Northern Lights

white.
    He found her lips again, sank into them, into all that heat and power.
    In some part of his brain, he heard the dogs barking, a frenzied cacophony that cut through the sexual buzz. Even as he lifted his head to tune into the sound, Meg was shoving him away.
    "Something's at my dogs."
    She sprinted out of the room even as he rolled off the couch. "Meg! Wait a minute. Wait a damn minute."
    He heard something, something that wasn't a dog, sound outside the house, and he ran after her.

 
     
     
     
    TWENTY-NINE
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    SHE HAD A RIFLE and was yanking open the back door by the time he caught her. He made a leap, slapped the door closed.
    "What the hell are you doing?"
    "Protecting my dogs. They're going to get mauled out there. Back off, Burke, I know what I'm doing."
    Too rushed for niceties, she rapped the butt of the rifle into his belly and was both furious and astonished when instead of buckling, he stood his ground and shoved her back.
    "Give me the gun."
    "You've got your own. They're my dogs." A pulsing, clacking roar cut through the frenzied barks. "It'll kill my dogs!"
    "No, it won't." He didn't know what it was, but from the sound of it, it was bigger than any dog. He slapped on the outside lights, then picked up the gun he'd laid on her counter, pulled it out of the holster. "Stay here."
    Later, he would wonder why he'd thought she'd listen to him, listen to reason. Be safe. But when he opened the door, his gun lifted, held in combat stance, she bolted out, ducking under his arm, whirling her body and the barrel of the rifle toward the sounds of vicious war.
    There was an instant of wonder struck into him, tangled with fear and a terrible respect. The bear was massive, a great hulk of black against the patchy snow. Its teeth gleamed sharp and deadly in the light as its jaws opened, and it bellowed viciously at the dogs.
    They went at it, short, testing lunges, snapping, snarling. He saw blood splattered over the ground, a pool of it soaking into the thawing ground. The raw smell of it, and the pungent odor of wild animal, stung the air.
    "Rock, Bull! Here! Come here, now!"
    Too far gone, was Nate's only thought as Meg called out. Too far gone to listen even to her. They'd already made their choice between fight or flight, and the blood lust was on them.
    The bear dropped onto all fours, its back hunched, and the sound it made was nothing like the growls Hollywood assigned to its breed. It was more. More savage, more chilling. More real.
    It swiped out, razor claws sweeping, and sent one of the dogs tumbling off into the snow on a high-pitched yelp. Then it rose up on its hind legs. Taller than a man, wide as the moon. Blood on its fangs and its eyes mad with battle.
    He fired as it charged, fired again as it got down on all fours to rush them. He heard the explosion of Meg's rifle, once, twice, booming through his own fire. It screamed, it seemed like a scream to him, as blood flew, as it matted its fur.
    It fell less than three feet from where they stood, and it shook the ground under Nate's feet.
    Meg shoved the rifle at Nate and jumped down to run to the dog who limped toward her. "You're all right, you're okay. Let me see. Just grazed you, didn't he? You stupid, stupid dog. Didn't I tell you to come?"
    Nate stayed where he was a moment, making certain the bear was down for good while Rock sniffed around the body, nosed into the blood.
    Then he walked down to where Meg knelt in nothing but a pair of panties and an open shirt. "Get inside, Meg."
    "It's not too bad." She was crooning to Bull. "I can fix it. Baited. Baited the house, do you see? Bloody meat." Her eyes were hard stones as she gestured to the chunks of half-eaten meat near the back of the house. "Hung meat, fresh meat at the house, probably at the edge of the woods. Lure the bear in. Bastard. That's what the bastard did."
    "Get inside, Meg. You're cold." He pulled her to her feet, felt her trembling. "Take these. I'll get the dog."
    She took the guns, whistled for Rock. Inside, she laid the guns on the counter and dashed for a blanket and first-aid supplies. "Lay him on that," she called out when Nate carried the dog in. "Get down with him, keep him quiet. He's not going to like this."
    He did as she asked, held the dog's head and said nothing while she cleaned the cuts.
    "Not deep, not too deep. Probably scar. War wounds, that's okay. Rock, sit!" she snapped out when he tried to wiggle under her arm to sniff at