“I don’t get it,” Bull said, because he didn’t. “Why would you let him lock you in the cage?”
“I didn’t ‘let’ him lock me in,” she shouted and threw the brush aside. “He said he wanted to show me the results of an experimental program. He said he’d found a cure.”
A thin curl of smoky dread circled Bull’s spine. “A cure for what?” he asked cautiously.
“For the voice in my head! For the thing inside me!” She turned her back on him and leaned her hands against the cigarette scarred desktop for support. “All my life, I’ve felt like something else was living inside my body. I always heard it. I always felt it. And then one day, it began to speak in a language only I could understand. It had feelings that were separate from mine, like it had a mind of its own.” She turned to him, her eyes filled with misery. “I’ve been fighting it for almost fifteen years. I was desperate. You don’t know what it’s like, to constantly fight for control of your life and your body against something you can feel, but no one else can find.”
But he did know, only too well. The difference was that he knew what he was fighting and she apparently didn’t. Thomas Bane had just signed her death warrant. She was too old to learn what she should have learned as a cub. Without human control, her wolf was already feral and screaming to be free. It was a wonder she’d held it together this long.
“I can see the horror on your face,” she went on, “Now try to imagine living that horror. Drugs that are supposed to help only make it worse. Therapy was useless. They all said that this thing,” she pounded the place between her breasts with her fist, “was the suppression of some childhood trauma, or a reaction to my father’s coldness, or my mother’s overprotectiveness. They said I was in denial, but none of it was true. My parents loved me and at my angriest and most rebellious times, I still loved them. They would have died for me.”
Bull didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to know. That was why he never read beyond the first page of Begley’s extensive dossiers. Keep it clean and impersonal. It was a job that needed doing and it was his job to do it. No need to complicate things.
Yeah, like that was going to work. This woman had already complicated things. Her ridiculous escape attempts pissed him off, but he admired the pluck behind them. What little he’d heard of her story made him admire her even more. It took courage to keep on fighting when you knew the battle was lost.
“Tough,” his wolf agreed. “Fight beside.”
His wolf, damn the beast, had gone completely over to her side, probably because it sensed the wildness in her wolf and found that hot in a canine sort of way. Aw, hell, he found her kind of hot, too, but he could only deal with one weirdness at a time.
“What about Gantnor?” he asked because he needed to know what Dr. Asshole’s motives were and how much the bastard knew.
“He was a friend of my parents. He was the guy my overprotective mother called if I sneezed twice in a row. He was the guy my father consulted about my aggressive behavior when I kicked the shit out of Kevin Costello when I was in first grade.”
Picturing a tinier version of her in pigtails and ankle socks, her little fists bunched and ready for a fight, Bull couldn’t hold it back. He laughed. “Puny little fella, was he?”
Indignance replaced the anger and pain in her voice. “He was not puny. He was big and heavy and he was in third grade. He used his size to bully other kids on the playground. He pushed Suzie to the ground and she was a member of the Peanut Butter and Jelly Club. I had to defend her. I gathered the other PB&Js and they helped me knock him down. I took it from there,” she declared proudly, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. “The principal called us a gang.”
“Did you have little leather jackets with metal chains and studs and tiny sandwiches emblazoned on the back?”
She laughed and Bull was surprised by how good that laughter made him feel.
“No,” she told him, “No jackets, but we did have tattoos. We drew them on our wrists with magic markers and we had to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch every day. I liked PB and J.”
She didn’t know what she was, but she was forming her own little pack when she was six years old and already understood the Primal Law of Pack comes first. He wondered what she might have become if she’d known she was a wolver and had a pack to guide her. He had a feeling she would have become what she already was at six, a leader of the pack.
She yawned and stretched and closed her eyes tight before she opened them again and Bull felt a twinge of guilt for ignoring how tired she must be. He needed to know more about Dr. Gantnor, but his questions could wait. Her rest would be more refreshing if she went to it smiling.
“Come on, spitfire. You need sleep and so do I.”
Her eyes shifted to the door instead of the bed as they should have. Bull almost laughed aloud at her lack of cunning, a trait that was much admired among wolvers. He’d have to teach her that that those big brown eyes of hers would...
Resting his elbows on his knees, he shaded his eyes with his hands. He wouldn’t be teaching her anything, not one damn thing. A touch, light as wisp of moonlight, swept over his bent shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You’ve been awake much longer than I have and worked much harder. I wouldn’t have given you such a hard time if I’d known what you were doing.”
If it hadn’t been for that glance at the door, Bull might have believed her. She sounded so sincere.
“I should have seen how tired you were. I should have let you rest.”
“In the bed and under the covers, Thomas.” He pointed to the far side of the bed.
“Tommie, with an i-e,” she said, “And you should really take the bed. It’s your room, after all, and I’m used to sleeping on the floor.”
“All the more reason for you to sleep in the bed,” he said and took his time sliding the chain into place on the door so she wouldn’t see the guilt written on his face. She’d soon be spending time enough sleeping on the floor, the cold forest floor. She’d have a month, maybe two, before the winter claimed her.
