Legend of the White Wolf hotw-4

by Terry Spear

  When he finally reached the campsite, Faith was gone. Or maybe she was hiding inside the tent. There was no sign of anyone else, and he realized then—there had been no sounds of snowmobiles approaching the area. Then the wolves had to have returned.

  The dogs that had remained behind greeted him and their teammates. It wasn't until he got around them to head for the tent when he saw what probably had shaken Faith.

  Kintail's men lay naked in the snow where Cameron had killed the two wolves. He stared in disbelief. That could have been him, if they'd gotten the best of him instead. Shaking loose of his surprise that they had the same affliction he had, Cameron rushed over to the sled, wishing he could turn back into his human form and dress and see to Faith. They had to get the team together and take care of Charles.

  Cameron closed his eyes and concentrated. I want to be human again.

  He opened his eyes. Nothing had changed. Hating not being in control, he growled low. He nudged at his clothes with his long wolf's snout, pawed at them, wanting to put his things back on, to be himself. But still, he didn't change.

  Without another plan, he loped toward the tent, hoping Faith was all right inside. But when he pushed the flap aside, he found the tent empty. Hell. Trying not to panic, he attempted to smell where she'd run off to. Or had someone managed to take her?

  He found no signs of any tracks other than wolf prints, and the impression in the snow made by her small boots. He raced after her, hating not being able to holler her name.

  When he found her, if he found her, what then? She'd think he was the same kind of wolf that he'd killed, most likely. Some type of alien aberration.

  The sound of footfalls followed him, and he whipped his head around to see all the dogs chasing after him. His breath frosty in the breeze, he paused and sniffed again. Straight ahead. He bolted in that direction, his tail straight out. The tracks indicated she'd stumbled and fallen several times, running at first, then slowing her pace as if the need for flight had dissipated.

  When he finally saw her not very far from camp, she was sitting in a pile of snow, her white parka and clothes nearly blending in. She looked back, her eyes widening when she saw him with the teams. The dogs raced to greet her, and Cameron moved in close with them, hoping she wouldn't shoot him, or wouldn't attempt to with the other dogs surrounding him.

  Tears sparkled in her eyes and streaks of tears trailed down her cheeks. But the dogs were so enthusiastically licking her and poking her to go with them, their actions stirred her from where she sat. He wanted so badly to take her into his arms and hold her tight. Damn what he'd become.

  Warily, she watched Cameron, then patted some of the dogs and rose to her feet. She didn't pull the gun on him, yet, but she kept her eyes on him as she headed toward him in the direction of the camp. Good. Maybe he could nudge her into hitching up the team and joining Charles until Cameron could figure a way of changing back. If he could. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to die first. Damn, what if Kintail somehow changed people through these attack wolves and then once they changed, there was no turning back?

  No, Cameron had done it before. Damn, then that meant that he really had seen Chris and his friends in the tent that one night. Oh hell, if they hadn't seen Bigfoot, had they seen someone like he was now?

  When Faith neared him, she made a wider circle around him as the dogs escorted her back, some racing ahead, some running by her side. Cameron inched in closer and nudged her gloved hand with his nose in greeting. She looked like she was about to run.

  Don't run, Faith. He'd take chase. He could already feel the urge rising in his blood. He didn't want to scare her, but the instinct was too great.

  She was already walking as fast as she could, trying to get away from him. He stayed close. Don't run, Faith.

  But as soon as she got near enough to camp, she dashed for the tent.

  Had she left the gun in the tent?

  Hell, maybe. His shoulder already hurt like the devil, and he didn't need her shooting him, too. Beyond that, he had to convince her to take care of Charles, who could be dying for all Cameron knew.

  He bolted for her, the thrill of the chase coursing through his blood. The dogs barked with glee and Cameron lunged for her.

  As soon as he pounced on her back, she screamed and fell face first in the snow. And then, lay very still, but he didn't move either. If he released her, she'd go for the weapon. She continued to remain motionless. From the sound of her too-rapid heartbeat, her heavy breathing, and her slight trembling, he knew she hadn't passed out, but rather was playing possum. He wanted to smile at her clever deception.

