Werewolf in the North Woods

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “Yes, but it’s pretty much laid out and by this time tomorrow…”

  “We won’t be together.”

  “Right. And that’s depressing the hell out of me.”

  “Don’t think about it.” Her eyes told him she was thinking about it, though. And she didn’t look any happier about the prospect of saying goodbye, either.

  He reminded himself that she’d recoiled at the idea of having children who could turn out to be shape shifters. She’d hated the thought that Emma couldn’t tell her family and friends the true details of her life and had to feed them fancy lies, instead. Hell, she’d even made it clear that she wanted to keep her own name when she married.

  She ran a finger down his cheek. “You should probably go reassure Donald that all is well with me. I think he stopped playing because he heard me cry out and he was worried.”

  Roarke nodded. “Yeah, he’s not a bad guy. I feel sort of guilty knowing he’ll never get to see Bigfoot.”

  “Yes, but his motives aren’t pure. Don’t forget that he’s not strong enough to see Bigfoot and then not tell anybody. Even my grandfather wasn’t.”

  “Do you think Earl could be trusted now, though? If you told him what was at stake?”

  Her eyes lit up. “Are you saying that maybe he could be with me when I watch them get into the helicopter?”

  “I’d like that. It would help make up for the way I’ve disgraced him in his hometown.”

  “Roarke, you’re a prince.” Cradling his face in both hands, she lifted her head and kissed him.

  He would have loved to kiss her back. Then he’d begin kissing every inch of her body so he could map all those freckles he’d vowed to find. He longed to stroke her until she writhed against the floor of the tent, until she wanted him again. He would take her in one smooth stroke. She was so easy to love.

  Easy to love. God, he was in so much trouble.

  Reluctantly he ended the kiss. “Technically I am a prince, but I’m not in line to inherit the throne. That would be my brother, Aidan.”

  “Literally? You have a throne at your house in New York?”

  “No, not an actual throne. Nobody would want to sit on something like that. But there is a hierarchy. It’s that way in all werewolf packs.”

  “So does that make Cameron Gentry the reigning king of their pack?”

  “It does.” Roarke rolled away very carefully and scooted down to the front of the tent. “Which means Cameron outranks me.”

  “I don’t like that. I don’t like him.”

  He picked up a hiking boot and pulled it on. “Neither do I, but I owe him my respect. And I’ve given my word that I’ll take care of his Sasquatch problem for him.”

  “And you will. Your plan is going to work.”

  “Our plan.”

  She scooted to a seated position. “That’s nice of you to say, but if you hadn’t been saddled with me in the first place and you’d been able to work on your own, you’d probably be done with the whole thing by now.”

  He gazed at her. “If you think for one second that I regret any of this, then—”

  “I know you don’t.”

  “I’m glad you know it. Sharing this time with you has been incredible.” He could say a lot more, but he wouldn’t. No point in going into detail about how she’d enriched his hours in the past two days. He’d only make things worse.

  “Same here, Roarke,” she said gently.

  He held her gaze. “Good to know.”

  “I just meant you would have been more efficient without me.”

  He smiled at her as he pulled on his other boot. “Efficiency is highly overrated.” Then he left the tent before he became even less efficient and wrecked the entire plan.

  Abby wished she’d brought a book, but she’d never expected to spend this much time alone. Refastening her fake bandage and dressing didn’t take much time, and then she was left to lie there and listen to Roarke and Donald talking. She couldn’t even amuse herself with that, though, because she couldn’t hear what they said.

  Predictably, Donald’s voice was the one she heard most of the time, and she didn’t envy Roarke having to listen to all those self-aggrandizing stories. Still, she would rather listen to Donald’s boring conversation than lie here alone with her thoughts, which played in a continuous loop in her mind.

  Roarke didn’t want their time together to end, and she didn’t want that, either. But end it would. If they didn’t live almost a continent apart, they could be lovers a little while longer, but that would only make the inevitable breakup worse.