He pulled his shirt over his head and removed his boots. He felt her eyes on his back as he unbuttoned his jeans and slipped them down, leaving his shorts in place. When he turned toward the bed, her eyes were squeezed shut. He laughed.
“I think we’ve both seen pretty much all there is to see, spitfire, but no worries. I told you before, I’m a perfect gentleman.” He slipped in beside her and snapped the handcuff on her wrist.
Her eyes snapped open and she glared at him. “Gentlemen don’t handcuff unwilling women.”
“They do if they want to get any sleep. Sorry, spitfire.” He fitted the other end to his own wrist.
“The name is Tommie.”
“Yeah, I know. Thomas Mortimer Bane. Goodnight, spitfire.”
Bull settled back against his pillow and closed his eyes, but tired as he was, he couldn’t sleep. His wolf was prowling, refusing to settle, too aware of the woman and she-wolf sleeping beside them. Bull knew why his wolf was attracted to the woman. There was a feral wolf inside her, and to his wolf, she was the ideal mate.
After all these years, the beast still longed for the wild days of their youth. His wolf had no memory of the freezing nights, the sleet and snow, or the hunger that gnawed constantly at their stomach when game was scarce. He didn’t remember the loneliness of running packless day after day. He only remembered the wind in the trees, the sky over head, and the moon, the constantly calling moon.
But Bull remembered it all and he knew what he was condemning the woman beside him to. Tommie and her wolf had never run wild. He wondered if they’d ever seen a forest. They sure as hell had never howled at the moon. Tommie thought her three months in the cage was the tragedy, but the truth was much more horrifying for a wolver. She’d been living in a cage for her entire life.
And he was every bit as bad as her jailers. No, he was worse. They, at least, saw that she was fed and had shel
ter. He would see that she had nothing but death.
Bull forced his body to relax. He slowed and deepened his breathing to quell the rage that was churning inside him. His wolf snarled.
Tommie, whose breath had settled into the steady rhythm of sleep, turned into him and settled her head on the right side of his chest. Her hand traced across it until it reached his shoulder, where she patted it as softly as she’d touched it before, as if she sensed the turmoil within him and was either seeking or offering comfort.
By the nature of their beasts, wolvers were a tactile species who constantly touched each other. It was how they showed their love and loyalty to the members of the pack, particularly when they were worried or upset.
Bull crossed his free arm over hers and stroked her hair.
“Shhh, little wolver, everything will be all right,” he whispered, and hoped to God it wasn’t a lie. “It’s your wolf who’s gone feral, not you. You’re just a little cub with very sharp teeth. That thing inside you frightens you. You don’t know what it is, what you are and you have a right to know. But can you accept it, tame it, live with it?”
What if, like all the others he’d tracked over the years, she couldn’t? The thought scared the living hell out of him.
“You’re a wolver, spitfire, and your wolf is always with you. Always. It was born the day you were, and you always knew it was there. It was your friend, your confidant, and sometimes it was the devil on your shoulder, urging you to do wicked things. It was your wolf who kept you from ever being lost. It was your wolf who healed you faster and kept you from disease. As you aged, so did your wolf. How old were you when it first spoke? Fourteen? Fifteen?
“It speaks to you in a language no one understands except you and you think that you’re alone. But you’re not, little wolver, not any more. I understand the language, because I have a wolf inside me, too, and he speaks to me as yours does to you.
“Sometimes it’s quiet for weeks, but when the full moon rises, it always stirs. You become restless, too. You want. You need. The moon is calling you to go over. It calls to me, too, but the call is easier on a male. We can answer and now I can answer at will.
“It must have been hard for you with no females around you to support you, to explain what was happening to you, to warn you not to let your wolf rule your heart and body when the moon is full. It must have been hardest in the fall when all females run at the Hunter’s Moon. It’s no wonder you thought you were crazy. You couldn’t run. You couldn’t set your wolf free. You had no Alpha to show you how to go over the moon.
“You should have had that. You should have known what it was like to share your life with a pack, to run like the wind, with the stars overhead and the moon filling you with its beauty and power. That should have been yours from the time your wolf first spoke.
“I’m sorry, little wolver,” Bull whispered as the tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and ran onto the pillow. “I should have found you sooner, but guys like me only show up when it’s already too late.”
Her breath was soft and warm against his chest and though her breathing didn’t change, he heard her say his name.
“Bull,” she breathed on an outward breath, and the way she said it reminded him of softer, gentler times before his life turned harsh and merciless.
Had his wolf been free, the world would have heard its howl of anguish. That cry of despair made Bull think again and hope against hope. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this time he could stop the inevitable. Maybe this time he wasn’t too late.
“Wolver,” she whispered with the next breath and even though her voice was so low as to be barely heard, Bull caught the sound of wonder in it.
He’d forgotten that, too; the wonder of hearing the call of the moon, of being able to shift with it, of being part of a pack, a part of an extraordinary species, and therefore something greater than you could ever be alone. He’d had that once, so long ago it was hard to recall. Maybe, just maybe, in helping this little wolver discover who and what she was, he could rediscover it for himself.
Bull tightened his arm around the fragile little woman who clung to him seeking and giving comfort. He slept, not happy but content.