  The playful urge to take her down gave way to something deeper, more primal and possessive. How could he want her now when he was a wolf? But the more he tried to deny his feelings, the greater his need to have and protect her surged through him.

  The strange feeling that had consumed him, rushed through him again, the heat, his muscles and bones stretching, until he was butt naked and his backside was freezing as he pinned her down.

  How the hell did he change back? And worse, how was he going to explain to her what had happened to him?

  He cleared his throat. "Faith, I'm going to let you up, and we have to get the team hitched. Charles is not far from here, but he's been hurt and isn't responsive. We need to hurry and give him first aid."

  "Cameron?" Her voice was muffled in her ski mask, kind of a squeak.

  "It's me. Cameron." He spoke close to her ear, huddled against her for warmth. From the surprise in her voice, he guessed she was thoroughly confused. Why wouldn't she be? He still couldn't get over the change himself.

  Then a new thought occurred to him. What if she thought he had bolted out of nowhere and shoved her down, protecting her from the big bad wolf that was chasing her?

  He groaned. Then what? Tell her, or keep it a secret a while longer if she hadn't put two and two together?

  "I have to dress. Why don't you take down the tent while I do that, and then I'll get the dogs together?" Cameron let her up and raced over to the sled, trying not to think about how cold he was, hoping she didn't go after the gun and shoot him in the back. But if he didn't get dressed quickly, he was going to lose some body parts to the frigid air. Beyond that, his new wolf bite shot streaks of throbbing pain from his shoulder straight to his brain, and he was having trouble concentrating on much else.

  When he'd donned everything but his parka, he looked back to see her staring at him, her eyes dark and wide. He hoped she'd realized what had happened so he wasn't left with trying to explain, or keeping his strange condition secret. Deep inside, he knew he shouldn't tell her what had become of him, that it would be safer for him, and for her. "Hurry, Faith. We've got to help Charles."

  Her expression changed slightly, from still in shock to all business. She whipped around and went into the tent. He hesitated to do anything, his first thought she was going for the gun. But then she came out holding his rolled sleeping bag up and headed for the sled. "Hurry, Cameron. You have some explaining to do."

  Well, that decided that. He closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms to give her a comforting hug.

  At first, she was stiff, but then she melted, wrapped her arms around him, embracing him as if she had found her long-lost love and never wanted to let him go. Still concerned that she might be in shock, he leaned down and kissed her forehead, then ran his gloved hand across her cheek. "Let's get you settled in the sled bag. I'll take care of everything else."

  "I'll pack the tent." Her gaze fixed on his, making her seem determined to get through this on her own.

  He leaned down and kissed her cold lips and hugged her with a bear of an embrace. He still worried she might be in shock, but when he tried to steer her toward the sled, she shook loose. "I'm… I'm all right." But he could tell by the hesitancy in her words, she was putting on a front.

  He let her go, but while he rushed to get the dogs' booties on, and harnessed the team, then hitched
them to the sled, he watched Faith dismantling the stove pipe from the stove, then working on the tent, to ensure she truly was all right. She seemed to be, and afterward, he packed the stove and tent on the sled. But then he caught Faith's gaze focused on the dead men lying in the snow.

  "I'm sorry, Faith."

  "You're injured," she said, changing the subject, her voice more sure now, and he was glad to hear it. "We have a first aid kit and I'll take care of you after we see to Charles."

  "It's a deal." The burning in his shoulder from the fresh wolf bite hurt like hell now and every move added a twinge of excruciating pain through the muscles.

  He wondered if Faith was in denial though—if she truly didn't believe he was the wolf, or if she did and just couldn't acknowledge it. He sure had refused to believe it. Well, still did to an extent. Now that he was back to his normal self, he couldn't imagine being able to shapeshift again. At least the urge to run as a wolf was gone for the time being.

  Glancing at the dead men, Cameron took a deep breath. "I'll clean up the camp a bit. Be right back."