  They’d be wise not to see each other again once this was over. She’d certainly hate to face the prospect of running into him after he’d chosen his werewolf mate. That would be excruciatingly painful. Thinking of Roarke with someone else sent slivers of glass into her heart, so the reality would be even more horrible.

  But she wouldn’t run into him, because he’d go back to his job at NYU, and she’d go back to being a claims adjuster in Phoenix. Now that she knew the truth about the Gentrys, she’d find a way to move Grandpa Earl to Phoenix, too. That project should occupy her for several months and give her time to get over Roarke.

  She was whistling in the wind on that estimation, and she damn well knew it. Getting over Roarke would take longer than a few months. It might not happen at all.

  The child who had loved fantasy had grown into a woman who had denied that part of herself. But these past days with Roarke had reawakened her love of fantasy and intrigue. After knowing Roarke, how could she ever be happy with anyone else?

  Although he’d made it clear that he didn’t want a human for a mate, she’d begun thinking of how she might be able to live a double life, after all. If Roarke could do it, why couldn’t she? Still, he hadn’t ever hinted that he wanted her to try. She’d have to let him go, no matter how much that hurt.

  Gradually the patter of the rain on the tent lulled her into a light sleep, but the rasp of her tent zipper brought her instantly awake and her body tightened in anticipation. “Roarke?”

  He shoved his big shoulders through the tent opening. “I know you must be going stir-crazy in here, but I can’t stay,” he said in a low voice. “Donald’s suspicious.”

  “I was afraid of that. Do we have any ketchup?”

  Roarke stared at her, and then he began to chuckle. “Good thought, but I didn’t bring any.”

  “Maybe I should prick my—”

  “Oh, no, you don’t. I won’t have you sacrificing any of your precious blood to satisfy Donald. However…”

  She could see the wheels going around. “Don’t you dare cut yourself.”

  “Why not? You were willing to do it.”

  “And you couldn’t stand the idea. I can’t stand the idea of you inflicting pain on yourself, either, so you’d better not, or…”

  “Or what?” His gaze made it plain he had the upper hand.

  And she felt impotent. “I will be really, really mad at you.”

  His expression softened. “And I wouldn’t like that.”

  “So don’t do it, okay?”

  Instead of answering, he pulled a magazine from inside his jacket. “I brought you some reading material.”

  “Thank God. I’ve been wishing I’d brought a book.”

  “I wish I had one to give you, but this is what’s available.” He handed her an issue of Cryptozoology Today.

  “I’ll take it. I’ll bet one of Donald’s articles is in here.”

  “Yep, which is the only reason he packed it, in case he met somebody out here he wanted to impress. Enjoy.” Then he was gone.

  Abby read the slim magazine from cover-to-cover and learned more than she’d ever wanted to know about cryptids, including Nessie, Sasquatch, Yeti, and a giant anaconda that made her vow never to visit Brazil. Give her a beautiful werewolf any day.

  As if she’d summoned him, Roarke unzipped the tent flap. “I’ve got stew.” He held the same tin cups with spoons sticking out
of them.

  “Great. Thanks.” She moved to all fours and took one of the cups of stew before crawling backwards and placing it at the far end of the tent in the same spot where she’d put the soup. “Can you stay a while?”

  “Not long.”

  She reached for the other cup of stew, but he set it down by the entrance. Instead of taking off his boots, he sat with his feet outside the tent.

  She was disappointed that he’d be leaving soon, but he knew best how to handle things with Donald. She sat cross-legged and picked up her stew. “I guess our friend’s still suspicious.”

  “Actually, he’s not. I took care of that.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “And how did you do that, pray tell?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Roarke Wallace, if you—”

  “It was the logical answer, and I want to thank you for suggesting it.”

  “I did not!”

  “Keep your voice down. You’re supposed to be getting sicker and feverish as the infection sets in. In fact, I’m taking back one helping of stew so I can tell him you weren’t hungry.”

  “But what about your dinner?”

