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1021 Words
THE DRIVE from Albany to Champlain took about three hours, with a little extra time thrown in for a bathroom break and a fast food stop—at least for Lizette. The others ate lunch on the way down.
Remy twisted around and rested his chin on the back of his seat. “You don’t eat clean anymore?”
She lowered the french fry she’d been about to stuff in her mouth. “You realize that’s annoying, right?
“What is?”
Dom snorted. “Being a self-righteous prick about what other people eat.”
“I’m not a self-righteous prick! Chris, am I a self-righteous prick?”
The male on Lizette’s right had spent most of the trip dozing with his arms folded over his chest. He replied without opening his eyes. “Yes.” “Takes one to know one,” Remy mumbled.
Lizette laughed. “You’re not self-righteous, Rem. No comment on the other part, though.”
“He’s got a Tinder profile,” Dom said dryly. “He’s definitely a prick.”
“You don’t even know what Tinder is.” Remy leaned over the seat and snagged one of Lizette’s fries. “Seriously, Liz, he still doesn’t have a cell phone.”
Dom’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I have a phone.”
“Only because Max forced one on you. Ugh, Lizette, this tastes like vomit.”
She tossed her fry back in the red container and threw it in the white paper bag at her feet. “Thank you very much, Remy. I didn’t need to eat today, anyway.”
“You can eat at home,” Dom said. “We’re here.”
She didn’t need him to tell her that. She’d sensed Penitentiary Gorge more than an hour ago. A tingling awareness had crept up her spine, and her heart pounded. As they turned down the narrow dirt road leading to the Lodge, the awareness felt like a thousand soft touches on her skin.
Her stomach clenched, and a wave of anxiety washed over her. She had to control her emotions—especially fear. She closed her eyes and focused on taking slow, deep breaths. It was the most basic form of meditation, but it worked well enough in a pinch—anything to keep her human side more dominant than her wolf side.
If she walked into the Lodge stinking of fear, she’d have a hard time standing up for herself. In the wild, humans were usually prey. Wolves, on the other hand, were natural predators. They were always looking for a weakness or subtle vulnerability. Werewolves combined the cunning of a predator with the higher reasoning capabilities of the human mind—making them a sort of super-predator.
And the biggest, baddest predator of all was waiting at the end of her journey.
She opened her eyes as they approached the gates. Dom must have used his Gift to tell someone inside they were here, because the black metal panels swung open, seemingly of their own accord. Not creepy at all.
It had been five years since she laid eyes on the forest surrounding the Lodge. It was so far from civilization it didn’t even have cell service or cable —something that had scandalized her fifteen-year-old self. Fresh off the plane from California, she’d lobbied hard for a satellite dish. After months of her nagging, Max had finally given in, and she spent a solid month in her room watching Hannah Montana on the Disney Channel.
When Lizette left at nineteen, she’d been hell-bent on putting as much distance as possible between her and the rural, isolated community that had felt like a prison.
Returning now as an adult, she saw what she’d been too stubborn to admit before. The New York North Country might be isolated, but it was a beautiful isolation. Hickory trees towering as high as one hundred feet lined either side of the curving drive winding its way to the Lodge. They had yet to shed their leaves in preparation for winter, but the other trees had turned brilliant shades of orange, yellow, and red. The forest was gorgeous in the late afternoon sun, and her fingers twitched at the thought of running between its trees. Indulging her wolf was difficult in Albany, where she’d been forced to drive to a park and hike deep into the woods before shedding her clothes and Turning.
Running wouldn’t be a problem here. She caught a glimpse of two dark shapes moving through the trees beside the SUV. An escort? Or guards?
Pressure built behind her eyes—the start of a migraine.
“He wants to see you as soon as we arrive,” Dom said.
She nodded, not trusting her voice to be steady.
The Lodge was an impressive four stories, built out of stone and timber some time in the nineteenth century. Well over forty thousand square feet, it cut into a hillside overlooking the gorge that ran through the entire forest.
Dom pulled the SUV into the massive portico that shielded the porch and front doors. Lizette sensed an eerie stillness as she stepped out of the vehicle. It was as if the whole valley held its breath…waiting. The outside looked deserted, but there was a buzz of energy spilling from the Lodge. She couldn’t see the wolves inside, but she knew they were there. She reached out with her senses and felt them, one hundred or more spread throughout the building.
But one in particular drew her like an electric current, so intense it was painful. She gasped and broke the connection.
Dom steadied her. He nodded, his solemn expression telling her he understood what just happened. “You’re to go alone,” he said.
She pushed her shoulders back, sparing a thought of gratitude to Remy for urging her to put on a b*a. She needed all the armor she could get, even if it was something as silly as a couple of underwires. “Okay,” she said, and stepped into the house she’d never expected to see again.
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