“He was caught in the blast,” she said optimistically.
“It will only slow him down.” He shifted her to the inside of the couch, handling her like a breakable doll. She felt like one. “I didn’t take him seriously enough before and you paid for it. I won’t do it again. But you need to eat.”
Leaning over, he snatched up the bundle he’d had around his neck. The metallic odor hit her nose before it was completely unwrapped.
“I’m so glad to see that.” Not nearly as elated as she was to wake up with Porter standing over her.
He slid out from under her, kneeling by the couch. His wrap of heat gone, goose bumps dotted her body. He handed her the grip of the gun. The heft and weight was instantly familiar even if it was a model she’d never trained with.
Noting her ease around the weapon, he nodded. “I suspected I wouldn’t have to tell you how to use one.”
She smiled faintly, a shiver traveling down her down her body. Only this time it was due to the heated pride in his eyes.
He blinked, let out a deep exhale, his gaze sweeping her face. Dropping his head, he pressed his lips to hers, carrying it no further because of the agony emanating from her.
Sitting back on his heels, his face registered his unease leaving her. “I’m going to hunt. Call me for anything.”
“I can’t. The bullet’s messing with my mind-speak.”
He brushed a ratty lock of hair off her face. “I heard you when you were taken. You called for me.”
Frowning, she remembered her desperate cry. “You were hundreds of miles away.”
His full lips that she couldn’t wait to explore again lifted in a smug smirk. “Our connection is just that strong.” His grin faded as he considered the problem. “Howl if you need me.”
She wanted to giggle, for the first time in two months; she settled for a wan smile. “If I need your help, you’ll know it.”
“Good enough.” He stretched his shirt over her like a blanket. A metallic smell clung to it from his gun, but his essence among every fiber warmed her more than the material.
She watched him shift. Her fingers burrowed into his coarse fur. He licked her cheek as if to mark her before he left to hunt.
She wiggled into a more comfortable position, rearranging the shirt over her. The hand holding her gun rested on top of the shirt, pointed toward the door. Seamus probably wasn’t stupid enough to use the front door, but it’d certainly be the easiest. And it took her mind off eating something with fur or feathers completely raw.
Chapter Seventeen
Porter crouched, his eyes gleaming silver under the moonlight. He detected trails of squirrels and rodents, but nothing definitive. His pride didn’t want to present Maggie with a tiny mouse, but it was better than nothing. Her fatigue sapped his own energy; if he could take her physical torment, it’d be done.
Movement to the right captured his attention. He pounced, pinning a rabbit between his paws. A quick snap broke its neck. One bunny wouldn’t be enough for Maggie; the bullets ripping into her flesh caused too much damage. Even without their connection, he’d have felt her pain, but he could see her suffering. The crystal blue eyes he dreamed about were glassy, the tremors in her body were not from the chill, and his normally vibrant, healthy mate weakened from the metal residing in her brain. Shifter’s bodies couldn’t push out foreign objects when they healed; she’d need constant nutrition to repair the damage that continued.
If he could make one more kill, he could bring them to her to eat and come back out to hunt for more. He left his catch by the base of a tree. Stalking through the growth, moving slowly, he spotted another rabbit several yards away.
A blast startled both him and his prey. The gunshot originated from the cabin. Porter’s claws dug into the ground as he propelled toward the building.
A male’s cry of rage erupted from the cabin.
He raced to the cabin, hearing snarls and another gunshot, followed by the clatter of metal hitting the wooden floor.
Porter tore through the door to find a burly wolf entangled within a set of pale limbs. Maggie’s arms wrapped around the neck of the wolf. The creature writhed, his hind claws scraping for a foothold, but Maggie’s brief training was enough to catch Seamus off guard. He hadn’t been prepared to fight a female who knew how to fight back.
Blood dripped from Maggie’s legs; she’d been clawed severely. Porter leapt the distance, but Seamus had sensed him.
Risking the shift, Seamus flowed into his other form, the shift loosening Maggie’s hold. He wrestled away from her, kicking out at Porter.