  “I have some jerky in my pack. I’ll be fine.”

  “I want you to eat mine, then.” She shoved it toward him. “I’m just lying here. You’re the one who needs energy.”

  “Abby, you might as well eat the stew, because I’m not going to. And I need to get out of here soon with at least one empty cup.”

  She glared at him mutinously.

  “Don’t be stubborn, Red Riding Hood. Eat your stew. If you don’t, you’ll just be causing more problems for the operation.”

  Abby didn’t like the way this was turning out, but she ate the stew. “So what did you do that convinced Donald this was legit?”

  “Just used a razor blade on my calf where he wouldn’t be able to see what I’d done. Honestly, it was no big deal. I didn’t need much blood because I wiped my hands in it and then made sure I washed them in his line of sight. He assumed I’d just come from your tent. I didn’t have to say a word.”

  She blew out a breath. “I am really, really mad at you.”

  “I hope you’ll forgive me quick, then.”

  “Why?”

  “The Sasquatch pair is traveling faster than I expected. It’s time for me to intercept them before they get too close.”

  She began to tremble and put down the tin cup in hopes he wouldn’t notice her shaking. Suddenly the plan seemed filled with danger. He might be a werewolf, but he’d be facing two really huge creatures. “Is it safe for you to confront them alone?”

  “Perfectly safe. Weres and Sasquatch get along fine.”

  “So this is it.”

  “Yes, this is it. You might want to give me your bottle of ibuprofen now.”

  “Okay.” She reached for the pack she’d been using as a pillow and unzipped one of the pockets. “If you have to show these to Donald when you get back, just hold them so you’re covering up the label.” She handed him the container.

  “I will.” He slipped the container into his jacket pocket. “I’m going to tell Donald that you’d rather be left alone, but I can’t guarantee he won’t come over here and bore you to death.”

  She managed a smile. “I can handle him.”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I possibly can. I don’t know if it’s logical for me to put in an appearance before morning, but just know that I’ll be around long before that, watching over you.”

  “As a wolf?”

  “Yes.”

  She crawled over toward him. “I don’t want you to go.”

  “I don’t want to, either.” He cupped her cheek in one large hand and leaned forward to kiss her gently. He lifted his mouth from hers. “When I come back, we’ll have to concentrate on getting out of here, so I can arrange for the Sasquatch transfer.”

  “So no more nookie.”

  “No.” He kissed her again. Then, with a groan, he kissed her harder, thrusting his tongue in deep. Then he pulled back and gazed into her eyes as his filled with sorrow. “Thanks for everything, Ms. Riding Hood.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Wolf.”

  Grabbing the tin cups, he edged out of the tent and zipped it closed.

  She sat back on her heels and closed her eyes so she could savor the taste of him that lingered on her mouth. Her lips still tingled from his last forceful kiss, but the rest of her was blissfully numb. She would love to keep it that way, but she knew any minute her brain would send a message to her heart, and then all hell would break loose.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Roarke didn’t have any trouble sounding worried when he hurried over to where Donald sat just inside his tent eating his stew. Leaving Abby to the care of this doofus, even if she wasn’t actually injured, went against Roarke’s every instinct. But he had no choice if he expected to solve the Bigfoot problem.

  “Bad news, Donald.” He held the two cups of stew, the one Abby had eaten and the one he hadn’t touched. “Her wound’s infected and she’s running a fever.” He held up the full cup of stew. “She couldn’t eat.”

  Behind his thick lenses, Donald’s eyes looked huge. “Good God. What are we going to do? The Sasquatch could be here by morning!”

  “They could, but they’ll probably stop for the night, so it could be midday before they arrive.” Roarke was counting on the pair stopping to rest. “I hope to be back before they get here.”

  Donald’s eyes got even bigger and he scrambled to his feet, spilling some stew on his orange sweatshirt. “You’re leaving?”

  “I want you to stay with Abby while I head back to get some antibiotics for her.”

  “No reputable doctor will give you a prescription without seeing her.”

