Touch the Sky

by Kari Cole

  He shoved the coffee table toward the fireplace to make room and took a knee at Cassandra’s side. “What happened?”

  Propped up on one elbow, she blinked at him and groaned. “We really need to stop meeting like this.”

  “What?”

  “You. Me. Me on the ground—ugh, never mind.” She held her hand out. “Help me up, please.”

  “Don’t move.” Gently, he pressed her arm back down, not willing to chance more damage if she’d hurt her neck or back. He sniffed and caught the scents of fear—Jessie’s—and pain—Cassandra’s. A quick look revealed the only injury seemed to be a trickle of blood dripping from her nose. Maybe a complication from the gunshot wound?

  When he attempted to raise her shirt to see, she pushed him away. “My stitches are fine.”

  “What happened? Did you hit your head? Your nose is bleeding.”

  “Ick,” she said, and pressed the back of her hand under it.

  “Here.” Jessie shoved a wad of tissues into her hand and grimaced before dropping them onto the floor. “Really? Those, too? Sorry.”

  What the hell did that mean? “I’m calling the healer,” he said.

  Eyes blue as the sky squinted at him. “Not necessary,” Cassandra said through gritted teeth.

  No? Her face and scent told another story. Both hands were bare of the leather gloves she insisted on wearing. They were pale, with long, slim fingers, and seemed uninjured, at least from what he could determine visually. Still, she could have broken a bone or torn something.

  Slowly, carefully, he cupped her hand in his. He was a big male with rough skin and huge, clumsy mitts compared to hers, but he did his best to not add to her pain. “Where does it hurt?”

  She didn’t answer, so he lightly ran the pads of his fingers over each of hers, feeling for swelling, breaks, or sore spots. The sour scent of pain faded beneath rich honeysuckle, and his gaze flew to her face. Desire?

  The blush riding her cheeks deepened. “You have great hands,” she said with a shrug of one delicate shoulder.

  Before he could marshal his wits, she clasped his hand. “A little help now, if you please.”

  Even as he shook his head, he curled his other arm around her back to lift her up off the floor. He eased her onto the couch and squatted in front of her, reaching for the tissues. “Let me.”

  “This is so embarrassing,” she muttered, but she let him dab at the blood on her upper lip.

  “I think it’s stopped.”

  “Thank you.”

  The wolf thrust his great furry head onto her lap and whined. The fine muscles around her eyes and mouth were still pinched in pain, but as she buried her fingers in his ruff, her shoulders relaxed a fraction. “I’m all right, Frost.”

  When she’d regained consciousness in the clinic, she’d done the same thing, grabbed onto her companion and taken comfort. The flash of annoyance—yes, because it certainly couldn’t be jealousy—irritated the hell out of Vaughn.

  “Headache?” Jessie asked.

  “It’s nothing new,” Cassandra said.

  “Are you ill?” he asked. She didn’t smell sick. No, in fact, underneath the lingering acrid scent of her pain, she smelled like the queen’s cup lilies that grew in the high forest. He sniffed again, and she blushed.

  “No. I—well, maybe. It’s nothing for you to worry about.” Vaughn snorted at that, and she added, “I didn’t hit my head and I don’t have a concussion. Okay?”

  “No. Not okay. What happened? Did you faint?”

  Cassandra drew in a long breath and closed her eyes. The wolf rolled his head, the better to glare at him.

  Jessie huffed a laugh. “Be right back. I have some cinnamon tea that should help with the headache. Come on, Frost. You must be thirsty, too. Watch out for the glass. I don’t want to be picking shards out of your paws all night.”

  Now it was the wolf’s turn to huff. But after another warning look sent Vaughn’s way, the animal padded after her.

  Feeling stupid for sitting at her feet like Frost, Vaughn rose and began picking up the chunks of broken glass. On the table sat a shallow bowl filled with three wooden balls, one of those unfathomable things females insisted on having lying about. He set the balls on a chair and pitched the glass into the bowl.

  “Werewolves don’t get headaches,” he said.

  “We don’t?” Cassandra’s voice sounded amused.

  “No. Not unless they’re from the stress of dealing with cagey little females.”

  “Hmph!”

  He tossed another chunk of glass into the bowl. “And we don’t faint either.”

  “I didn’t faint,” she sniffed. “I just got a little wobbly.” He gave her a look. “I. Did. Not. Faint.”

  “Have it your way. Passed out.” The annoyed noise she made in the back of her throat made him have to fight a grin.

