Wild Wolf

by Karen Whiddon

  She didn’t move. How dare he think he could give her orders?

  His dark eyes narrowed. “Do you truly want this kind of trouble?”

  Trouble. For the first time, she wondered if he had a weapon, a gun of some sort. If he had, then why hadn’t he drawn it before now? Most likely he was unarmed. Still, she could not take the chance.

  Her pack inched closer. Two or three of the more dominant ones snarled. A sharp thrill ran through her, followed by a sobering awareness of the potential danger.

  She couldn’t bear to see any of her wolves hurt because of her. Though she hated to give the appearance of obedience—she was Alpha here, after all—she spoke one word, using her sharpest, most commanding tone. “Back.”

  The wolves froze. She’d taught them a few commands and they understood this one. Immediately, they fell back.

  If the man was shocked, he didn’t show it. Instead, he cocked his head and studied her through narrow eyes. “Will you talk to me?” he asked, his arrogant tone in stark contrast to his words.

  This confused her briefly. Surely she hadn’t grown so out of touch with the language of humankind that she’d misinterpreted him.

  Meanwhile her pack watched to see what she would do.

  She decided she wanted to hear what he would say.

  “I’m listening.” Her voice sounded rusty, no doubt from lack of use. “What do you want with me? Why are you here?”

  “I came because of you.” His gaze never left her face.

  “Do you need help?”

  Help? From him? For some reason, this made her uncomfortable, as though she’d donned the wrong human skin.

  Odd thought. She filed it away for future examination.

  “What do you mean, you came because of me? I am fine. I called no one, didn’t ask for help.”

  “You’re wild. You exist outside of the norm.”

  What a stupid thing to say. She let him hear the contempt in her voice. “So? Who cares what I do? I live my life as I see fit, as far from the humans as possible.”

  “You’re human, too.”

  “Only part.”

  “Like me.” He cocked his head, waiting. “Half and half.”

  There he had her, the entire reason she even let him come so close. Curiosity won over caution. “I hadn’t known there were others.”

  “You thought you were—?”

  “The only one. Alone.”

  A flash of pity crossed his face, making her grit her teeth. Finally, he nodded. “There are many more. Ordinary, like us both.”

  “Ordinary?” She couldn’t hide her shock. “You think becoming wolf from human is ordinary?”

  “Okay, wrong word.” He flashed a casual grin, the impact of which she felt deep in her belly, making her hate him even more. “Regular people, like you and I.”

  Regular. People.

  “I don’t consider myself a person.” Lashing out at him, partly because of the beauty of his smile, partly because something in what he said made her stomach churn, she all but snarled the words.

  Her rage and fear hovered in the air, a solid thing.

  At this, several of her pack inched closer, growling low in their throats.

  “You can’t deny what you are,” he said, his voice calm.

  “I am wolf more than human.”

  Again one of her wolves growled.

  “No.” Even though they could easily kill him, he didn’t spare them a single glance. “You might want to be more wolf, but you’re human, too. You’re both. Human and wolf. You must learn how to live with both parts in harmony.”

  “Must?” She hated that he made her feel like a child, defending her right to believe as she wanted. “Says who? I don’t need humans.” She spat the word. “I have my wolves, my pack. That’s enough for me.”

  His hard stare never softened. “I’m trying to give you a chance here. Work with me.”

  Since his cryptic words made no sense, she ignored them. “Go away.”

  He sighed. “All right, then. Why do you hate people?”

  Hate people. Raven had never thought of her loathing for the human race in such bitter terms, but maybe he was right. Since there was no way to put in words the horrors that she’d experienced at the hands of the human race, she didn’t even try. “I avoid them.”

  “Semantics? Fine.” He blew out a puff of air. “Why do you avoid people?”

  “None of your business. Let’s say I have my reasons, and leave it at that.”

  “You don’t think I’ll understand.”

  This time she allowed a slight smile. “You don’t know what humans are capable of.”