  He grabbed the shovel she'd dropped in the snow and buried the two men. It was as proper a burial as he could give them, but he figured Kintail and his men would come for them eventually. For a moment, he stared at the mounds, wishing it hadn't come to this. Figuring he'd killed a couple of wolves, wolf to wolf, he never imagined…

  The wolf part of him felt no remorse. He had to protect Faith and the huskies. That was a given. The human side of him…

  Then he remembered Faith's terrified expression. The wolf would have killed her. The man-wolf. It didn't matter what form they had taken. Cameron wouldn't have let any of them harm her.

  Letting out his breath, he hurried back to the sled. He slipped the shovel on the sled and climbed onto the runners. Even if she couldn't see that he was one of them, she knew the others were. No words could express what had happened to make it any less unreal.

  In pain and worried about Charles's condition, Cameron shouted, "Hike!"

  The dogs took off and they raced past the grave mounds.

  "Haw!" he shouted, steering them left, toward Charles's camp.

  He hoped Faith could deal with all that had happened, and that she wasn't too traumatized. She needed to manage the other team, if they were going to get both sleds home. He prayed Charles would be all right when they got him to Millinocket. And Cameron hoped that he didn't have a sudden urge to turn into a wolf again ever.

  He made kissing sounds at the team, encouraging them to run faster.

  When they reached Charles's camp, Cameron hollered, "Whoa," and the dogs came to a halt.

  "What's wrong with Charles?" Faith climbed out of the sled bag and seemed much steadier now.

  "Not sure. I couldn't rouse him." Cameron grabbed the first aid kit and hurried into the tent.

  Charles was sitting up, his eyes glazed.

  "Hell, you're alive." Thank God for small miracles. Cameron knelt beside him and took his wrist to feel for the strength of his pulse, although he concentrated more on listening to Charles's heartbeat, but he couldn't let Faith know that. Strong steady pulse, not raspy like he'd feared.

  Charles's gaze shifted to Cameron. "What… what happened?"

  Cameron glanced at the sleeping bag and saw blood where Charles's head had been.

  "You tell me. You took off and left us to fend for ourselves." Cameron examined the back of Charles's head as Faith knelt beside Charles and held his hand.

  "Ambush," Charles said and started to lie down.

  Cameron stopped him. "Wait, let me see where you're injured." Then he found the bloody swelling centered on the very back of his head. "Who struck you?"

  Charles moaned and closed his eyes.

  "Kintail? One of his men?"

  Charles didn't respond, but with the way he was struck from behind, he might not have even seen who hit him. Cameron pulled bandaging out of the first aid kit and wrapped it around Charles's head, trying not to hurt him any more than he was already. But Charles winced and groaned.

  "What's wrong with him?"

  "Someone struck him from behind." Cameron eased Charles down on the sleeping bag and covered him with the blankets.

  Faith rubbed her arms. "He wasn't bitten, was he?"

  "No, he wasn't bitten. Here, you can feel the knot on the back of his head. Probably got a concussion. He's pretty out of it."

  "Kintail's men?" she whispered.

  "Good bet."

  "So what do we do now? Find our way by ourselves? Wait until he's better?"

  "We'll be right back, Charles." Cameron took Faith's arm and led her from the tent to the sled. "We can't go the way we came or we'd have to run by Kintail's lodge. We'll have to find our way to the main road that had been blocked. Since he's in bad shape, we'll stay here, let the dogs rest, then head for the cabins. I'll set up our tent and—"

  "I'll stay with Charles. To make sure he's okay during the night."

  Again he wondered if she had a clue about the wolf and him being one and the same, about his being naked in the snow. And why she hadn't asked him anything more about it. "All right. Go to him then. Let me know if he gets any worse." He headed for the dogs.

  "I'll help you with the huskies."

  He thought she'd ask him what had happened at their camp. Instead, she talked lovingly to the dogs and helped get them settled. Then, much to his surprise, she assisted him in setting up the tent. When they were done, they shared an awkward moment of silence. He wanted to kiss her and give her a hug, to reassure her that they'd all be fine. But before he could take her in his arms, she said good night, whipped around, and quickly escaped to Charles's tent.