Porter snapped at the foot, but missed. Seamus continued kicking, Maggie’s arms snaked around his neck, but he exploded backward. The combination of her lunge and his movement sent her reeling. She quickly recovered.
Seamus bared his teeth and dived for the gun. Maggie did the same. The crack of their skulls resonated through the room, sickening Porter.
Maggie dropped, her limbs twitching. Disorientated, Seamus shook his head, feeling along the floor for the gun. Before he could find it, Porter jumped on him, latching onto his neck, the crunch of trachea under his teeth satisfying.
Seamus punched his flanks, Porter bit harder, blood gushing into his mouth. Nothing would release his hold on the bastard. Seamus tried rolling, Porter sawed his jaws. The male gripped Porter’s head, his weakened grip unable to budge him. The other wolf’s eyes lolled back into his head and he sagged with defeat. With no air and a bout of sudden anemia, the bastard was left with no fight.
Finally, Seamus fell limp. Porter hung on to ensure the asshole was out. When he was confident, he released and rushed to Maggie’s side.
Maggie’s legs and arm flopped, her eyes rolled back. She wasn’t recovering.
Spinning around, he frantically scanned the room. His first priority was Maggie, she needed help. But it’d do no good if they left Seamus here to come after her another day.
Spotting the knife on the counter, he ran to it, shifting as he moved. The medium-sized blade, while slightly better than a steak knife, would require more time, but it’d do.
Seamus’ thick neck did not sever easily, the guy had to wear a size twenty collar. He sawed through tissue, but he had to get creative with the bone. A combination of hacking, tugging, ripping and he separated Seamus’ ugly mug from his thick body.
There was no time to relish his success, only Maggie mattered. The bullet in her head prevented healing, Porter worried that it’d tax her healing abilities past the point of no return.
He located his shirt and wrapped his gun back in it, and tied it onto Maggie. As gently as he could, he hefted her into his arms so her head rested on his shoulder instead of dangling down to bounce as he ran, increasing internal damage.
Porter carefully stepped through the doorway and took off at a run.
***
His lungs burned, screaming for him to stop and rest, but Porter kept going. After several miles, Maggie had gone still. Was she recovering, or was her brain giving up on life? She was desperately depleted of nutrition and he couldn’t afford to stop and nourish himself. He’d circled the lake until he found the trail he’d taken from his pickup and made a beeline back to his truck.
Porter pumped his legs, dodging trees and branches. His focus remained on the path in front of him—tripping was not an option.
Shortly after dawn, his pickup came into view. Porter slowed to evaluate the safety of running naked out of the trees, carrying an unconscious, mostly nude female, both of them covered in dried blood.
A few other cars were parked in the area. One couple stood beside their Jeep, checking each other’s packs. Porter’s sides heaved, but he remained as silent as possible while he was puffing like a cigar smoker.
Maggie’s limbs hung. Porter hugged her closer, his gaze focused on the couple.
Fucking leave!
Maggie groaned. Porter’s breath froze. Shit.
The man looked back over his shoulder, the woman asked
him what was wrong. Porter prayed he was deep enough in the trees that they weren’t visible—and that Maggie wouldn’t utter another sound.
The dude shrugged and the couple headed toward a trailhead to begin their hike. Porter took a step forward and froze again when a car pulled in.
What. The. Fuck? Was the ass crack of dawn the best time to hike?
The car had one occupant and sat idling.
Porter’s muscles tensed until tremors traveled through his body. His fucking phone was in his pickup; he was worthless until the coast was clear.
The drone of another engine sounded in the distance. A second car rolled in, aiming for the idling car. The driver pulled alongside, Porter heard voices, saw the exchange of a package and an envelope. The drivers continued to discuss business in hushed tones.
Sweet Mother! Finish the fucking drug deal and get the hell outta here!
Deal done, the drivers pulled away and left.
Hearing no new engines, he trotted to his pickup. Holding Maggie gingerly, he squatted to dig for his keys and hit unlock. He couldn’t stand the thought of not holding her, wondering if she’d grow cold and if she’d warm to life again.