  “There you’re wrong. I do, believe me.” His cold expression remained unchanged. “But not all of them are bad.”

  He took a step closer. Though instinct had her wanting to, she refused to retreat. Lifting her chin, she held her ground.

  “What do you want with me? Why have you come here?”

  “I’m a Protector.” He said this as though he expected it to mean something to her.

  “And?” she prompted, when he didn’t elaborate.

  He shook his head. He must have decided if she didn’t know what Protector meant, she didn’t need to. Instead, he continued to look at her. “I would like to stay and join your pack.”

  If he’d meant to shock her, he’d succeeded.

  “Join my pack? Why?”

  “To learn your lifestyle.”

  Riiight. This man wanted to learn her lifestyle about as much as she wanted to learn his.

  Since in her experience, people always lied, she wasn’t surprised. But she was done, for now. She pointed to the cave entrance. “Leave.”

  Of course, he didn’t move. Had she really expected him to?

  Three of her wolves, again picking up the tone of her voice, glided closer, snarling low in their throats.

  He barely glanced at them.

  “You’d better do as I say. Leave.”

  “What will you do, set them on me?”

  Raven opened her mouth, then closed it. Let him think what he wanted.

  Flexing his fingers, he continued to watch her. “If I change, I can take all three of them.”

  “Maybe.” Maybe he could. As wolf, he’d been the largest male wolf she’d ever seen, so she acknowledged the truth of his statement with a dip of her chin. “But can you take on my entire pack?”

  As though her words had summoned them, the rest of her wolves surrounded them, ready to defend her if she signaled them to.

  Though he had to realize the threat, he didn’t appear worried. Even if he was good at pretending, the wolves would have scented his fear, as Raven would were she to change.

  “Please,” he said, the words sounded as though she’d yanked them from his raw and bleeding throat.

  Though she knew they must have cost him, men like this one didn’t like to ask for anything. Still she shook her head. “You need to go.”

  Instead of heading for the cave entrance, he took a step toward her.

  Young, impatient and extremely bitchy in the aftermath of her first heat, the she-wolf Raven called Mandy (she didn’t know why—some song she barely remembered from her horrific childhood), completely lost all self-control. She leaped for him, taking him down completely. Just like that, the rest of the pack was on him, snapping and snarling.

  The man fought back, trying to change. But Mandy had planted herself in the middle of his chest and all of his attention was occupied with keeping her from reaching his jugular and ripping out his throat.

  Watching, Raven knew she had to stop this now—if she could. She shouted at her pack to stop. One or two of the animals on the outer fringes moved back, but the rest of them ignored her. Raven felt the first flutter of panic in her chest.

  “No,” she yelled again. She couldn’t let him die. His death would bring the eradication of her entire pack and their lifestyle. Nothing like the death of a human to bring out a thousand more, seeking revenge. They’d slau
ghter wolf after wolf after wolf, until nothing remained on this mountain but their bloody footprints.

  “No,” she screamed again, wading into the fray and yanking them away by the scruffs of their necks. After the first two or three, the rest of the wolves moved back. Even Mandy lifted her head, her muzzle red with his blood, though she did so with reluctance.

  Raven ordered her to the back of the cave. Head down, Mandy slunk away, three other wolves flanking her. Raven made a mental note to watch her in the future. The time might come when the other she-wolf would want to challenge her for the role of Alpha.

  Raven went to the man, meaning to help him. Still conscious, he waved her away and climbed slowly to his feet, bleeding from a deep bite in his arm and another on his shoulder. His dark eyes showed his fury, despite all the blood he’d lost.

  “Thanks.” One corner of his mouth lifted in what might have been either a snarl or an attempt at a wry smile. He held his mangled arm out toward her. “Do you have anything to wrap this? I need to stop the bleeding.”

  She grabbed several pieces of material from a bunch of old rags the pack used for a bed. “This is all I have.” She’d always healed fast. Maybe he wasn’t the same.

