Carolina Wolf

by Sela Carsen

  The pressure on his legs shifted and he realized he’d been hot because the dog was lying on him.

  “You’re no dog. You’re something else, but you are not a dog.” He caught the merest hint of hysteria in her voice, but she seemed to be holding up. At least she hadn’t shot him in his sleep.

  He moved, trying to sit up, and she set down the mug to come and help him. Between them, he got propped up against a corner of the couch, but they were sweating by the time it was done. Part of the effort had been hiding the hard-on he got from staring at her breasts while she helped him. They were fuller than he’d thought at first, hidden under the loose, high-necked sweater she wore. Through the pain screaming in his shoulder, he smiled to himself. The girl was stacked.

  But when she stood back, leaning a little on the arm of the couch to get her breath back, all thought of smiling left. The mark on her cheek that he’d thought was a smear of blood was actually a dark, swollen bruise.

  “Your face.”

  She started, bringing a hand to her cheek.

  “I remember now. The bastard hit you. That’s when I lost it.” Maddox felt the red tide of fury rise again and welcomed the sting of fur breaking through his skin. “I’ll kill him.”

  In the receding space of his mind, he heard a dog bark furiously until Debra’s voice intruded. Sharp, loud words.

  “Cut it out! Stop it. Both of you.”

  Maddox came to himself, half off the couch, blood running down his arm and overwhelmed with nausea.

  “I’m going to throw up.”

  She thrust a plastic bowl under him just in time before he disgraced himself. Debra knelt next to him, holding his forehead while he was sick. When he finished, he lolled back against the couch. She left with the bowl and returned with a cool cloth and a glass of water. Her face was pale and pinched.

  “You don’t look so good,” he said.

  “You don’t look so good, either. You also don’t smell so good.” She swallowed and a tide of green rose and fell in her cheeks. “Sorry. I don’t do throw-up well.”

  “I’d be worried if you did. Can you get me to a bathroom?”

  She got under his uninjured arm and helped lever him to his feet. The blanket fell to the floor and there he stood, his dick still half hard from imagining her naked breasts as well as the adrenaline rush of the Change. He looked over at her and her eyes seemed to be glued to his partially erect state. Under her gaze, he stiffened further. Great. Maddox reached out and tucked a hand under Debra’s chin.

  “Hon, if you want that to go away, you’re going to have to stop staring at it.”

  Chapter Four

  Debra dropped his arm like he was on fire and he wavered without her support. Maddox caught himself against a wall, leaving a smear of blood behind.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “I need a shower.”

  “You need a doctor,” she answered. “And you’re freezing. Why are you so cold?”

  “No doctors,” he said, ignoring the second part of her question. “I’ll heal by morning.”

  Debra bent and gathered the blanket, pulling it up around his body. She stared at his chest the whole time over the tops of her glasses. He would have chuckled, but it hurt too much to be amused. That clever, subtle avoidance maneuver probably fooled most people.

  Debra took up her position under his shoulder and led him through her bedroom into the master bath. The lights were off, but he saw clearly enough to make out the light cotton blanket, the rumpled pillows, the stacks of books on and around her nightstand.

  The bathroom was clean, but cluttered with female paraphernalia—makeup, mirrors, creams and combs. The smells should have been overwhelming, but they were only a stronger, colder version of her. It wasn’t until they combined with the essence of Debra that they became enchanting.

  Debra, Debra. Pretty, bewitching Debra.

  He didn’t realize he’d said it out loud until he opened his eyes and she was staring at him.

  “Do you need something?”

  “What?”

  “You said my name. Do you need me?”

  Wrong question. The shower was running, heating the water and steaming the air around them, cushioning his senses until all he could breathe was her.

  The silver was sapping his strength, stealing the warmth from his blood. The danger of silver was not only the damage of the wound itself, it also tainted the blood, draining the heat out of their bodies. Silver-killed werewolves froze from the inside out.

