Rescued by the Wolf (Blood Moon Brotherhood)

by Sasha Summers

  Every time a silver needle was imbedded beneath a fingernail or claw. Every bone they’d broken, high-decibel sound they’d blasted him with, and knife they’d used on his fur—he could hardly wait to return the favor. By the time Mal became immune to one torture, they’d find something new. They knew how far they could push him without killing him. They’d told him to beg and they’d stop.

  Spilling his guts about Finn and his pack wasn’t an option. No matter how pissed he was at them for leaving him behind, he’d never give them up to Cyrus and the Others. Never betray them the way they’d betrayed him. He was stubborn—his wolf was more so. No fucking way he’d beg. Ever. They’d never know they’d broken him, even if they managed it.

  After they’d pummeled him senseless and left him bleeding, chained to that wall, he’d plan how he’d take them down one by one.

  Killing Cyrus wasn’t enough. The motherfucker would know what it was like to be skinned. How it felt to heal, only to endure injury again and again. It would be his turn to wake up drenched in sweat and vomit, remembering the slide of that thin blade against his shoulder blades and along his spine. It would be Mal’s turn to look into Cyrus’s eyes and smile.

  But now the fight had gone out of the wolf. All it wanted to do was be close to Olivia. If she was out of sight, the wolf grew angry and restless. The only time the damn animal seemed happy was when he was touching her.

  Like sitting around all day was an option.

  He didn’t know how long they had before the Others caught up to them, but there was no doubt they would. They’d taken him hoping to get information about Finn’s pack. When it became clear that wasn’t going to happen, their motivation changed. Getting information was secondary to hurting him. That’s when things had turned personal.

  When Olivia had passed out after he’d bitten her, he’d convinced his wolf to leave her, probably because the beast knew it was for her safety. He’d saturated the site where they’d spent the night with bear blood, hoping to buy them some time. Between the smell of her infection and the bear, it might work. If they were really lucky, the Others would believe Olivia had been eaten. Then they’d only be after him. It might be possible for Olivia to avoid having the Others trailing her day-in and day-out for the rest of her life.

  But what the hell would her life look like now?

  She was in graduate school. She could go back to that.

  What else?

  Her brother? No loss there. As far as Mal was concerned, the son of a bitch could believe she was dead. He’d brought this down on her—maybe not the werewolf thing, but the attack and kidnapping. But why? What the hell were the Others doing with someone like Chase? He’d only seen flashes of him in Olivia’s mind, but he hadn’t struck Mal as a criminal mastermind. He’d seemed desperate. What sort of business could Chase have with the Others?

  It might be worth digging into, for his pack’s survival. Whether his pack meant him and Olivia or the rest of Finn’s pack, he wasn’t ready to address. Not yet. For now, he was still tied to Finn. They needed to know Cyrus had a spy, that they were in danger.

  Finn wanted the Others off their backs as much as Mal did. They both had something to lose. Finn had his wife and pups and he had…Olivia.

  He stared at the sleeping woman, that strange yearning ache tightening his chest.

  His wolf growled at him, irritated that he insisted on sitting across the cabin from her. He sat six, maybe seven, feet away, and the wolf was pissed as hell. It wanted him to curl up around her, to ease her—and him.

  Mal didn’t like it.

  He’d be damned if his wolf told him what to do. They might be one, but he was in charge. And getting attached to her any more than he was already was a bad idea. There was still a chance she’d leave. Yes, he’d first have to teach her how to shift, how to work with her wolf, how to control her instincts. But then? There was no reason for her not to have a somewhat normal life.

  His wolf growled again, so agitated Mal felt on edge.

  “Chill the fuck out,” he hissed.

  But the wolf was ignoring him.

  He’d planned on carrying her out of here this morning. The more distance between them and the Others, the better. But she’d been so feverish he couldn’t do it. She had periods of wakefulness, or so he’d thought. He’d learned quickly she was delusional, and the best thing to do was keep his distance.

