Gentry (Wolves of Winter's Edge Book 1) Read online

  Gentry waited for the tendrils of black magic to curdle his stomach again, but she wasn’t using her power anymore. And when he studied her closer, the woman was swaying slightly on her feet. A quick glance at Asher, who was closest to her, and he had his narrowed eyes on her shaking hands.

  A witch she may be, but all-powerful she was not. She’d drained herself. They could kill her now with a single bite. She wasn’t a wolf, probably wouldn’t survive it, but Gentry had a hundred questions rattling around in his mind, so he played along and stood slowly. Every muscle in his body was twitching like he’d been electrocuted, but he splayed his legs and kept his balance.

  “What’s your name?” he gritted out.

  “Odine.”

  “Odine what?” Roman asked.

  She inhaled deeply and lifted her chin proudly. “Odine Striker. Get your shit together long enough to spread your father’s ashes in the wind. His soul is at unrest. He wanted his sons to do it, and you’ve put it off too long.” Odine turned and strode off, her snow boots crunching as she stepped over the piles of snow she’d raised like a tidal wave and dropped back down to earth like an avalanche. “I want to be there. I deserve to be there.”

  Roman tossed Gentry a what-the-hell look, then asked, “Okay, how do we find you?”

  Odine disappeared into the shadows like a ghost, but her voice bounced around the woods. “You don’t. I’ll find you when you’re ready.”

  Gentry shook his head hard to rid himself of her words, still rattling around in his skull.

  “A witch,” Roman ground out. “Dad was fucking a witch.”

  “Not just fucking,” Asher murmured, running his hand over the short crop of dirty blond hair, the same shade as Gentry and Roman’s. “Dad gave her his last name. A human witch.” He slid a suspicious glare to Gentry. “Did you know, Favorite?”

  “Don’t you fucking call me that, asshole. Obviously, I wasn’t a favorite. I don’t know any of the shit that went down. Dad kept everything from me.”

  “He gave you the fucking inn and bar, man,” Roman said. “Asher and I got jack squat. So fucking predictable. We always got jack squat! He didn’t even leave us a damn hunting rifle to remember him by.” Roman put a stick in his mouth and bit down, then hunched into himself and set his broken wrist.

  The crunch of the bone made Gentry wince. He’d done that. No, Wolf had. The separate entity Odine had guessed at.

  Crimson was dripping down from Asher’s shoulder to his fingertips. Drip, drop, drip, drop, more red snow. His neck was chewed up, too, just like Gentry’s. They were all shredded and bloody and, yeah, if Odine hadn’t come, there would have been bodies tonight.

  He didn’t even want to guess how a witch knew they were out here at war with each other. Probably had a damn crystal ball or something.

  A friggin’ witch. He’d known they existed, just never met one. Never wanted to.

  “Gentry?” Blaire asked from behind him.

  Startled, he spun. She shouldn’t have been able to sneak up on him like that. She stood leaning heavily against a tree, her hand to her stomach. Red was streaming between her fingertips, and agony was etched into every beautiful line of her face.

  “Blaire?”

  “Whose Blaire?” Roman asked, as Gentry bolted for her.

  She pitched forward, coughing blood, but he knelt in time to catch her. Only when she hit his hands, she turned to ashes.

  “Blaire?” he yelled, horrified.

  “There’s no one there, psychopath,” Roman called.

  “Does anyone else see the wolves?” Asher asked in a disturbed voice.

  “Like the new pack?” Roman asked.

  “No. They’re all dead. Like…zombie wolves. They’re missing their skin.”

  Gentry stood in a rush and shook imaginary ashes off his hands. He had to check on Blaire. There were no zombie wolves, but he knew what this was. This was remnants of that damn black magic Odine had used. Nothing good would come from these woods until it had dissipated. Heart hammering against his sternum, he climbed over the steep bank of snow and sprinted toward Winter’s Edge.

  “Where are you going?” Roman called.

  Gentry didn’t want them anywhere near Blaire, though, so he ignored the question and ducked a low-hanging tree branch. They wouldn’t understand.

  But some deep-rooted instinct said something was very, very wrong here.