It took some fancy maneuvering, but she lay across the passenger seat, her head on his bare leg. He fired up his truck, threw on his t-shirt and spun out of the parking lot.
He set the cruise control again. Half-naked, filthy, and covered in dried blood, it’d be game over if he was pulled over. He drove, twisted in knots about Maggie and giving himself a spit bath with his shirt.
He grabbed his phone and hit the last number he’d called.
It rang to voicemail and Porter repeated the same procedure as the day before. Maggie shuttered next to him. Her breathing rate sped up until she panted, then slowed, ending on a groan. He stroked her shoulder. It seemed to help.
“Fucking-A, Denlan!” Jace raged on the other end. “We can’t find Maggie with you fucking dialing in.”
“I have her. She’s hurt.” Porter rattled off all the details he knew to the suddenly attentive Guardian on the other end. “I need to get her to you without driving through a populated area.”
“I think I know how Seamus got to that gas station where she blew the van. There’s no roads around it, only through, but if you can get by the gas station without attracting attention, stay on the same highway. You can take the furthest south bridge across the river. It’s the less populated area of Freemont. We’ll notify Doc and meet you at the main road so you can follow us into headquarters.”
“Seamus—”
“We’ll get a couple of guys out there for cleanup.” Jace paused for a heartbeat. “I wish you woulda saved him for me.”
“Not a chance. My only regret is that he didn’t suffer more.”
“He’s done. We’ll help you ferret out any shifter who helped him. I’ll accept them as my consolation prize.”
“I think you’ll have to wait in line for Mage,” Porter drawled.
“Right. Good work, Denlan.” Jace disconnected.
A compliment? From Jace? Admittedly, Porter was relieved. Maggie didn’t need shit from the two of them, and Porter planned on hanging around for more than a while; he would be the mouse on her sticky trap.
He steered through the curves of the country roads. The silence crushed in around him until he thought he’d crawl out of his skin and climb the walls.
Maggie’s chest started heaving, her eyelids fluttered like she struggled to consciousness, then she sagged against him again. He set the cruise another five miles an hour faster. What happened when she could no longer heal herself?
He started talking. Her trembling subsided to faint quivers under his hand. Recounting the days they’d spent apart, he told her about all the decisions he’d had to make, the people who supported him. The assholes who didn’t. How he planned to deal with them.
Next came the litanies of “I’m sorry” and “I miss you”, but her agitation grew. Switching to song with his scratchy voice, he serenaded her with any and every country song he remembered. All those hours of throwing walls together and listening to the radio paid off. Maggie calmed again and he made the long drive.
Aw hell. He was running low on gas, was barely gonna make it. Unrolling his gun from his plaid, he spread the shirt over her. It was broad daylight as he drove through Freemont. Singing under his breath to maintain a lower profile and still soothe her, he did his best to park off kilter at stop lights to prevent casual glances that would spot h.
At last, he crossed the river, his gas gauge bottoming out. They passed Pale Moonlight and the view of rundown West Creek had never been so beautiful.
Porter was on his twentieth Garth Brooks song, fretting about running on fumes, when he spotted a black Denali parked off the side of the road, running. The taillights flashed on and the vehicle pulled out. Porter remained behind them. Once they turned off the highway, the SUV kicked into high gear and he clung to their bumper all the way.
Chapter Eighteen
The gurney Maggie lay on rolled as fast as its little wheels allowed, being pushed by three shifters and whatever the slight young woman was. She smelled like a bit of each species. As long as she was vetted by the Guardians and she had the potential to help Maggie, Porter didn’t care.
A tall, lanky male Jace called Doc had emerged from the lodge as soon as their wheels puffed clouds of dirt skidding to a stop. Armana was hot on his heels. He’d taken charge, directing Porter without pretense. Jace fell in line to push the cot and the woman began strapping wires to Maggie.