  His wolf had approved of the way she’d clung to him, pleading with him to hold her close. And he’d tried. But she’d been too soft, too sweet. When her fingers slid into his hair, her silky lips latching onto his neck, Mal had wavered. Her touch reminded him of a time before he’d been turned, when things like peace and happiness were still possible.

  Too bad he hadn’t met her then.

  She was tossing on the makeshift mattress before the fire, soft cries and whimpers ratcheting up his wolf’s anxiety.

  Mal sighed, stood, and crossed to her. He crouched at her side, hesitating briefly before placing a hand on her shoulder. She shuddered and stilled. His wolf was satisfied, the smug bastard.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t want to be close to her,” he whispered, arguing with his wolf. “I’m saying it would be better for her if we weren’t.”

  But as soon as the words were out of his mouth he was lying at her side, tugging her against him, and easing into a deep sleep.

  ...

  Olivia was warm. She burrowed under the blanket, her fingers stretching in the thick fur that covered her. Each silky hair was distinguishable from the next, had its own texture and weight. She sighed, moaning softly.

  “How do you feel?” asked a voice she didn’t immediately recognize. It must be Frank, one of her roommates’ boyfriends. He was always on their couch, eating their food. He was nice—just a freeloader.

  “Shh, Frank, I’m sleeping,” she said. “Whatever flu meds they gave me—wow, talk about a trip.”

  Frank chuckled. “Really?”

  “But I’m feeling better,” she said. “Just let me sleep.”

  “We need to move,” Frank said, closer now. “If you’re up for it?”

  Her dream-guy’s voice. The dream-guy’s scent. Mal. Oh, his scent. She stiffened. “Am I up for it?” she asked, opening one eye.

  Mal was sitting beside her, smiling. No one had a right to smell better than fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. But he did. And, she noted with disappointment, he was wearing clothes. Overalls, flannel shirt, and boots. He was the sexiest lumberjack in the world.

  Other scents reached her. Cedar, smoke, leather, dust. She wasn’t used to being so scent sensitive, but she was recovering from the flu. They were in a small cabin—rustic was a generous description. But there was a fire going, and she was comfy on the cot, beneath a pile of what looked like animal pelts.

  Animals… She felt dizzy, disoriented, and closed her eyes. “How much of what I dreamed was real?” She peered at him, her nerves stretching thin and tight.

  “We can talk about that later.” His eyes were surprisingly light brown, almost caramel. It had been hard to tell what color they were in the dark. In the light of day—God, he was absolutely gorgeous. “Let’s go.”

  “No.” She jumped up. Did she want to go? Not really, but apparently, he did. She froze then, looking down at her leg. “Holy crap.” Her jeans were shredded and crusted with dried blood. Her hoodie was stained, too. She bent over, pulling the denim aside, remembering. An oblong cut—the knife. Some crisscross scratches and a few deep gouges—the bear. And two perfect punctures… She reached around the back of her thigh: two more. A bite.

  This was real?

  All faint scars, healed and white.

  She swallowed, staring at Mal. The wounds were real? The air seemed to thin. He’d bitten her. He, as a large black wolf. A large black wolf that had saved her life. “None of that was real? It can’t be.” Her voice was soft, unsteady.

  “We’ll talk later,” he said softly, watching her. “Put on the overalls and coa
t.” He nodded at the too-big jean overalls and the coat. The coat she’d taken the night they’d escaped. “It’s not safe.”

  She nodded, using the length of rope he offered as a belt to keep the pants around her waist and then slipping into the coat. Her mind was in overdrive. For one thing, there were far too many questions in her mind. Who was Finn? And the Others? There was more—she was loved in a way she’d never thought possible. Was that real? It felt real. Maybe she was still a tad delusional after all. And what was this voice in her head? She couldn’t quite make it out, but…something was talking to her, like a subconscious thought. Her conscience?

  The most obvious question, though: Should she be afraid?

  She knew the answer. No. She didn’t fear Mal. If anything, she wanted to be near him, to trust him. Whether or not that was the wisest choice seemed irrelevant. Which was concerning. She was normally a cautious, methodical type. She didn’t rush into things or act rashly. Trusting some guy who was comfortable running around naked in the middle of the woods was…out of character. But if her choices were going with Mal or returning to the creepy cave to suffer who-knows-what, she’d go with Mal. For now.