  Chapter Twelve

  Blaire paced in front of the window. Minutes ago, the earth had shaken, and the echo of wolves snarling had been so loud it had filled Winter’s Edge. And then the sounds had been drowned out by a massive whoosh. White snow powder had blasted up into the sky like an unending explosion. Her stomach felt queasy, from nerves, yes, but from something darker, too. Something just above her senses.

  A back door blasted open and slammed against the wall, and when Blaire spun around, a man she’d never seen before stalked out of the kitchen. His face was canted, and his eyes were a strange silver color. He had short hair and tattoos down the right side of his body. He was tall and built like a brick house, but every step he stalked closer was completely silent. Not a single board under his feet dared to utter a squeak. He was completely naked, but didn’t move to cover himself, and he chugged breath like he’d run a great distance to get here. Subdued power hummed through his body. Something about him reminded her of Gentry. Behind him, another man came out of the kitchen and jumped up on the bar top like the height was nothing at all. His eyes were like liquid gold, and he lifted his head higher into the air, nostrils flaring slightly. Both of them had rivers of blood streaming down their bodies.

  She’d never seen two more terrifying men in all her life.

  A whimper clawed its way up her throat, but she couldn’t turn and run no matter how much she wanted to. Instinct told her not to give these predators her back. The flickering lantern light made them look like monsters.

  “Take another step closer to her, and I’ll kill you,” Gentry said blandly from where he stood in the doorway. His voice threatened violence, and for a moment, she thought he would kill them. He stood stone-like against the blue moonlight, every muscle in his body rigid as he chugged frozen breath. His eyes were reflecting oddly, like an animal’s, and a sudden trill of fear zinged up her spine.

  Gentry wasn’t human.

  She dragged her gaze to the others, both staring at her with matching hungry expressions.

  They didn’t just look like monsters.

  They were monsters.

  “Blaire?” the tall silver-eyed one asked in a snarling voice.

  Blood was dripping from his hand to the floor in a puddle, but he didn’t favor any of his injuries, and they were many.

  “H-how do you know my name?”

  The man snarled up his lips over bright white teeth and gave Gentry a hate-filled glare. “You know what she is. That’s not a question, Favorite. I know you can fuckin’ smell her.”

  “Yeah, she also smells like sex, and you,” the bearded man crouched on the bar top said to Gentry. “Are you fucking humans—”

  “Roman, stop!” the tall one barked out, cutting him off.

  Humans. He’d been about to ask Gentry if he was fucking humans now. Blaire backed toward the wall slowly.

  Movements slow and calculated, Gentry maneuvered himself gracefully between Blaire and the others, his back to her, and now she could hear it clearly—that snarl in his throat. She’d thought it was habit, and he’d been quiet about it, but now it sounded like an animal. It sounded like a wolf.

  Tears blurred her vision as her back hit the wall. She’d never been more terrified in her life.

  “Blaire, no one will hurt you.” Gentry tossed her a glance over his shoulder. “You have to settle down or you’ll set them off.”

  “No one will hurt her?” Roman asked, jumping off the counter and barely making a sound as he landed. “What you’re doing is punishable by death, Gentry. Yours and hers.”

  “Roman,” the ot
her man warned.

  “Fuck off, Asher.” Roman cast him a glare and dragged his attention back to Blaire before Gentry cut off her line of sight with his wide shoulders. “No wonder you were a favorite, Gentry. No wonder! Dad saw you in him, right? Human fucker? He was doing it and saw the same weakness in his favorite boy. Made him love you even more. Made me and Asher invisible because we weren’t weak like you!” Roman yelled the last three words, and Blaire jumped hard. “This will get you killed. It’ll get her killed. It’ll get me and Asher killed. This ain’t your town anymore! It’s Rhett’s, and he will use this as an excuse to end the Striker line. And why the fuck is Winter’s Edge trashed?”

  “I don’t know, Roman! Back the fuck off!”

  “You were supposed to be running this place, right? Destiny and all. Instead, Dad died alone, unprotected, and his legacy is trashed, and what are you doing?” Roman jammed a finger at Blaire and raised his eyebrows at Gentry.

