Keeping the Wolf

by E A Price

  She tried to dislodge her husband, or at least get some feeling back in her left arm, but Harold didn’t want to move. She sighed and stared at the ceiling for a few moments until her skin started prickling.

  Something was wrong, she could sense it – her inner wolf started whining. She heard the creak of their stairs.

  Someone was in their house! Admittedly, it could be one of Harold’s family members – probably there to steal her birth control – but she couldn’t take that risk.

  “Harold,” she murmured, frantically.

  His eyes blinked open immediately. “What’s wrong?”

  Before she could get a word out, the door to their bedroom flung open, and Roark thundered through it, violently waving a gun at them. Christine went cold with fear while Harold tried to shield her.

  “Bastard!” snarled Roark. “You’ve ruined my fucking life!”

  The gun popped and Harold lunged at Roark, shimmering to his wolf, his jaw clamping around the other male.

  Harold!

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Christine dazedly brushed at the bloodstain on her shirt. Harold’s blood.

  It was a shoulder wound – he would be fine. But Christine still trembled. She was sitting in the hospital waiting to see him. She wasn’t sure she had ever been so scared in her life.

  When she woke to find Roark in their room, she was sure he was going to kill Harold, and that thought horrified her. He had shot Harold, but he would be okay – in fact, Harold appeared to have inflicted more damage on Roark than the other way around.

  “Ms. Morrow?”

  “It’s Mrs. Buchanan,” she said automatically.

  She really should update her ID – she’d had weeks to do it.

  “You can go if you like,” said the kind nurse.

  She’d been checked out in case of injury too - nothing was wrong with her other than having the living daylights scared out of her. There wasn’t a cure for that.

  “But we need to keep Mr. Buchanan in overnight.”

  Christine nodded. “Can I see him yet?”

  “Yes, you should be able to see him now for a few minutes.”

  She nodded and slowly forced herself to move. Would Harold hate her for this? Demand a divorce? Would he be able to get one under the terms of their agreement? Inadvertently, she had caused him harm. Her ex came after him.

  Harold could have died.

  She felt like she was wading through concrete trying to get to Harold’s room, fearing his reaction. She heard his stern voice through the door and considered fleeing in the opposite direction.

  Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door and found Harold with one arm in a sling and barking into a phone.

  His eyes flared when he saw her. “Just get it done. I don’t want excuses.”

  He ended the call and regarded her steadily.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice coming out thin and reedy.

  “Like I was shot.” His tone was clipped.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you sorry?”

  “I’m sorry you got shot. Sorry that Roark is a lunatic. Sorry I ever dated him. I’m sorry for whatever I did that made you hate me.” It had been a long night, and she felt dangerously close to tears at that moment.

  Harold blanched. “I don’t hate you.”

  “You’ve barely looked at me the last few weeks.”

  “I don’t hate you,” he said forcefully.

  “You’re angry with me.”

  “Was something going on with Roark?” he demanded.

  Fury and frustration warred within her, and she quickly tamped it down. “No. It ended before you and I met. He tried to see me when we were in Texas, but I wouldn’t see him. Yesterday was the first time I talked to him since we married. You believe me, don’t you?” Just as she believed him when he said nothing was going on with Sabrina.

  “Yes,” he replied slightly hesitantly before he unfroze. “Yes, of course, I do.”

  He held out his good arm, and she nearly ran into the hug. She wrapped her arms around him and rubbed her cheek against his chest. His hand rested on her back, lightly stroking up and down.

  He kissed her forehead, and she smiled.

  “I am truly sorry,” she said.

  “This is not your fault, I… after the incident in the store, I spoke to Roark.”

  She pulled back and looked into his face, blinking in surprise.

  “You did?”

  “He came to see me,” he admitted reluctantly, “though I wanted to speak to him anyway. He wanted me to give him money to leave you alone.”

  “Did you?”

  “No,” he scoffed. “He killed his first wife. I told his wife’s father where to find him. The father wants to kill him. That was all he was going to get from me!”

  Christine tried to absorb that, but maybe because she was tired, overwrought from the last few hours, it didn’t truly sink in. Roark had been married?!

  “You had a lucky escape from that male.”

  “Yes, I certainly did,” she murmured, settling back into the hug. She could care less about Roark at that moment. All she wanted was to make sure her husband was okay.

  “Is he still alive?”

  “Who?” she murmured, sleep already invading her senses.

  “Roark.”

  “Oh, I… I have no idea.”

  Yes, Roark was apparently in the same hospital – hopefully, surrounded by two dozen cops – but Christine hadn’t given him any thought.

  “Really?”

  “Harold, the nurse checked me for injuries, and since then I’ve been sitting outside your door, waiting to see you.”

  He smiled, and evidently, she had said the right thing.

  “How come your family isn’t here?” She had called her family, hoping for some comfort, but found it severely lacking and had hung up on her father.

  Harold huffed. “I asked them not to come.”

  “And they listened? Harold – you were shot!”