  He lurched to his feet from his seat on the toilet lid. She had an enclosed shower big enough for two people with glass sliding doors—no tub to step over—and he stumbled inside, hissing as the water stung his skin with hot needles. The blanket fell again, this time with a wet plop. She reached in to get it out of his way, but he snagged her arm and pulled her all the way into the shower with him.

  He needed her. To hold him, to help him, to be with him, to fill him.

  She squealed when the water hit her full in the face, but he slid the shower door shut. Maddox pulled her closer and brushed the wet hair out of her eyes.

  She spluttered, but her words weren’t important. Nothing was important but his need. The moment her soaked clothes touched his skin, the cold went away. As long as she touched him, he knew he’d survive.

  “Maddox, you’re sick. You need a doctor.”

  “No. Need you. Just you.” And he kissed her.

  God. She tasted even better than she smelled—purer, simpler, richer, more complex. He could willingly spend decades sifting out the different flavors of Debra. She stood stiffly in his arms and he didn’t know what to do about it, didn’t know how to help her. Didn’t know how to tell her what he needed from her now.

  Maddox raised his mouth from hers and stared down into her face, water dripping from her eyelashes, running in streams down her cheeks, dangling at her chin before falling into oblivion.

  “Please, Debra. Help me.” He’d never begged before. Never needed to before, but he was sick and hurt and if she didn’t help him now… He couldn’t even finish the thought. She had to help him, even if she didn’t know how.

  He bent to her face again, but not to kiss her. Not right away. Drops of water slid over her skin as though they had the right. His tongue caught one beside her lips, and the taste of his mate exploded on his tongue, made him greedy for more. More drops enticed him and he lapped at her mouth, pulling her closer when she finally opened to him, letting him into her body. Accepting him. Trusting him.

  There it was. As if a door opened and she invited him in, Maddox let his mind touch hers, its light sharp and pure and blinding.

  He was stunned. Humans usually didn’t have enough of a soul-light to heal themselves, much less anyone else. But there was brilliance enough here for magic like he’d never seen. And this part of her was untouched. She’d never let anyone into her heart before. It was all for him. He was too grateful to be greedy, so he simply basked in the glow, letting it flow into him, fill him until there was no room left for the poison.

  In his weakness, her hands caressed and held him as tenderly as a healer, a mother, a lover. A woman. His woman. As the light overflowed him, he left her mind and came back to his.

  His senses were clearing, the toxic metal leaving his body. Maddox looked over at his shoulder and watched the sluggish trail of tainted blood seep down his arm and drip to the floor, swirl into the drain. The last atom of silver left his body and he heaved a great draft of steamy air, finally warm all the way through.

  “Thank you for healing me.” Then the weakness took him.

  This was so not normal. Not right, not…not anything. She was sitting, fully clothed, in a scalding shower. In her arms lay a naked werewolf who kissed her until she glowed, then bled silver into her drain and passed out.

  And she wasn’t screaming.

  She should be screaming.

  Twister butted open the bathroom door and stood there, wagging his stubby little tail, his head cocked to on
e side. She could barely see him through the steam on the shower door, but she laughed, a weak, sodden sound, when his broad pink tongue swiped a slobbery path up the other side of the glass.

  She reached up and shut off the water, feeling the chill almost immediately. A towel hung on the other side of the shower door and she pulled it down to drape over Maddox’s still form. His breathing was better, his color was up and the gash on his shoulder was…

  No. This was not happening. Except it was. The cut was not only not seeping blood anymore, the edges of it were drawing together, leaving a faint pinkish line in their wake. She swiped water out of her eyes and looked again. His wound was healing right in front of her.

  What had he said? “Thank you for healing me.” How did he know? Debra’s power was doing strange things lately. She’d never had the means or the motive to heal another until tonight, but he knew what had happened.

  Maddox was out like a light and safe from harm sitting in the shower for now, but she was tired and shivering and soaked. Also, possibly psychotic. Her world had tilted. For some reason, the idea that there were other beings—not entirely human—shook her. She felt like an idiot. A blind idiot. After all, if there were witches, why couldn’t there be werewolves? And monsters?