  One last step was all Gentry allowed before he blurred to the man and blasted him across the face. But Roman was ready and hooked his arm around the back of Gentry’s neck, taking them both to the ground. And there they went to work pummeling each other.

  “Gentry!” Blaire screamed as he slammed the man against the hardwood floor.

  Asher was searching the thrashed liquor cabinet like there wasn’t this awful frenzied fight happening in the middle of the bar.

  “Do something!” she pleaded with Asher as Gentry lifted Roman into the air and slammed him onto a table, shattering it to splinters.

  Asher tossed her a slit-eyed glare as though offended she’d even talk to him and went back to searching cabinets. He found a bottle of what looked like Jim Beam and took a long drag, tossed the cap onto the counter, and then walked out the way he came without a second glance for the two clashing titans.

  Fury blasted through her. Enough was enough, and everyone had bled all over the brand new clean floors. She’d been lied to, and she was pissed! Adrenaline pumping through her, she screeched at Roman, who was straddling Gentry, pounding his face. Dicks everywhere. Dicks and blood and bruises and scars and tattoos, and these men were freaking ridiculous. Blaire picked up a ladder back chair, and before she could stop herself, she swung it like a bat and shattered the old wooden seat across Roman’s back.

  The bearded man rocked forward and froze, his fist clenched mid-air. Gentry had his hand on Roman’s throat, and his face was beat red, but when Roman turned a slow, deadly golden gaze on her, she instantly regretted getting involved.

  “Accident?” she tried with her face scrunched up.

  “Are you trying to die faster?” Roman gritted out.

  Blaire stomped her snow boot on the floor. “That’s enough! I didn’t ask for any of this…this…whatever is happening! I’ve been through hell, and I’m having a nice break from work, and I like Gentry the whatever-he-is. He’s cute and a little terrifying, but mostly nice, and there will be no more death-talk on my fucking vacation.”

  “You said fucking,” Gentry muttered from the floor. His lip was split, but he was smiling.

  Roman shoved off him, stood, circled back, and kicked him in the ribs, but Gentry just blocked him and said, “You kick like a girl.”

  Roman flipped him off and then flipped Blaire off, too, before he strode out the door, still butt-naked. He tried to slam the door behind him, but it gently swung closed, and he roared a sound of pure frustration.

  Gentry stood slowly and rested one hand on his hip. He pressed the back of his wrist onto his bloody lip as he glared out the window at Roman, who was stomping through the snow like an angry yeti.

  At a complete loss on how to tackle anything that had just happened, Blaire murmured, “Well, tonight was weird.”

  Chest heaving, body shredded, naked as a jaybird and shaking, Gentry gave her a strange look, trapping her in that wild green gaze of his for a few moments. Suddenly, he let off a single laugh.

  “I have a hundred questions,” she admitted.

  “Well, I can’t answer any of them, so swallow those back down.”

  “Fantastic. Can I ask you one question I think you can answer?” She had a hunch, but she wanted to know for sure.

  “Fine,” Gentry muttered, shifting his weight.

  “Whoooo are those terrifying men?”

  Gentry rolled his eyes closed and sighed. When he looked at her again, his expression was exhausted. “Those would be my brothers.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Well, last night had been terrific. Blaire poked the dark circles under her eyes. Her dreams had been riddled with avalanches and monsters chasing her through the woods, and she’d given up on sleep sometime around five this morning.

  Vacations were supposed to be sleeping in and rest and relaxation, but the Striker brothers had taken all sense of safety away from her. Well, except Gentry. As much as she tried to convince herself he was scary, he’d been tender with her last night, and then put himself in front of her and protected her from Roman.

  What she needed was a day away from this place for some clarity, so she could wrap her head around what was actually going on in Rangeley. This wasn’t some fun mystery to unravel anymore. There was an entire supernatural dynamic here that she knew nothing about. And from the mention of the rules and the deadly consequences, she was pretty sure she would never find out.

