed for the kitchen. In nothing more than boxers, he made his way through the house to start a pot of coffee. His hand shook as he pressed the button on the coffee maker.
    “Six months,” he muttered and rammed his shaky hand through his hair, wishing like hell they’d stayed gone for good.
    Traumatized, the therapist had told him. The car accident that had left him stranded on an icy highway just outside of town, nearly dead, had left him traumatized. Part of him had always agreed with her there, the accident had sure as hell started the nightmares.
    He didn’t remember anything about the accident last year—except the raven haired woman that had appeared in his pain-induced sleep in the middle of butt-fucking nowhere while he’d lain in the snow waiting to die. In the dream, she’d made him warm. Touched his face. Made him feel alive again, gave him strength.
    Later, in the hospital, he’d half expected to see that familiar, too-thin, gaunt face staring out at him from one of the nurses. But no. Not the hair, the face, the rail-thin body. Nothing. It’d all been some demented twist of his dying imagination. The doctors had told him he’d been pretty hypothermic when the paramedics had brought him in. He’d only had a few minor cuts. A lot less damage than they’d expected after the bloody mess of his car. The docs had deemed him a miracle.
    Shortly after that, the nightmares had started and with them, the raven haired woman from that night had come again. But she was different that time. Darker, with an edge of violence to her—and to his dream-self—that hadn’t been there when his brain had first created her on the night of his crash.
    In most of the nightmares, he couldn’t remember much beyond snippets of the woman and blood. Always blood. One other thing was certain—in the dreams...he was always a monster. Vicious, violent, evil.
    Bay blew out a breath to ward off the shudder working its way up his spine. The scent of coffee reached his nose and he turned to get the creamer out of the fridge. His hands shook as he snatched a mug off the rack and poured himself a cup. But it was the little things, the small rituals, habits, they were what had kept him sane last time.
    Waking up at the same time each morning, working in his woodshop, making sure he kept his life calm. Made sure there weren’t any surprises. It had given him the illusion of control.
    That even if he couldn’t control his nightmares or the sleepwalking, he could control what he did each day. Dumping in a teaspoon of sugar, Bay sank into one of the kitchen chairs. He tried to turn his attention toward his work for the day, to line out a schedule. But he couldn’t.
    Last night, the woman in his dreams had changed.
    She hadn’t been the emaciated, black haired woman of before. This one had been beautiful. His jaw tightened as images from his latest nightmare flickered in his head. Blonde hair, with bangs that hung a little longer than eye level. And icy blue eyes that reminded him of a husky. Eyes that had stared up at him with such fear. He’d attacked her in the dream, but he couldn’t remember why. Couldn’t remember anything but the clawing hunger, the ravaging bloodlust that had torn through him.
    Another image flashed. A team of sled dogs running through the woods, their panicked barks like soft music to his ears, taunting. Begging him to give chase. He could destroy them all, feed until the hunger in his belly was finally sated. Another image and the sled flipped, the line snapping. He watched as the dogs broke loose and ran into the woods, leaving their master to his dream-self’s mercy. What little mercy the monster his dream-half had.
    Bay swallowed, trying to push away the images but they just kept coming.
    A little coon-faced husky pup. Similar to the dog he’d had as a kid. Rex . Then the woman again, so terrified. He remembered the