by Debra Dunbar
Chapter 16
It was mid-afternoon when Brent opened his eyes and began to shift. Normally I didn’t watch him go through the painful process, but this time I was worried and kept an eye on him. It was like something out of a horror movie, and he whined and yelped with each twist of bone and sinew. After what seemed like an eternity, he was human once more, with stitches intact both on his neck and on his ass.
And it was a very fine ass, even with a gunshot wound in it.
“Your shoulder. You got shot,” he said, his voice rough and gravely.
“I did. And it hurts like a mo-fo too. When we get back to the camp, I’ll have you or Leon clean it and put a bandage on it.”
He growled. “Leon isn’t touching you. I’ll stitch you up.”
I stroked his short, dark hair. “No offense hon, but I’d rather just bandage it up and wait until we get to a medical professional. I’ve got enough scars without adding to them.”
“I love your scars.” His voice slurred a bit. “The ones on your legs, the one around your ribs, the one across your hip. Beautiful. Beautiful.”
Oh Lord, he was feverish if he thought my scars were beautiful. My one leg was a mess of divots from where the surgeons had needed to place pins after the accident, then there was the scar on my residual limb, then the huge one where they’d needed to crack my ribs open and stop internal bleeding, then the one where they’d needed to put my pelvis back together. It was a miracle I’d survived that accident. It made me appreciate every day I had.
“You’re beautiful,” I told him, still stroking his hair. I let him rest, my hands roving over his head and back and keeping watch until he was ready to stand. Once he was upright, I put my arm around his waist and draped his arm across my neck, wincing as I transferred the rifle to my arm with the injured shoulder.
“I appreciate the snuggle, but there’s no way you can support my weight.” He chuckled, breathing in a sharp breath afterward. “Plus I’m a foot taller than you. Maybe if I hunched over?”
He must not be feeling too horrible if he was joking, although with Brent, I never knew. “Then consider it a snuggle. Come on, Muscles. Let’s get a move on.”
When we got back to camp, I was amazed to see that Leon had inflated the rafts, and gathered essentials into both our backpacks, leaving the tents behind.
“Good idea,” Brent told him. “The one guy got away and I don’t know how much time we have before more show up.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” Leon eyed Brent’s wounds. “You gonna be okay to travel?”
“I don’t have any other choice.”
I helped Brent over to one of the rafts, sucking in my breath as the cold water came over the tops of my boots and soaked through my hiking pants. Then I carried the packs to the rafts and helped Leon into his before climbing in with Brent. Leon still had the one rifle. I made sure to reload mine, then pushed us off with the paddle.
Brent kept insisting that he help paddle and we had yet another of what I assumed were going to become our famous arguments. I won this one, probably because he was hurt and exhausted, so he ended up dozing.
The river was quite a bit rougher than I would have liked, and it was difficult to paddle with the wound in my shoulder. I was beginning to feel as if I were on the edge of going into shock, but I managed to hold myself together. Leon had tethered the two rafts together and after a few hours I noticed I was doing the lion’s share of the paddling. After five hours I pushed past my pain and tried to increase my speed. Leon got his second wind and helped, but I was pretty sure we wouldn’t make it to the bay by nightfall. I was debating how far we could go before I found a place to put in, and hoping it wouldn’t rain since we didn’t have the tents when I heard the sound of a helicopter.
Friend or foe? I glanced back at Brent and Leon, worried that we were going to be shot out of the water, but the chopper that circled above us was a Bell Jet Ranger, and not equipped with guns. Unless they were going to hover over us and shoot with rifles, this wasn’t the bad guys.
Leon obviously felt the same since he nearly capsized his raft by standing and waving. The helicopter circled around, then set down ahead and to the west of us. By the time we reached the shore, there were two men waiting for us, both cradling rifles in their arms.
“It’s Dustin and Jake,” Brent reassured me, his voice tired and husky. “The Swift River Alpha and one of his pack. Dustin flew me here in his bush plane, but Jake runs a helicopter tour company.”
Leon and I picked up the pace, and the two other werewolves waded out into the river to help us pull the rafts in. Brent managed to make it to the helicopter by pride and sheer will alone, but I didn’t truly feel safe until we were back in Anchorage—actually until our wounds had been treated and Dustin flew us back to Juneau.
