Cold Mercy (Northern Wolves) Read Free Page A

momentary fissure in the monster’s concentration when he’d landed on her. Curious almost. Then she’d attacked and the rage had roared back to the surface. Followed by the burning, bitter taste of pepper spray in his mouth. The memory of fury filled him, heating his blood even now. He’d wanted to flay her open, feast on her blood—
    Stop . Bay dragged in a ragged breath, unable to keep doing this. He slammed his cup down against the table, hot liquid spilling over the edge, but he was already moving, heading back for his room. According to the therapist he’d hired last year, if he could remember the dream he was supposed to journal it out. It hadn’t helped him then, but maybe it would now.
    Maybe it would help him get that damned woman out of his head.
    She hadn’t screamed. She’d yelled for the dogs, but even as he’d tackled her, she hadn’t screamed. No. She’d fought back. He licked his teeth at the memory. The bitter taste he’d woken up with no doubt a faux reminiscent of the bear spray his dream-monster had suffered.
    Bay smiled at that. The beast had deserved a good spraying.
    Though Bay could have lived without the memory pangs his body always suffered the next day. As if the dreams weren’t bad enough, he had to feel as if he’d actually lived them. Shaking his head, Bay stared down at the sketch on the lined page, below the chicken scratch that was his handwritten account of the nightmare.
    The pencil left the image in grayscale, but staring down at the wide eyes now; he could still see the color. And unlike the woman who normally haunted him, this one definitely had a soul. A heart. With eyes that even in fear seemed to welcome him in, and full lips that looked kissable, soft, yielding. Closing the journal, Bay did his best to shake off the lingering memory of her lying at the feet of the monster and the wave of unwanted attraction. Lusting after an imaginary woman he’d nearly killed in his dreams. How sick was that?
    Refusing to let himself dwell on it—fuck, he was already crazy—he dressed for the day, poured himself another cup of coffee, and headed out to the wood shop next to his house. He stepped outside, the winter wind leaving his cheeks chilled as the backdoor swung shut behind him, and froze.
    There, curled up in the snow was a small husky pup. Little ears pricked forward, the dog stared up at him. One blue eye and one brown, and an unmistakable raccoon-style mask across his face. The same pup from in his dream. Bay leaned back against his door and closed his eyes.
    When he opened them the dog was still there. The pup’s head tilted as he stared down at it, horror growing in Bay’s gut even as the dog started to wag its tail. Fuck, fuck, fuck . It had to be a coincidence. Maybe he’d seen the dog in town the other day and just hadn’t realized it; maybe the dog in the dream was his subconscious’s way of blending real life with the crazy.
    Hell, maybe he was just plain crazy.

    ***

    Eden slumped back against her house, exhausted. The wind had left her cheeks raw and red after hours of searching the trails of Mercy Pass, and looking at the eight dogs finally back home and tied to their houses, she should have felt triumphant. Instead, a sense of defeat washed through her and she closed her eyes, jaw clenched.
    “Still one short,” Kennedy, one of her best friends, said as she leaned against the house next to her. “The pup right?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Poor thing,” Rowan murmured, the last to make up their best friend trio, and Eden opened an eye to see the black haired woman staring at her dogs. Rowan was a tried-and-true cat lover, and only cat lover. She tolerated Eden’s dogs with a curled lip and an uneasy regard. But now, Eden could see the sympathetic cast to her face, the downward tug of her lips.
    As if sensing her watching, Rowan turned and glared at her. “He was just a baby. Even I feel sorry for babies.”
    That made all of them laugh, something Eden