  With a nod, he waited, his arm still outstretched, dripping blood. Crossing to him, she wrapped the clothes around him tightly, trying to stop the bleeding. But her fingers, unused to this sort of thing, were clumsy, and finally he took the rest of the clothes from her, binding his own wound. He waved away her attempt to help, even when he had difficulty tying the makeshift bandage with his blood-slicked fingers.

  “Those are not very clean,” she pointed out. “You run the risk of infection.” Even though he didn’t have a choice, she felt obliged to warn him. “If I were you, I’d leave right now. If you head to the nearest town, you can find a doctor to help you.”

  Staring at her, he started to speak, but instead he swayed and crumpled to the ground without a sound. He must have lost more blood than he’d realized.

  Great. Now she’d have to take care of him.

  With a warning look at Mandy, she crossed to him and felt for a pulse. His heart still beat, and his chest still moved with his breathing, so he still lived. Since he was nearly twice her size, Raven knew she couldn’t move him. Instead, she wrapped herself in her warmest fur pelt and headed out to his tent. She’d use what she found there to help keep the man alive.

  Once inside the tent, she rummaged in his backpack and found a soft cotton T-shirt that would be easy to rip for a bandage. She also took his long underwear, jeans, sweatshirt, socks and snow boots. The sleeping bag she rolled up to bring into the cave. He would need that most of all. Without it, since her wolves would not pile together around him for warmth, the man would freeze.

  All of this she carried back to the cave. Still unconscious and naked, the stranger had begun to shiver horribly from the cold. Beginning with the underwear, she dressed him as best she could, working the long johns up by lifting one leg then the other.

  When she reached his man part, made small by the cold, she hesitated. Heart pounding, she tried to understand her fear. Part of her expected his eyes to snap open and the man part to lengthen and grow.

  When nothing happened, she continued dressing him, next with jeans, then socks and shoes. The long-john shirt she put on him backward and left it unbuttoned, aware she couldn’t lift his torso. The sweatshirt she couldn’t manage so she abandoned that and placed it on the rocks beside him. Then, also backward, she put his warm parka on him, knowing the insulated coat would keep him warm.

  Finally, she slid his feet into the sleeping bag and moved it up with steady jerks until she’d gone as far as she could (his waist). At least most of him would be warm and, if he woke enough to raise himself up, he could finish what she’d started.

  Rising, she heaved a sigh. Unwanted guest taken care of, she went to her wolves to prepare for the cold night ahead.

  Head throbbing, Simon’s mouth felt so dry his tongue had melded to the back of his teeth. He opened his eyes slowly, squinting as the light brought pain. When he opened them more than a slit, everything swirled around him in a nonsensical kaleidoscope of color.

  Where was he and what the hell had happened to him?

  Heart thudding loudly in his chest, he concentrated on trying to remember.

  When it all came back to him, he swallowed again, noting in confusion that he’d been dressed and covered with his heavy parka. He found that small human kindness promising. Ferals usually cared only for themselves. And because her exposure to shifters was nonexistent, she didn’t know how quickly they healed. Already, his wounds were starting to close. Maybe he could use this to his advantage.

  Pushing himself to his elbows, he looked around.

  At the movement, the huge silver-coated wolf at his side let out a low growl of warning.

  The Feral had given him a wolf guard? Without thinking, he curled his lip and returned the growl, though it sounded less menacing coming from a human throat.

  The small sound was enough to bring her to his side. The Feral. He watched her through slitted eyes, furious at his helplessness.

  She looked savage, like a cavewoman from a long-ago era. Wearing the same badly skinned wolf pelt wrapped around her slender shoulders, shivering in her human shape, she knelt down by him. He noticed she chose a spot well beyond his reach. Pushing a battered tin cup toward him, water sloshing over the lip, she watched him warily, her stare unwavering, as did her wolf. Behind the two of them, he could see the blue-gray glow of other lupine eyes watching from the shadows, ready to attack.

  He shuddered, tamping down his rage.

  “That’s water from melted snow.” She nudged the cup forward. “Drink.” Her words made puffs in the frigid air.

