Jodi Redford - Cat Scratch Fever

After pulling her shoes back on, she collapsed into the snow. The desire to curl into a ball and sleep was overwhelming. Digging deep for her last reserve of energy, she crawled onto her knees. Getting any farther than that proved impossible, so she continued to drag herself onward that way.

She knew from yesterday’s drive that she was miles away from help, or signs of civilization, for that matter. Making to the nearest used road could take her hours.

Hell, days at this rate.

Refusing to cow to defeat after she’d come this far, she shuffled forward. The ground beneath her suddenly gave way. She scrambled for a hold as she fell through the loose snow and dirt before landing on her ass with a jarring thump. Half buried beneath the avalanche of snow, she tried to get her bearings. From the look of things, she’d fallen into a sinkhole, or maybe an abandoned animal’s den. She attempted to wiggle loose of the snow and dirt, but both refused to release her from their clutches.

Despite her best efforts to fend them off, tears of anguish and frustration leaked down her cheeks. One way or another, fate seemed determined to make her die in this lonely wilderness.

Bitterness and regret cramping her heart, she rested her face against the cold pillow of snow. Dante’s beloved face was the last image she clung to before unconsciousness claimed her.

Dante ignored the murmurs of speculation spreading like wildfire through the congregation seated in front of him. His calm had abandoned him over an hour ago, but he refused to show it to anyone.

Wayne cleared his throat softly. “How much longer do you want to wait?”

Dante opened his mouth but quickly snapped it shut. This was ridiculous. He wasn’t so boneheaded that he couldn’t see the writing on the wall.

Lilly wasn’t coming. His mate had left him high and dry.

A sharp spike of pain slammed through his chest. Shit, he should have listened to Shane. His cousin had warned him he’d only end up sinking in the mire of his own heartache. Unable to meet his uncle’s most likely sympathetic gaze, Dante loosened his tie and wrenched it from his neck. He raised his voice to ensure he’d be heard by everyone in the room. “I appreciate you all coming out today. Just so this isn’t a complete waste of your time, the beer is still on the house.”

Tuning out the cacophony of voices surrounding him, he strode toward the exit. Once outside, he dragged in a deep breath and willed the chaos of emotions twisting his heart to lessen. The door opened behind him, and the boisterous noise leaked from the building, disturbing the quiet solitude. Not in the mood to talk to anyone, he headed in the direction of his truck.

“Dante, wait,” Kinsey called out.

The last person he wanted to converse with was Lilly’s sister, but Kinsey’s persistence matched Lilly’s as she tailed him to his vehicle.

Hell, too bad Lilly’s stubborn doggedness hadn’t extended to making a go of their relationship. “There’s nothing for us to say to each other, Kinsey.”

“Yes, there is. I know, Lilly. There’s no way she would have willingly not shown up today.”

He offered Kinsey a wry look. “Unless she’s invisible and mute, I’m pretty damn sure I didn’t see her anywhere in there.”

“I know what it looks like, but I swear to you that she loves you. She confessed as much to me on the phone yesterday.”

Kinsey’s admission released a fraction of the tension constricting his heart. Until cold, harsh reality came rushing back to the forefront. “Apparently she doesn’t love me enough.” Before she could say anything more, he climbed into his truck and banged the door shut. Gunning the engine, he roared out of the lot.

A stiff drink sounded mighty damn fine at the moment. Thankfully he had a pint of whiskey at home perfect for the occasion. Less than fifteen minutes later, he tore down the road leading to Morgan’s Ridge. He barreled past Lilly’s cabin but got no farther than thirty yards before he stomped on the brake. Fishtailing in the snow, he slammed the gears in reverse and hauled ass back to her driveway.

The decision to pull in front of her cabin was a moronic one, particularly since the chance of her showing up was about as likely as Jimmy Hoffa’s body being buried in her backyard, but some sad, pathetic flicker of hope made him do it anyway. He’d give her half an hour. Anything longer than that would be an embarrassment to his manhood. Growling, he took over her parking space and settled back in his seat to wait. After a few minutes passed, his bladder began pitching a bitch. Shoving his door open, he jumped out and walked to the far side of the cabin so he could relieve himself. As he headed back to his truck, he noticed the smell. It was faint, but unmistakable.

Blood.

Frowning, he changed direction and went to investigate. The hairs on the nape of his neck lifting, he eyed the snow-covered porch. The coppery scent of blood was stronger here. Loping up the steps, he frantically glanced around for the source. Dropping to his knees, he swished away some of the fresh powder. His stare landed on the few scattered speckles of red he’d unearthed, and his heart knocked harder. Now that he was in closer proximity to the blood, he noticed what he hadn’t initially. It smelled of wolf.

A mix of trepidation and rage boiled inside him as he considered the implications of that discovery. Leaping to his feet, he tried the cabin door and found it unlocked. “Lilly?” Bellowing at the top of his lungs, he ran through the tiny cabin. He checked every square inch, without any luck. His fear and fury kicked up several notches, until he was practically choking on both. Without warning, the ghostly echo of Kinsey’s earlier pronouncement floated through his mind. There’s no way she would have willingly not shown up today.

Someone had deliberately kept Lilly away from the ceremony. And he had a good inkling who that someone was. He barreled down the steps and leapt into his truck. Two seconds later—foot stomped on the gas—he roared out onto the main road. Dread and rage were his constant companions as he made the short trip to his father’s house. Barely able to see straight, he rammed the gear into park. His inner wolf foaming at the mouth, he slammed from the vehicle and stormed to the front entrance. Foster—always the paranoid bastard where his worldly goods were concerned—had locked the door. Dante banged his fist on the frame until it threatened to splinter. A second later, the unmistakable slide of the deadbolt sounded.

The door swung open, revealing Foster’s livid face. “What in the devil is wrong with you?”

A haze of fury overtaking him, Dante grabbed a fistful of Foster’s shirt and hauled him outside. “What did you do to her, you son of a bitch?”

Foster’s eyes threatened to bug out. “Are you out of your damn mind? Let go of me.”

“Not until you tell me where Lilly is.”

“How am I supposed to know where your slut is?”

Dante rammed Foster against the door. “I warned you not to call her that.” He pulled his fist back and prepared to take a swing just as his cell buzzed. He considered letting it go to voicemail, but he instantly recognized Theo’s ringtone. His cousin never made a habit of calling him unless it was catastrophically important. Maybe Theo had some news about Lilly. His stomach pitching at the possible ramifications of what that news might be, Dante dug in his pocket for his phone and clicked the Talk button. “Coz?”

“I think you’ll want to come down to the station.”

Dante’s heart inched farther up his throat. “Lilly?”

“My deputy pulled her vehicle over this morning. Only she wasn’t the one driving.”

He frowned. “I don’t understand. Who had her car?”