Chapter 9
Tommie awakened to a night darkened room and the sound of running water from the shower. The cuff at her wrist was gone. She stretched, long and luxuriously, then snuggled back down under the covers, shifting her shoulders until her head was on Bull’s pillow. She felt lazy and warm and quiet.
She’d been dreaming, a blending of old and new. In the old, she’d only had a sense of running in the dark, alone and frightened by the wraithlike shadows of monsters with sharp and threatening teeth and glaring golden eyes. In the new, the darkness parted and she recognized the creature running beside her not as monster, but as wolf, a great brown wolf, and the powerful jaws and gleaming teeth weren’t frightening at all. The golden eyes reflected the light of the full moon overhead and the darker shadows surrounding them were only the trees rustling and swaying to the music of the wind.
She was no longer human. She, too, was a creature of the moon and wind and stars. She no longer ran from the darkness, but with it, and her powerful legs danced to the beat of the twinkling stars. She wanted to sing with the glory of it and make her voice heard in the stillness of the night.
It was a wonderful dream, and the feelings it brought her stayed with her after she opened her eyes. The voice in her head was quiet and the thing in her chest was at peace.
That peace was broken when the thing inside her leapt and spun at the sight of Bull coming from the bathroom. He was wearing a towel around his hips that didn’t quite close at the side and rubbing his wet head with another. He wasn’t as tall as she first thought. It was the way he carried himself that made him seem taller. There was an air of confidence and competence in the way he moved.
He wasn’t flaunting his broad shoulders and powerful chest. He wasn’t showing off his hard thighs or muscular calves. He was completely at ease with his body, unlike many of the men she’d met who were all too aware of the muscles they’d built in the gym and wanted you to be aware of them, too. Bull’s body was completely natural to him and born from hard use. That didn’t mean he wasn’t conscious of the effect he had on women.
As if sensing her appraisal, he looked over at her and grinned. “Like what you see?”
“I was admiring your skirt. Daddy would have had my hide if I’d worn one like that,” she laughed.
Bull looked down at the towel and back up at her, eyebrows raised. “And I wouldn’t have blamed him. I thought you’d still be asleep.” He slung the towel in his hands around his neck, and tossed her a bag.
Tommie was out of bed and moving to catch it. “Where did this come from?”
“Well it sure as hell wasn’t this dump’s concierge service. I got tired of watching you sleep, so I went shopping. I hope it fits,” he said, watching her pull the clothing from the bag. “I think the sales girl was a little insulted when I asked what size she’d be if she lost twenty pounds.”
“Does this mean you trust me?” she asked as she pulled the clothing from the bag. She was surprised by how much she wanted to hear him say that he did.
“It’s either that or drag you around in handcuffs and that might be a little hard to explain,” he joked, but then his face became serious. “If I’m asking you to trust me, it has to work both ways.” He picked up his own bundle of clothes. “Let me finish shaving, then the bathroom’s all yours. Call me if you need any help.”
The offer was tempting, but there was nothing in the bag she could use as an excuse to call him back. And she wanted to call him back and the thing inside her wanted it, too. The voice in her head whined when the bathroom door closed.
Tommie wiggled into the plain and serviceable cotton panties, reminding herself that beggars can’t be choosers. The jeans were two sizes smaller than she used to wear, but still hung loosely on her hips. The soft suede-like boots were a little big,
too, but fit her perfectly in length. She hesitated a moment before shrugging out of his tee and into the cotton tank before adding the pretty red sweater. She was a little disappointed she had no bra. Not that she needed one. Never very large to begin with, her small breasts hung like deflated balloons, but a bra might have given her a little shape.
Hopefully, a few good meals would take care of that, too, since she was already feeling much better after yesterday’s meal and her twelve hour sleep.
She was munching on yesterday’s leftover turkey sandwich and looked up guiltily when Bull came back into the room. She offered him the corner that was left.
“Did you want this?”
“Not now,” he laughed. “I thought since the clothes fit, we could stop at the diner up the street and talk while we eat, but since you’ve already eaten...”
“No I haven’t,” she interrupted. She snapped the box shut so he wouldn’t see that the roast beef was gone, too. “This was just a little snack.”
“A snack? Damn, spitfire, don’t tell me you always eat this way? I thought you were starving.”
“I know, sad isn’t it? Daddy always said I was cheaper to house than feed.” She laughed a little sadly at the memory. “And I am starving,” she added with a wave over her thin frame. “I don’t normally look this bad. Really.” She wanted him to believe that, too. “I can pay you back if you take me home. I have money.”
He shook his head. “Can’t do that. Not until I figure out what’s going on which won’t get done if I don’t get something to eat. I don’t think very well on an empty stomach.” He turned her around and gave her rear a thump. “Now go do what you have to do and let’s go eat.”
Tommie almost snapped her usual, “Watch it, buster”, but bit her tongue before she opened her mouth and stuck her foot in it. For God’s sake, she’d slept with the big guy. Granted, that’s all she did, but it would still sound pretty stupid if she complained about a friendly pat on the ass.
Wolver's Rescue Page 8