Getting out of the plane in Gastineau Bay, I saw a group of people waiting for us. I recognized a few from when we’d come back from the rift. They were Brent’s friends, members of his pack. Instead of waving or greeting them, he turned to me and yanked my pack out of my hand. Then with a wince of pain, he scooped me up into his arms and headed toward the group.
“You’re not coming out of the woods, but close enough,” one woman shouted.
“Is this a yes?” another asked.
Brent shifted my weight so he could rest his chin on the top of my head. “It’s a yes.”
They all cheered, and I felt myself blush, realizing that the entire pack knew about us. Oh well. If they hadn’t before, they sure were going to when I moved all my hiking and climbing gear along with my collection of vintage board games into the Alpha house. I wondered if werewolves liked to play Parcheesi?
Epilogue
I rolled over, burying my face in Kennedy’s silky-soft dark hair. Every time she had a day or two off I flew down to Seattle or she came up to Juneau. The grizzlies were mourning the loss of two of their sloth. Between them and Jake, I was sure the hunters targeting shifters in Kenai would soon be found and brought to our own sort of justice. I’d offered the assistance of the Juneau Pack, but so far they hadn’t asked for our help. Just as well since I was busy with other matters. And I was busy spending as much time as I could with Kennedy.
“Morning.” Her voice was soft and husky. Her hands stroked down my waist and curled around my hips.
“Don’t you have to go to work?” I asked, mentally calculating how fast I’d need to make things happen before she had to head out.
“Yes.” She sighed, warm palms sliding around to grip my ass. Her fingers traced the round scar from the gunshot wound that had finally, after six weeks, healed. It was an unbelievable amount of time for a shifter to heal from something so minor and to have a scar was unheard of. I wasn’t complaining, given that two grizzly shifters had died and Leon had scars of his own.
“I’ll pop by the hospital to see you before I leave,” I told her. This was killing me, only seeing her for a few days at a time. Killing. Me. But she’d had an interview at both hospitals in Anchorage within weeks of submitting her resume, and she seemed optimistic that she’d be receiving an offer within the next month.
“I’ll be in Juneau Tuesday,” she reminded me, kissing my shoulder. “Can’t miss the mud races, you know.”
Warmth spread from my torso through every limb. The mud races were a pack event. Kennedy would be there as my mate, helping officiate and playing the role of hostess. I was thrilled she had eagerly embraced these duties. My pack already adored her, and everyone was counting the days until she moved to Juneau.
And until our wedding. My fingers traced the ring on her finger, the platinum, diamond-encrusted band and moonstone solitaire that I’d given her just two days ago.
“So…am I going to be late for work today, or what?”
“Absolutely.” I gathered her close and kissed the warm skin of her shoulder. “If I have my way, you’ll be very, very late.”
She let out a soft sound of pleasure, draping her leg across mine. “Make me l
ate, baby. Make me very, very late.”
***
Don’t miss Rogue, Book 2 in the Northern Wolves Series.
Acknowledgments
A huge thanks to my copyeditors Kimberly Cannon and Jennifer Cosham whose eagle eyes catch all my typos and keep my comma problem in line, and to Damonza, for cover design.
Most of all, thanks to my children, who have suffered many nights of microwaved chicken nuggets and take-out pizza so that Mommy can follow her dream.
About the Author
Debra lives in a little house in the woods of Maryland with her sons and two slobbery bloodhounds. On a good day, she jogs and horseback rides, hopefully managing to keep the horse between herself and the ground. Her only known super power is 'Identify Roadkill'.
debradunbar.com
Also by Debra Dunbar
The Templar Series
Dead Rising
Last Breath
Bare Bones
Famine’s Feast
Dark Crossroads (Fall 2017)
The Imp Series
A Demon Bound
Satan’s Sword
Elven Blood
Devil’s Paw
Imp Forsaken
Angel of Chaos
Kingdom of Lies
Exodus
Queen of the Damned (Late Summer 2017)
Half-breed Series
Demons of Desire
Sins of the Flesh
Cornucopia
Unholy Pleasures
City of Lust (Fall 2017)
Imp World Novels
No Man’s Land
Stolen Souls
Three Wishes
Northern Lights
Far From Center
Northern Wolves
Juneau to Kenai
Rogue