  And now her head and heart were all mixed up. Head said Gentry was dangerous to get involved with, but heart didn’t care. Heart thought this was a great idea, to attach to a man of a different…species? Was this even okay? He wasn’t human, and she was, and maybe there were rules because it was wrong. Or something. Also, in addition to her head and heart was her needy vagina that kept her eyes on the prize, and that was another tempting body-smush with Sexy Gentry. Couldn’t be wrong, not if it had felt this right.

  She glared at her tired face in the mirror and applied an extra layer of concealer to cover the dark circles. Then she plumped her lips with a glossy pink and pulled her jacket and purse off the chair in the bedroom.

  Blaire let the door bang closed behind her and jogged down the porch stairs with a bounce in her step.

  “Mornin’, human.” Roman called from the porch of the smallest cabin next door. He was clad in teal underwear, a faux-fur winter hat with ear flaps, and unlaced snow boots. He was also eating a bowl of cereal.

  “Question,” she said, coming to a stop in front of the porch and doing her best not to look at his big dick bulging in his undies. “When would you say it’s too early for day drinking?”

  Roman slurped a bite of cereal, and with a full mouth said, “No such thing as too early.”

  “That was my first instinct, too.” She turned, but hesitated. “Aren’t you cold?”

  “I don’t get cold.”

  “Terrific. Stay weird, Roman.”

  “Will do. Hey human?” Roman called.

  “Yeees,” she drawled, annoyed with the nickname. She knew what he was doing. He was making sure she knew she was separate from the rest of them. “Gentry left you a present in the front seat of your car. I opened it.” His eyes weren’t gold anymore, but a vivid sky blue as they narrowed. “You’re playing a dangerous game. Both of you are. One that will get you hurt.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  Roman gave her an empty smile. “A promise.”

  Something moved behind him, and Blaire startled hard when Asher stood from a rocking chair and approached the railing. He locked his arms against it and dragged his gaze down her body and back to her face. She hadn’t even realized he was there, he’d been so still.

  “Blaire Hayward, acquisitions editor for Always Ink Publisher, divorced, and human. Bad match in more ways than one.” He jerked his chin toward the big cabin, ten-ten, where Gentry stayed. “I have no spare love for my brother, but he deserves better than a mate who doesn’t know how to stick around and will get him killed.”

  Asher’s words shocked her into a moment of slack-jawed silence. />
  “One, I’m human, and clearly you aren’t. Great. I have no idea what all that entails, but Gentry doesn’t feel so different from me, so stop being such a prejudiced…Asherhole!”

  Roman snorted and repeated, “Asherhole.”

  “Furthermore, that sticking around comment? It’s none of your business, but the divorce wasn’t my choice! I didn’t file the papers. What did you want me to do? Never sign them and cling to a man who didn’t want me? Don’t make judgements on things you know nothing about. I was destroyed, and I’m just now finding my way back to myself, and yeah, Gentry has my attention. He makes me feel like…like…me again!” Disproportionately angry, she lost her mind and chucked her car keys at Asher’s face.

  Annoyingly, he plucked them out of the air before they hit him, and Blaire regretted her actions. She wished she could stomp to the car and speed away, spraying them both with snow from her tires, but… “I need those back,” she muttered, holding her pink mitten-clad hand up to him. Impatiently, she wiggled her fingers.

  Roman was wearing a big, dumb grin as he looked back and forth from Blaire to Asher and back again.

  She could’ve sworn she saw the faintest smirk on Asher’s face as he leaned over the railing and settled the keys onto her palm. “I wouldn’t drink at the tavern if I were you.”

  “I wouldn’t tell me what to do… if I were you! So…” She was angry and terrible with comebacks, so she tried to flip him off, but her finger only bulged against her pink mitten. Roman laughed harder, and there was a smile on Asher’s face.

  Stupid Strikers. They made her want to be unladylike and rude.

  Blaire kicked a snow drift away from the door of her car and got in. Sure enough, there was an unwrapped gift on her passenger’s seat. It was a paperback copy of a werewolf erotica book called Bang Me, Fang Me. Her anger evaporated, and Blaire snorted as she studied the cover.

  Inside the front flap, there was a handwritten note that was already unfolded and likely read by Nosey Roman.