  Roarke mentally thanked Abby for giving him the answer to that one. “I have a friend who will, once I describe the situation. Look, I’ll travel as fast as I can. Believe me, adrenaline is pumping through my system and I’ll make good progress.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I hope to get back here before the Sasquatch pair arrives, but in case I don’t, I’ll feel good knowing you’re here, getting the evidence and watching over Abby.”

  “But what should I do about her? Does she need me to sponge her down?”

  “No!”

  Donald shrank back in alarm.

  Roarke toned down his response. “I mean, she would hate that, being so modest and all.”

  “Well, yeah, but if she has a fever, I’ve always heard you’re supposed to sponge people down.”

  Roarke hated that idea on so many levels. “You might cause her to start bleeding again if you did that.”

  “Oh.” Donald paled. “Well, then, better not chance it.”

  “She’s not going to die, so don’t panic. But I can’t expect her to hike back out of here when she has a fever and she needs something to counteract that infection.”

  “No, no, of course she can’t hike out when she’s like this.”

  “Once she has the antibiotics, she’ll start to recover. But I need to get them for her now.”

  “Right, right. It’s just that I thought you’d be here when Samson and Delilah showed up.”

  “Who?”

  “The Sasquatch pair.”

  “They don’t have names.”

  Donald brightened. “They do now! I named them today, while you were taking care of Abby. It’ll play better with the media if we give them each a name, like everyone uses Nessie for the Loch Ness Monster. Personalizes the creatures, you know. It would be good if you started referring to them that way, too.”

  Roarke started to deny that he’d ever refer to the Sasquatch pair by the names Samson and Delilah, but decided not to waste his breath. It wouldn’t matter, because Donald would never make contact with them.

  “We should name the baby, too.”

  Roarke patted Donald on the shoulder. “You think about that while I’m gone. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll thr
ow a few things into my pack and be off.” He turned toward his tent.

  “I sure wish we got cell reception out here,” Donald called after him.

  “But we don’t,” Roarke said over his shoulder. And now he was thrilled about that. “I’m afraid hiking back is my only option.” He made a dash for his tent before Donald could hold him up any longer. The Sasquatch odor grew stronger with every passing minute.

  Fortunately the rain seemed to be letting up, which would make the forest floor a little less slippery as he loped along. Anticipating this change into wolf form, he’d brought a plastic bag for his backpack and his clothes. He stuffed that in the empty pack along with Abby’s ibuprofen. He decided to leave his watch in the tent. Donald wouldn’t notice he wasn’t wearing it and it was one less thing to leave out in the forest after he shifted.

  As a human, he would have needed to take more on this trip. As a wolf, he needed nothing, but he had to leave camp as if he were a man going for a long hike, so he tucked some other clothes in the pack. In the process he came across the handkerchief he’d made into a headband. He allowed himself one long inhale before shoving that into his pack, too.

  He was ready. Ducking out of the tent, he zipped it closed and stood. “See you, Donald.”

  Donald stood watching him, anxiety etched on his round face. “Hurry.”

  “Don’t worry, I will.” Then he walked quickly over to Abby’s tent. “Bye, Abby,” he said softly.

  “Bye, Roarke.” She sounded a little bit nasal, as if she’d been crying.

  “It’ll be okay.”

  “I know.”

  Shit, she had been crying. And there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about that. Anything he said would only make it worse. “Bye,” he said again, and walked away before he could hear her response.

  In order to fool Donald, he had to walk back the way they’d come, at least until he had enough cover. As the light faded from the sky, he plowed quickly through the trees and underbrush, following the trampled leaves and broken branches from their passage through here earlier.

  He walked nearly a mile before he considered it safe to strip down. As he took off his clothes and stuffed everything in the plastic bag he’d brought, he thought of Abby’s pictures and wondered what she planned to do with them. If she cared about him the way he cared about her, she’d destroy the flash drive and the prints when she returned to her grandfather’s place.