  “I’m fine, and I called them.”

  He was completely unconcerned about this.

  “Harold.”

  “We’re really not that kind of family.”

  “Well, maybe you should be. What would have happened if you… if…” The thought was too painful to finish.

  Harold stroked her back soothingly – he was the one who was shot and yet he was comforting her.

  “It’s simple. My brother Arthur would be alpha.”

  Christine slapped his uninjured arm. “Don’t even joke.”

  “Who’s joking? My grandmother would prefer him – he’s much more manageable.”

  “What about me?” she asked quietly. What would she do without him? “Would I have to marry him, too?” she quipped in exasperation.

  Harold chuckled. “Probably.”

  The nurse chose that moment to interrupt, and that earned her a growl from Harold. She merely gave him a hard look.

  “Ms. Morrow…”

  “Mrs. Buchanan,” he snapped.

  Again, the hard look that said she ate tougher cookies than him for breakfast.

  “Time for you to go.”

  Christine felt a flare of panic. Going home alone was a little daunting. Seeing Harold’s blood on their bed…

  “Me too,” grumbled Harold.

  “You need to stay the rest of the night,” said the nurse, pursing her lips.

  Harold gave her his own hard look. “I’m going home.”

  The nurse tsked at him. “We need to observe you.”

  “My wife will observe me.”

  “Harold, maybe you should listen,” suggested Christine.

  Even if she did want him to come home with her, she didn’t wish to risk his health.

  “I’ll be fine,” growled Harold. “Let’s go.”

  The nurse complained and muttered, but she really couldn’t stop him from going. Harold called Cole to collect them. They sat in the back seat of the car, and s
he laced her fingers with his.

  Christine was annoyed at his family. They shouldn’t have been able to keep them away, but none of them seemed interested in the least that their son, grandson, and brother had nearly been killed. But honestly, maybe she preferred not to have to compete with them for Harold’s attention. She preferred it to be just the two of them.

  Esther was at the house when they arrived. Harold must have called her. To think, while she was sitting around fretting, Harold was organizing and giving commands. She felt more than a little useless.

  Cole offered Harold a hand out the car, and he batted it away, but when Christine offered, he took it.

  Esther bustled forward, concern on her face. “I’ve made up the north facing spare bedroom, and moved all your clothes and personal items. I’ll arrange for a cleaning team to come in tomorrow to work on the bedroom.”

  Harold nodded.

  “Thank you,” murmured Christine.

  “Do you want something to eat or drink?” Esther offered.

  Harold shook his head. “We’re tired. We’re going to bed.”

  Christine didn’t argue with that.

  He led her through the house to their temporary room. The bedroom furthest away from theirs – presumably at Harold’s request.

  Harold was in a hospital t-shirt – and Christine helped him take it off. Rather than risking more pain, he decided to sleep in just his boxers. Christine slipped into a fresh pair of pajamas, and when they lay down, she snuggled close to his good side.

  Harold kissed her hair and made a small grunt before snores took over. Christine followed him into sleep, and her heartbeat finally slowed to normal.

  *

  “Crap!”

  “What are you doing?” asked Christine, peering at Harold through bleary, sleep filled eyes.

  Terrific. He managed to untangle himself from her – which had been both physically and emotionally hard – get out of bed and take off his boxers, and what did he do then? Stub his toe on a chair.

  His shoulder still hurt like hell, but it was improving and mending itself, and he could handle the pain.

  He hobbled back to bed and stroked Christine’s cheek. She didn’t seem surprised by the gesture, but he needed to touch her, to make sure she was still here, still his. He almost lost her, and that was unacceptable.

  He had no doubt Roark was there for him, but would he have stopped with him? No, the man had no problem killing women. If he had succeeded in killing Harold, Christine would be next, and that made him furious.

  He wanted someone and something to blame for what happened. It wasn’t Christine. Although the thought that she had fallen for that guy irked him, he couldn’t blame her. His sweet, trusting Christine.

  No, his anger was currently aimed at the security team that allowed this guy into the compound. He had to admit to a little laxness himself. The house had an alarm, but he didn’t bother to use it. There was no point – no burglars ever made it past the fence. From now on, he would.

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  “I need to go to work.”

  Christine scowled, and he couldn’t help but notice how cute she was when she scowled, though it probably wasn’t a good time to mention it.

  “No, you need to rest.”

  “I can’t; I’m needed at work.”

  He gave her cheek one last stroke and forced himself away from her. If he didn’t, he would get back into bed, and he was pretty sure he wouldn’t get out again for hours.

  Harold stepped into the shower and groaned at the sting of water on his wound, but even that wasn’t enough to obliterate his good mood. Hard to believe it, but yes, he was pretty darn happy. Someone had broken into his house, shot and tried to kill him, but yeah, he was in a good mood. He had woken with his wife curled around him – whatever else was going on, that made him happy. Hey, getting shot had its upside. Before the shooting she had started sleeping as far away as possible from him – after, she couldn’t be closer.