  He couldn't reproach her, although he couldn't stifle his desire for her, no matter how much he tried. Normally, if a woman wasn't interested in him, he wouldn't have followed up. Although no woman had ever acted afraid of him. Except for the case where he'd questioned a woman who had everything to hide—including a dead husband and stolen money from work—but he didn't think he would have anything to do with a woman who feared him. So what the hell was making him want Faith even more?

  The need to prove he was the same person as before? The same man that she'd found as desirable as he found her? But he wasn't the same, either. He was some kind of aberration. And he still wanted her. Craved her as if she was his lifeline to reality.

  Inside the tent, she asked Charles, "Are you going to be all right?"

  Cameron hesitated to hear an answer. Charles didn't respond, much to Cameron's disappointment, then he ducked into his own tent.

  His shoulder was throbbing with a deep ache and after settling into his sleeping bag, he tossed and turned, reliving the night's events. He thought about Kintail and his wolves and how they were not at all what they seemed. Which meant?

  Hell, Kintail was probably one, too. And David and Owen?

  Cameron raked his hands through his hair.

  If they'd seen Kintail's people shapeshift, had he had them killed? Or were they now what he was?

  Chapter 12

  UNABLE TO SLEEP AFTER ALL SHE'D WITNESSED, FAITH rolled over and felt Charles's pulse again. Normal. His breathing was steady. She sighed and hoped in another couple of hours, he'd be feeling well enough to make the journey. And that she could drive a team without any problem.

  She bumped against something plastic, wondered what it was, then realized it was the first aid kit. Damn. She'd meant to tend to Cameron's wound.

  She couldn't get the look of hurt in Cameron's expression out of her mind—although he'd quickly hid it when she'd chosen to stay with Charles instead of him—but she had to watch over Charles. Beyond that, yeah, she couldn't have stayed with Cameron. She just couldn't have—not in light of what had happened. She didn't want to think about why he was naked either, or how he could have survived in the cold that way for long. Only one conclusion she could come up with, and that was too bizarre to contemplate. But the wolf had been chasing her and then all of a
sudden she was pinned beneath Cameron's naked body? He hadn't shouted to her he was coming to save her, nothing. Just one pounce and she was face down in the snow, and then he was on top of her, heating her backside.

  Not only that, but their savior wolf had miraculously vanished. If he hadn't, she still would have wondered what Cameron was doing freezing his naked ass off in the Maine wilderness. And how had he been injured? Wolf bite for sure. But when and where? He sure hadn't freely offered any explanations either and that didn't bode well.

  But even so, she'd meant to treat his injury.

  Grabbing the first aid kit, she crawled out of the sleeping bag and tent. Several of the dogs lifted their heads and watched her. She shushed them before they ran to greet her.

  She peeked inside Cameron's dark tent, but she couldn't see anything. She hesitated. Maybe this was a stupid idea if he was sleeping soundly, and she should just skip it. But his bite wound had looked nasty, she'd promised, and besides, it might soothe his pride that she hadn't stayed with him.

  She crawled into the tent, opened up the first aid kit, and pulled out the ointment and bandages. Then she reached for Cameron's arm, to shake him slightly and wake him so she could ask him to turn on his lantern, and she'd doctor him.

  Bad plan. Her fingers felt fur and lean, mean wolf instead. As soon as she touched him, she about had a heart attack. He growled, whipped his head around, and bit her.

  She screamed and fluorescent amber eyes peered at her in the dark, then the shine in them faded. Her heart beat pounding, she jumped back, favoring her throbbing hand, and ran into one of the tent poles. The pole toppled and the tent collapsed.

  Feeling suffocated, Faith scrambled away from the center of the tent, trying to extricate herself from the tomb of polypropylene fabric. Her hand touched fur again and she jerked back, afraid he'd bite her once more. She thrust her hands out madly in another direction. The canvas elevated near her. He'd slipped in front of her, like a dangerous predator, unwilling to let her escape.

  A tongue licked her injured hand, and she gasped. The taste before another bite?