  Her clothes left a growing pool on the floor. She grabbed a robe from the hook behind the door and held it in her teeth so it hung in front of her while she stripped out of her sweater and trousers. With another suspicious glance at Maddox, she pulled on the robe before she took off her underwear.

  Twister stood, front paws in the shower, stretching his nose toward Maddox and giving him a thorough sniffing. When he came to the sliced shoulder, he licked it twice.

  “Ew! Don’t do that. That’s disgusting. I’ve seen you lick yourself.” She nudged the dog out of the way with her foot before she gathered everything up and shoved the whole mess in the washing machine.

  She returned to study the man on the floor. How was she supposed to get him out of there? And where was she supposed to put him when she did get him out? And what in heaven’s name was she supposed to do with a werewolf in her house?

  Debra reached out and touched his shoulder. His skin was again as hot as it had seemed a few hours ago—a few lifetimes ago—at the council meeting.

  Werewolves must generate a lot of body heat.

  But testing her theory didn’t explain why she was tracing her fingers over his skin, up his shoulder and onto his collarbone. The strong set of his jaw drew her touch. The stubble of beard pricked her fingertips. The skin around his eyes was slightly lined. She recalled the way his face moved when he had smiled at her. You had to do a lot of smiling to get lines like that.

  His eyebrows were thick, but not shaggy, and he needed a haircut. Well, not really. She liked the way the hair over his ears brushed against her fingers.

  Debra snatched her arm back like she’d been burned. There was a werewolf sitting in her shower. Forget taking him to the hospital, she should have called Animal Control. And the National Enquirer.

  She wiped her hands on her robe to mitigate the lusting effect of the hottie cooties before she prodded gently at his unwounded shoulder.

  “Mr. Moreau, can you hear me?”

  There was no response, so she tried again.

  “Maddox.” His brows drew together for a flicker of time before he opened his eyes halfway. His pupils were back to normal again and she could see the blue of his eyes.

  “Huh?”

  “You’re sitting in my shower. Can you help me get you up?”

  He groaned and nodded. Between them, they staggered to her bed, not even caring that he was nude. Honest. She didn’t care a bit.

  Uh-huh.

  She covered him to his chin and straightened. The idea was to leave him to sleep it off while she had a nice cup of decaf tea and sat down with her notebook. She needed a list. A list of things to do, a list of questions to ask, a list of things that didn’t seem possible.

  It was going to be a really long list.

  But his hand reached out from under the blanket and caught hers.

  “Don’t leave me.”

  Debra paused. The list could wait until he was fully asleep. She sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled his hand into her lap, stroking it gently.

  “Rest. You’ll be fine.”

  “C’mere,” he slurred, pulling her down next to him. “Rest with me.”

  He pulled her off balance and her head hit the pillow next to his. He scooted backward and she rolled into the warm spot he’d left on the sheets.

  “I shouldn’t do this. I have things to do.” The hot shower must have made her sleepier than she realized.

  “You need to rest now. We’ll both feel better in the morning.”

  Her eyes were so heavy. Debra nodded and slept.

  In the middle of the night, her restless movements woke him.

  “I’m hot,” she moaned, kicking at the blankets. The knot on her robe had loosened, and she yanked at it, pulled off the heavy cotton and shoved it over the side of the bed.

  Maddox lay perfectly still, praying she wouldn’t wake up and scream, but she seemed to still be asleep. She flipped her pillow over to the cool side and settled back down, her breathing soft and even.

  The body she revealed made his tongue go dry and his cock stand to immediate attention. She wasn’t just stacked. She was built like a...disco music and the words “brick house” cranked up a mental soundtrack.

  He tried to lift his hand. The desire to touch the silken skin of her side, to run his hands from her shoulder down to that round, smooth hip was overwhelming. Unfortunately, it wasn’t overwhelming enough to beat back the healing sleep. The best he could manage was to drop an arm over her waist and pull her closer to him. Unconscious, she snuggled in and—thank you, Jesus—his almost painful erection nestled into the Holy Land, the valley between the cheeks of an ass he desperately wanted to grab. And lick. And bite.