  Now, he was also sure she had no lingering feelings for her ex – no, she was coming to care for him, and it was marvelous.

  He stiffened as he heard the soft patter of her footsteps in the bathroom. Another part of him got even stiffer as she ducked into the shower behind him.

  “What are you doing?” he murmured.

  Christine placed a hand on his back, and he trembled slightly.

  “Helping you wash,” she cooed.

  She squirted some body wash onto his skin and gently smoothed her hands over him. His muscles slowly eased with her slow, patient ministrations. She worked her way around to his front and grasped his hardening manhood.

  “Christine,” he growled.

  “Mmmm?”

  Her lovely hands slowly worked up and down his length.

  “That’s ah…” He gulped.

  “I don’t think you should go to work today.”

  He couldn’t help his snicker. “Do you think you can change my mind just because you happen to be holding my…”

  Her hands stilled. “You were shot, Harold,” she said evenly. “You’re in pain.”

  “I can’t show weakness,” he groaned, bucking his hips against her, trying to get her to move.

  “Oh, Harold,” she sighed, giving him a lovely pout.

  “I must go.”

  He was the future alpha – he had to show his pack, his father, his awful grandmother that he wasn’t so easily put down. He had to be the epitome of strength for his pack – though, at that moment, he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to withstand the gorgeous redhead in front of him.

  “Will nothing change your mind?” She fluttered her eyelashes and started slowly moving her hands again.

  “Ah…”

  Damn he was sorely tempted to give in, to drag his wife back to bed. Various possibilities of how they could spend their day flitted through his mind before he resolutely shook his head. He wasn’t up to doing half the things he wanted to do to her anyway. Going to work would actually be more restful than staying home with Christine.

  “Come with me,” he urged

  “What?”

  “Come to work with me; you could help me.”

  Christine frowned. “You mean I could get your coffee?”

  He shook his head and rumbled – trying to think and talk were getting difficult as she continued her motions.

  “Linda does that,” he rumbled.

  “What would I do then?”

  “You could help me…”

  With what he was not sure, but a part of him just wanted her near him, to ensure her safety. As pleased as he was at that moment – very pleased – he couldn’t forget that Christine had almost been hurt too.

  His hips started rocking against her hands.

  “Please,” he groaned, not entirely sure what he was asking for.

  “Okay.”

  Christine smiled naughtily and dropped to her knees. Harold roared with satisfaction as she engulfed him in her mouth and took him to heaven.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Harold, I…”

  Harold Sr. froze on seeing Christine, perched at his meeting table and beaming.

  “Is it bring your wife to work day?” he asked with a slight edge.

  “Would you be disappointed that you didn’t get a chance to bring Marguerite with you?” asked Christine sweetly.

  His father narrowed his eyes. “Harold, I see you’re faring well enough.”

  Christine huffed and returned to her highlighting. He gave her a small task – highlighting expenditure records. She was keen to help in any way she could; it also meant he could covertly watch her while pretending to do his own work.

  “Any idea how this burglar got past our security?”

  Christine looked up sharply.

  “No,” growled Harold hurriedly.

  “Well find out,” commanded his father. “Our pack relies on the compound being safe. We can’t have random people running around trying to steal from us an
d shooting us in our beds.”

  “Of course not,” agreed Harold automatically.

  Harold Sr. looked at Christine, grunted and left.

  “He doesn’t know it was my ex, does he?” she breathed the moment the door closed.

  “No,” he admitted, hoping that would be the end of that conversation. It wasn’t.

  “Why not? Why not tell him?”

  Harold waved his good hand dismissively. “It’s neither here nor there to him.”

  “But surely…”

  “Christine, the identity of our housebreaker is no matter to my father.”

  “But if he knew, he’d realize that it was personal – your other pack mates aren’t targets.” Christine frowned at him before realization dawned. “You don’t want him to know. Why?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  She folded her arms. “Tell me anyway.”

  He took a deep breath, considering that lying would not help the situation.

  “My father would like to absolve our mating.”

  Christine’s eyes widened. “Why?”

  “He believes you are a bad influence.”

  She let out a burst of laughter. “Me? A bad influence. In school, everyone thought I was a teacher’s pet.”

  “Were you?”

  “Kinda.”

  “My father thinks you take my attention away from work.”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes.”

  Christine came over to him and sat on the edge of his desk. “This why you’ve been avoiding me?”

  “Yes, I was trying to prove to him I’ll make a good alpha,” he said wryly. Perhaps his grandmother and father were not the right people to impress on that matter.

  “You think a good alpha ignores his wife? Makes her feel abandoned?” asked Christine sharply.

  “Christine.”

  He stood up and winced. Christine sighed.

  “You’re injured and in pain.”

  “Christine.” He murmured her name.

  She sighed. “It’s okay, at least I know why you haven’t been around much now. I know being alpha is important, and your priority is with the pack, maybe I should go…”