Vicki Thompson: Werewolf in Alaska

What a ridiculous situation he’d created for himself. Had he managed to save her while in human form, they at least could have spent the evening together and shared a conversation, maybe even a glass of wine. He wouldn’t have allowed himself to get carried away, because that would violate his code, but they could have talked.

But as he listened to the water run and imagined her standing naked in the shower, he wondered if his code would have been strong enough to stop him from seducing her. Maybe not. In wolf form, he had no opportunity to go against his beliefs. So this situation, maddening as it was, saved him from making a huge mistake.

Sometime later, Rachel shut off the light in the bathroom and walked over to the bedroom window. From his truncated view he could see that her ankles and calves were bare, but he couldn’t tell whether she slept in pajamas or in the nude.

“Wow, it’s warm tonight. I sure won’t need the quilt I gave you, wolf. The one you’re not using, as it turns out. But it’s downright hot in here, don’t you think?”

Yes, he did. Speculating that she might sleep nude made the room seem even hotter. He was overheated and squished under her bed, but he wasn’t going to come out and take a chance she’d try wielding that pink razor again.

“I should probably keep the window closed, but it’s stifling. I say we open it a crack. The security latch might not stop a bear, but it’ll slow one down, and at least we’ll have a breeze.” The window creaked and cool air slipped through the small opening. “Ah, that’s better.”

She walked back to the bed. “Alert me if you hear a bear at the window, okay?” Then she climbed in.

To preserve his sanity, Jake pictured her wearing pajamas. Baggy, opaque ones with no style whatsoever.

The sheets rustled, and she switched off the bedside lamp. “Good night, wolf.”

Good night, Rachel. He closed his eyes and hoped to hell he’d be able to sleep.

Time lost all meaning as he lay in his cramped position thinking of her stretched out only inches above him, maybe naked, maybe not. Perhaps he’d been there three minutes, perhaps three hours. In the end, he concluded he’d been stuffed under the bed too long and he was too damned close to Rachel. He might start howling if he didn’t get out of there.

He listened to her breathe. Slow and steady. No movement of sheets or innerspring. She must be asleep. He hoped so, because he was vacating his hidey-hole. The space was not designed for a full-grown male werewolf.

Moving carefully, he eased to the foot of the bed and stuck his nose out. Then he listened again. The rhythm of her breathing hadn’t changed. So far, so good.

He worked his shoulders free, wincing at the pain in his side. Rachel slept on. Another few seconds, and he was out and standing on wobbly legs. Ahh.

Moving slowly across the wooden floor, he walked into her living room. The endless twilight of an Alaskan summer night allowed him to see the room clearly, and he took a look around.

Typical cabin furniture filled the space. If he had to guess, he’d say she’d kept most of Ike’s stuff—a sofa and two chairs made of sturdy wood and green plaid cushions that had faded over the years. They were gathered in front of a rock fireplace positioned between the windows that looked out on the back deck. An oval rag rug and a scarred coffee table completed the arrangement.

Jake’s cabin didn’t look all that different from this, except his cushions were plain green instead of plaid, and slightly newer. Instead of a storm door leading to his deck, he had a slider so he could manipulate it as a wolf. His fireplace was quite similar to hers, even down to the slate hearth.

Glancing at the mantel, he noticed the driftwood wolf. It was a shade lighter than it had been while he owned it, which meant she’d cleaned and oiled the wood. As he gazed at it, he had the oddest feeling of shared custody. A link had been forged between them the day he’d bought the carving, almost as if he’d adopted her child.

But he’d given up all rights to it, and that was for the best. Turning away from the driftwood wolf, he continued his survey of Rachel’s cabin. Like many floor plans in this part of the country, no division existed between the living room and the dining area. The round oak table and four chairs at the other end of the space seemed to be the same vintage as the sofa and chairs. The entire area was tidy and unassuming.

Jake liked knowing that despite her newfound wealth, Rachel hadn’t changed the character of her grandfather’s cabin. He’d made the same decision about his, which was of a similar age. Although he could afford every luxury imaginable, he’d kept his place simple, the way it had been when he’d bought it.

Well, maybe not quite. He’d added a couple of things, like a towel warmer in the bathroom and the finest king-sized mattress money could buy. He was a big guy and he appreciated a firm bed. Rachel’s bed also looked new, come to think of it. He doubted Ike would have splurged on a king.

As he’d suspected all along, he and Rachel were very much alike, except for one significant detail—he was a werewolf and she was not. Thinking of that made him wonder if he could risk shifting while she was asleep. He could really speed the healing process that way.

Casting a glance toward the bedroom, he decided to move into the kitchen. It had a pocket door, and he nudged it closed. Shifting was risky, but his wounds hurt like hell and he needed relief.

With the door closed, the kitchen became darker than the rest of the house. Its only window was shaded by a large pine, and the lack of light made Jake feel relatively safe. Shifting was noiseless. With luck she’d sleep right through it.

Once he shifted, he’d be able to open either the front or back door and leave, but he’d rather not have her speculate about how he’d been able to do such a thing. No point in making her any more curious than she already was. Besides, he’d be naked. Not the best way to travel through the woods. So he’d shift to human form, shift back, and return to her bedroom as a wolf.

Lying on the linoleum floor on his uninjured side, he focused all his energy on his transformation. The glow from his shift began to flicker in the dim light. He was seconds into the process, caught halfway between man and wolf, when his concentration was shattered by the sound of Rachel’s voice.

“Whoever’s in my kitchen, be warned. I have a killer wolf on the premises and he’ll rip your throat out without a second thought.”

Jake couldn’t afford the luxury of panic, or even time to appreciate the irony of being threatened by his own bad self. Refocusing quickly, he poured all his energy into shifting into wolf form before she opened that kitchen door.

Baseball bat raised and heart pounding, Rachel walked slowly through the dining area toward the kitchen. The soft rumble of the pocket door had roused her, but she’d had to lie there for a moment before she’d identified the sound.

She’d tried to dismiss it as distant thunder. But the sound had come from inside the house, not outside. Taking her baseball bat, which she kept leaning against the back wall of her closet, she’d left her bedroom. Sure enough, the pocket door was closed. And she hadn’t closed it.

Mr. Wolf, she assumed, was still under her bed, and he should probably stay there. Hurling himself at an intruder might cause his wounds to start bleeding again. Yet she was surprised he hadn’t challenged whoever had closed that door.

If he’d been willing to risk his life to save her from a charging bear, why would he allow a stranger in the house? Maybe he didn’t think people presented the same kind of threat as a grizzly. She begged to differ.