  After he slept some more.

  Chapter Five

  “Oooow!”

  Maddox came awake snarling at the sound, but his disorientation melted at the sight of the lovely Debra, leaning up on her elbow with a hand to her cheek. Her face must have still been bruised from last night’s attack.

  The picture in front of him was unbeatable. Her back was a study in living sculpture, soft and strong. His hand still rested on her hip and there was no help for it. He stroked.

  Oh yeah. Her skin was as smooth as he imagined. But for some reason, having her hip fondled by a naked werewolf seemed to freak her out.

  Debra screamed, rolled over, and fell out of bed, landing on that luscious bare ass. Thankfully, it knocked the air out of her enough that she stopped screaming. The woman could shatter glass.

  Maddox held out his hands in a peaceful gesture, but it didn’t seem to help. She was scrabbling around, searching for her robe, when he realized she couldn’t see to find it. Her glasses were on the bedside table and he picked them up.

  “Here you go, hon.”

  She snatched her specs out of his hand and shoved them on. Too bad her next move was to dive for the robe, because he was enjoying the view. He’d never realized he had a fetish for librarians before, but she had the whole package. Beauty and brains, with guts and a great rack. What a combination.

  “You…you…”

  He wasn’t going to take any points away for her confusion this morning. After all, he had a lot of explaining to do.

  Twister, who had come streaking off his doggie pillow when Debra hit the floor, decided that all was well, and stretched, gifting his humans with a gaseous emission guaranteed to blister paint.

  “Jeeee-sus!” Maddox covered his nose and Debra fanned furiously, her eyes watering. He wrapped the sheet around his waist, the stench doing an effective job of withering his morning erection to a less embarrassing state, and went to open the windows while Debra flipped the ceiling fan to high.

  “What are you feeding him?” he asked
as he stood at the open window, taking deep gulps of fresh air. She joined him.

  “Dog food,” she choked out. “Good dog food, too, not that scary stuff from the Dollar Store. I asked the vet about it and he said Boxers are naturally…flatulent.”

  “Gawd Almighty. Put some plain yogurt in his food at dinner. See if that works.”

  “Why? Does it work for you?”

  Her tone clued him in. She was angry. She’d gone from terrified to pissed in less than the time it took him to change species. Maddox rubbed the back of his head.

  “Debra, I’ll tell you everything—absolutely everything I know—if you’ll go make a pot of coffee.”

  “I didn’t realize werewolves drank coffee.” She stood with her hip propped against the windowsill and her arms crossed under her breasts.

  “There’s a lot you don’t realize. Do you have an extra toothbrush?” He wanted to distract her from hating him for a few minutes while he finished waking up.

  “Toothbrush?” she repeated.

  “Morning breath. Got anything I can wear, while you’re at it?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t carry a large selection of men’s clothing, Mr. Moreau.” Now she was scaring him. He knew that voice. It was the one his mother used right before all hell broke loose. “What happened to your clothes?”

  “You’ve seen me naked. You should call me Maddox.” He put his hands on her shoulders to soothe her. “And I’ve seen you naked too.”

  For a small woman, she could put a lot of force into a downward stomp. Pain shot up his leg from his flattened big toe as she shook off his grip.

  “There should be a new toothbrush in the drawer to the right of the sink. I’ll be in the kitchen with coffee. You’d better come out with answers.” She turned on her heel and stalked out the door. He’d have appreciated the view more if his foot didn’t hurt so much.

  Washed and brushed, he discovered a big T-shirt with a sizable hole in the armpit and a ratty pair of athletic shorts on the bed when he came out of the bathroom.

  He was usually much better about shifting where there were some clothes to be had, but then he usually didn’t get stabbed on his wild runs. Maddox followed his nose to the kitchen.