  She’d been sick. Delusional. None of that had happened. It was impossible. Especially now, in the light of day. But her fingers fell to her thigh, tracing the scars beneath the rough denim fabric.

  Mal stuffed a few items into a weathered backpack then shrugged it onto one of his incredibly broad shoulders. He was bigger in the daylight; whether that was a concern or a comfort remained to be seen.

  “Where are we?” she asked, needing to focus on something.

  He shrugged. “A hunting cabin. Gave us some shelter, clothes, and some useful supplies.” That was all she got. Apparently, breaking and entering wasn’t a big deal to him. Maybe his days always included being stranded in the middle of nowhere saving girls from bears as a giant wolf, all while hiding from someone who wanted to do very bad things to him.

  Oh my God. What it wrong with me? Was I drugged?

  None of this made sense. None of it.

  “I’ve officially gone crazy,” she mumbled.

  “No, you haven’t.”

  “Are you sure?” She hugged herself. “I have plenty of evidence to the contrary. And I feel…different.”

  He glanced at her. “Better?”

  She frowned. “Better than what?”

  “Than you were ten hours ago? You look a hell of a lot better.”

  She couldn’t ignore the pleasure his slight compliment stirred. Yes, she could ignore it. She should ignore it. Something was seriously wrong with her. “When I had blood poisoning in my knife wound or a grizzly was using me as chew-toy?” she asked, sitting down on the cot. She remembered burning and searing, the rub of teeth on bone. Her bone. “That happened? It all really happened?”

  He didn’t move. “Yes.”

  She stared at him. “How can I not be crazy? We not be crazy?”

  The hint of a grin tugged at his mouth. “Trust me.”

  She arched a brow but slowly nodded. She trusted him? Because that was the most logical thing to do. Not that she had a choice. Right now, he was keeping her safe.

  “Let’s go,” he said again, heading out the door.

  She stared at the open doorway before following, tugging the oversize coat tight around her waist. The sun was blinding, bouncing off the white snow and hurting her eyes. She held her arm up, shielding her eyes and taking in their surroundings. Mal, however, was already a spot—rapidly disappearing into the distant trees.

  She jogged to keep up, able to do so without growing winded. A new development. So was the fact that she could see the buds on the tree branches and hear the flutter of the birds in the boughs high overhead. And smells… There were all sorts of smells in the woods, some far less pleasant than others.

  After twenty minutes of silent walking, she asked, “Where are we going?”

  Mal glanced at her.

  “I know you’re not used to talking, I get that. But it would make things a little easier on me to know I’m not in this alone. I’m scared. Freaking out. Right now, even though you’ve tried to tell me otherwise, I’m pretty sure I’ve been drugged, or I’m having an out-of-body experience, or I’m in a coma in a hospital somewhere and this is all in my subconscious. Whatever the reason, you’re here—proof that it wasn’t all in my head. I guess the scars are, too.” She drew in a deep breath and tried again. “I know once we’re safe you’re going to dump me off at the nearest bus station, and I’ll have to figure things out from there, but until then—”

  He stopped, his irritation obvious. “I’m not dumping you anywhere.” He looked—hurt?

  He wasn’t going to ditch her? Why not? It was obvious he didn’t like her. Not that she wasn’t thankful for all he’d done. “I didn’t mean—”

  “We have a lot of ground to cover today.” He started walking again.

  She followed, trying to calm the torrent of images, conversations, emotions, and flashes swirling in her brain. Snippets of conversation she’d never had. Smiling faces of men, people she’d never seen. Sex. She stopped walking. She’d never had sex, but she felt the rough scrape of nails on her sides. She blew out a deep breath, looking around her. All she saw was Mal’s retreating back. She walked on, her mind jumping ahead to taking a shot. The burn of whiskey down her throat.