  Water. He licked his cracked lips. He needed water as badly as he needed air. Hand shaking, he reached for the cup, wincing as pain shot through his shoulder at the movement. Somehow, he managed to raise the water to his mouth, sloshing some onto his hand. He lapped at it like a wolf, then slurped like a child, unable to raise the cup enough to tilt it and drink. Each swallow brought pain, and he wondered how he’d hurt his throat.

  Her. The Feral. He shot her a quick glare. She was damn lucky he was a full-blooded shifter and healed fast.

  In silence, she continued to watch him, her gaze alternating between his face and the cup he held loosely. Her eyes were blue, glowing softly even in the dim light.

  Breathing deeply, he gathered his strength. Raising the cup again, he managed to take one sip, then another. This time, the icy water felt like heaven sliding down his burned throat. The cold even felt good on his teeth.

  Grateful, he drank it all, then knocked the cup toward her with a clatter. “Thanks.”

  Taking it, she regarded him gravely, making him wonder how she’d look if she smiled. But then, most Ferals weren’t human enough to use facial expressions—to smile or frown. He’d bet this one was. Already, she’d proven different than any other Feral he’d seen.

  “If you can sit up long enough, you can fix your long johns and then put on your shirt.” She pointed to his CU sweatshirt next to him. “You’ll be warmer that way.”

  He made a mental note to put this in his report. Then, since the stone cave floor felt like ice on his back, he pushed himself up farther, using his elbows, teeth clenched to keep from swearing.

  Grunting, he managed to pull the long johns off, turn them around and then he fumbled to try to button them. His vision blurred, making this difficult. Though he knew by tomorrow he’d be pain free and well on his way to healing, that knowledge did nothing to help him now.

  Breathing hard, he rested for a moment, determined to complete the task. After he’d managed to button the bottom four, he quit, shooting her another look. Unmoving, she watched him with an unblinking stare that would have been disconcerting if he hadn’t known what she was.

  When he reached for the sweatshirt, again pain knifed through him, sharper this tim
e. Sweat broke out on his forehead and trickled down his back, but he made no sound.

  Somehow he managed to finish dressing. When he’d done so, he snuggled down into the sleeping bag, noticing how the Feral eyed his parka with undisguised longing.

  He dipped his head toward her. “You can wear it.”

  To her credit, she didn’t pretend not to know what he meant. Moving fast, she snatched the parka and retreated. Dropping her fur pelt, she kept her face averted as she slid her arms into his coat. The sleeves hung past her hands and the waist nearly to her knees.

  Unaware of the comical picture she made, she zipped the front and raised the hood over her head. Then, returning her gaze to him, she crossed her arms.

  If he’d expected her thanks, he was wrong. Of course, he’d expected nothing. Ferals weren’t versed in the social niceties.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, goading her.

  Instead, she pointed toward the cave entrance. “As soon as you can walk, I want you to leave here. I’ve taken down your tent and packed everything for you.” With a toss of her head, she indicated his bright yellow backpack.

  Odd that she’d known the names of his articles of clothing—the long johns, sweatshirt and parka—as well as that she’d had enough knowledge to dismantle a tent and pack a backpack.

  How Feral was this woman anyway?

  This was what he’d come to find out. The less Feral, the more likely she’d be able to be rehabilitated. In order to make his report, he now had to convince her to let him stay long enough to observe her. This was always one of the most difficult tasks of a Protector—gaining trust.

  “Of course I’ll leave as soon as I’m able. But I’m not well enough yet.”

  Peering at him, she gave a hesitant nod, still frowning. The sound of her wolves, snuffling and moving around, was the only noise in the cave.

  Clearing his throat, he decided to engage her in conversation. The scale he used to grade Ferals had many variants, and the ability to engage in a long conversation ranked highly.

  “Do you live here?” He inclined his head, meaning the cave. Though the background report he’d been given indicated she did, her humanlike actions and her well-informed manner of speaking had him questioning the accuracy of his information.