Seeing medical devices strapped to a shifter, Maggie most of all, disturbed Porter. His people were embracing technology, modern medicine included. That Maggie’s life hung in dire enough circumstances to require the use of it…
They strode through the halls of the Guardians’ training center. He recalled his time in the interrogation room, the cell where he and Maggie had spent the night. His mate lived here. Trained here. She might very well land herself in these kind of circumstances again with her job as a Guardian.
It was more than a job. It was her life. It was her.
And he loved her.
They piled into a sterile, white room—an infirmary of sorts. Supplies had already been set up along the counters. Doc went straight for them.
“Mr. Denlan,” the older shifter said as he rummaged through the items, “pull up a chair next to the cot.”
Porter searched for a chair, found one against the wall, and did exactly as Doc instructed.
The male acted in a way that suggested he’d spent much time among frantic loved ones and knew how to communicate with them.
“I’m going to sedate her. Not only will it be more comfortable, but her mind won’t work against us by trying to rouse her.” Doc inserted a long needle into Maggie’s upper arm.
Armana arranged a sheet over her. A red, heated patch of skin on Maggie’s thigh caught his attention. “She was shot in the thigh, too. Said the bullet was still in her.”
Jace swore; Doc acknowledged the news, his main concern Maggie’s brain.
“Ana,” Doc spoke, as he arranged power tools that Porter was probably more familiar with, “set up the blood exchange. Clamp it off after a minute. I only want to nourish her enough to tolerate surgery. Once I’m complete and we need to heal her, we’ll transfer more. Only from Mr. Stockwell.”
“A transfusion?” Armana asked.
Doc’s eyes crinkled slightly. “Exactly. Performed the shifter way. We don’t need to worry about transfusion reactions.”
Porter could give her first blood; his mating instincts were satisfied with that. Logically, he knew he needed a few steak meals before he could supply her with as much as she needed. As long as the other donor was her brother, he talked his mating ego down. Grim lines etched into Jace’s features. The male’s concern over his sister rolled off him in waves. The guy needed to feel like he was doing something, too.
Ana softly talked him through the procedure. She did
n’t need to. A crowbar could pierce his skin and he wouldn’t flinch as long as it helped Maggie.
The healer’s hands moved over her head, his fingertips lightly probing her scalp.
“Why didn’t the bullets go through?” Jace broke into Doc’s concentration.
The older male ignored him until he was satisfied with what he felt around Maggie’s head. “The leg shot was probably from farther away, and the head shot…” Doc shook his head. “Bad luck and our hard shifter heads.”
“The tubing’s clamped off,” Ana announced. She disconnected Porter and beckoned Jace over.
Grudgingly, Porter gave up his seat. Standing up, a wave of light headedness passed through him. Add some bacon to those steak meals. Maybe a few medium rare burgers. But he wouldn’t eat until Maggie was at the table with him.
Without taking his hands off her, he moved around the table to the other side. Clasping her limp hand, he stayed on his feet.
Doc pulled down protective glasses. “This won’t be pleasant. If either of you interfere, you’ll be removed and it’ll delay her procedure.”
Jace and Porter nodded in confirmation; Armana studied them both intently. He was Maggie’s mate, Jace was her brother, but Doc’s role as her healer trumped both of them and Armana would make sure of it.
“Hold her hair out of the way,” Doc said to Ana. “Shaving it will just make a mess.”
A small bone saw whirred to life.
Porter squeezed Maggie’s hand, stroked her forearm. The sounds emanating from Doc’s work sickened his stomach. There was sawing wood and there was sawing bone, and Porter never wanted to hear the latter again.
He focused on Maggie’s fingers, each second felt like two hours had passed. Jace sat across from him staring at the floor. Armana stood at the foot of the bed, her eyes narrowed on Doc, as if she wanted to know the millisecond something went wrong.
Maggie hadn’t eaten in a couple of days, had sustained major injuries, but she had his blood flowing through her veins. They weren’t vampires, but it had to be enough for her to heal.
Birthright (Pale Moonlight Book 1) Page 17