  Throat. Panic skittered across her skin, every nerve drawn tight. Having her throat cut. No, torn out by a wolf. Quick bring-her-to-her-knees pain blinded her. A big white wolf. She grabbed her throat, the image so real and intense, and leaned against a tree for support.

  “Olivia?” Mal was there, his hands gripping her shoulders.

  That voice was back in her head. It said Mal’s name. She pressed her hands over her ears.

  “What is it?” he asked. “What hurts?”

  “Nothing hurts. I… There’s a voice, talking in my head…” She glanced at him.

  His eyes narrowed. “Saying?”

  She frowned. “I…I can’t tell. It’s muffled or far away—” She broke off then blew out a deep breath.

  He let go of her, stepping back.

  “Wait. I tell you I hear a voice and you ask me what it’s saying. No worry over the fact that I’m hearing a voice.” She stepped forward, her patience snapping. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

  “It’s your wolf,” he said. He wouldn’t look at her.

  She wished she were still leaning against the tree. “My wolf?” she whispered.

  He nodded.

  “What does that mean?” she asked. “My wolf? I don’t have a wolf. You—” She shook her head. “And the rest of it?”

  “The rest of it?”

  “The man with the red hair? And the white wolf? Why am I seeing things that didn’t happen to me?”

  “It’s me,” he said. “From the bite. That’s how I know what Chase looks like. You had a cat named Fudge, hate brussels sprouts, and loved your mother more than anyone else. And when I kissed you, you didn’t want me to stop.” A low growl edged into his last words, making her toes curl and her heart thump. “Keep moving.”

  His words set her in motion, without thought. He was in her head? Because he bit her. She frowned. It was all too much. If they’d stop walking long enough for him to clue her in on everything, then she wouldn’t keep slowing them down.

  Mal had his throat torn out? There was more, waiting at the edges of her subconscious. Might be best not to let it all in at once, not yet. It might be better to come to terms with the fact that she’d been bitten by a…a werewolf before she started digging into Mal’s psyche.

  Worrying about what was happening to her was no good. Did she have every reason in the world to freak out? Yes. Yes, she did. But it wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t make this easier. Panic hovered, ready to take over, if she let it. She sucked in a deep breath, clearing her mind of all the images and sensations she couldn’t wrap her mind around—not yet. All she needed t
o know right now was Mal had saved her. And now, he was taking care of her. She heard the voice in her head then—her wolf—and paused. He would always take care of her because, according to her wolf, he was important.

  Chapter Six

  Mal glanced back over his shoulder again. Olivia was still following him. Quiet. Too quiet. She was frowning, a deep crease between her brows, and it worried him. He vaguely remembered how it had felt, being newly turned. It was confusing—disorienting.

  He’d wanted to save her, not change her. He wasn’t Alpha material—that was all on Finn. No one should lean on him, follow his orders, or look to him for leadership. But now she did, even if she didn’t know it yet. And there was no way to undo it. He hoped she’d shift her loyalty to Finn when they reconnected. But his wolf wasn’t too fond of that idea.

  The wolf was perfectly clear what it was after: Olivia. For the first time, Mal couldn’t give his wolf what he wanted, and he knew it was going to make life difficult. Nothing like having someone in your head, pushing, second-guessing, doubting, and making him do things he wouldn’t do on his own.

  Like turning Olivia.

  No, dammit, he wouldn’t have stood by and let her die. Blaming his wolf was pointless.

  All that mattered now was getting somewhere safe soon. Otherwise, they were both as good as dead. He’d like to think they’d left the Others behind, but he knew better. He had to head south, or they’d end up in the ocean. And while there was a hell of a lot of land to cover, there were plenty of Others. If the Others wanted to find him, it wouldn’t be hard to do.

  Would they be looking for Olivia, too? That was a separate question. He’d like to think she was a victim of circumstance versus a specific target, but he couldn’t be sure. He wouldn’t search Olivia’s memories, even if it might explain her abduction. Violating her privacy and trust didn’t sit well with him or his wolf.

  Neither did her unusual silence.

  “Your brother,” he said, waiting for her to catch up to him. “Why would he deal with werewolves?”

  She frowned at him. “He didn’t.”