  “Why are you here anyway?”

  He reached under an end table for a fragment. “I’m your escort.”

  “My what?”

  Babysitter, really, but he’d already had his fun flustering her. “To the pack run. The Alpha asked me to personally make sure you found your way.”

  Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

  “You didn’t forget, did you?”

  “No, no. I just—I don’t think—” Pretty pink lips clamped together and she took in another one of those long breaths. Finally, she said, “Your Alpha is so charming, but I’m Jessie’s guest. I just got here and we haven’t had hardly any time to visit. I’m sure—”

  “Oh, no,” Jessie said as she strolled back into the living room. She handed Cassandra a steaming cup of fragrant tea. “Don’t you worry about me. The Thunder Moon is coming in a few days. I know how you lycanthropes love to mark the occasion.” She kept right on talking over Cassandra’s sputtering. “Besides, I have a date.”

  Cassandra’s mouth snapped shut again and she blinked a few times. “A date?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “But what about—”

  “In fact, we’re meeting soon, so why don’t you hurry up and change and go on? Don’t fuss on my account. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up, Cassandra. Besides, Luke wants to thank you for what you did for the pack. It’s a big honor.” Jessie looked at Vaughn. “Isn’t it? Being invited by the Alpha of a territory to join the pack-only run?”

  He was a little stunned, and a whole lot impressed, by Jessie’s maneuvering. When Cassandra turned wide eyes his way, he nodded solemnly. “Yes. The Alpha insisted.”

  If he wasn’t a lycanthrope, he might have missed her whispered “Hell,” but he was, and he enjoyed her consternation immensely. It was nice not to be the only one thrown out of sorts.

  Besides, the ride to the meeting area would give him half an hour of uninterrupted time to get to the bottom of the mysterious Ms. Shipton.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Damn it, damn it, damn it. How the hell do I keep ending up in these situations?

  Hannah’s palms broke out into a sweat. She was supposed to avoid weres and law enforcement. Yet here she was riding with the county sheriff to a party—a werewolf pack party, for goddess’s sake—and she’d had to leave Frost at Jessie’s.

  This was the first time they’d been really separated since they’d met, and she hated leaving him. What if they needed to get out of town in a hurry? It wouldn’t be the first time they’d had to flee on a moment’s notice.

  It was bad enough that she kept falling into the sheriff’s orbit—something she shouldn’t do under any circumstances. But attract his attention by constantly landing smack dab in the center of something weird and shady? Monumentally, epically stupid.

  Who was she anymore? She’d always strived to be interesting, fun to be around. But now... She glared at the leather gloves covering her clammy hands. Now she was weir
d, shady, stupid, totally unattractive, and dangerous. No one would be using her picture for a meme proclaiming Life Goals, that was for sure.

  As if any of that stuff was important now. She should be with Jessie figuring out how to regain control of her ability, bloody noses be damned. She was a werewolf. A little blood wouldn’t kill her. But not getting a handle on things probably would. And a lot of other people with her.

  That’s what she should be focused on. Nothing else. Still, she couldn’t stop glancing over at Sheriff Ellis and thinking it’d be nice to attract his attention for the normal, healthy, fun reasons.

  Yes, sir, stupid and hopeless, that’s what she was. But damn, he smelled amazing. Like sunshine and cedar and it was driving her crazy.

  To top it off, he looked like he’d just stepped out of an action movie poster, with his lean muscles, strong jaw, and sculpted lips. Even the scar on his cheek didn’t detract from his holy-hotness. She was lucky she hadn’t drooled when she saw him naked this morning. Definitely a party foul among shifters, but for crying out loud, the male even had those V-shaped muscles between his abs and hips. Goddess only knew what they were called, but they made smart females stupid. And the tats—ah, those lovely, sexy tattoos gracing his arms. Would it be so bad if she traced the wolf’s head on his right biceps with her tongue?

  Yes! No! Bad Hannah. No tracing. Definitely no tongue. Sheriff, remember. Big, nosy, werewolf sheriff.

  But he was flirting with me, she whined to herself. He’d almost smiled. His lips had twitched. Her wolf thought that was a great argument for spending more time with Vaughn Ellis and his big brown beast. Of course her animal half would think that. That female always was a sucker for an uber-dominant male with a protective streak.

  That last thought prompted a snort from her wolf. Okay, Hannah had to admit she had a soft spot for that kind of male, too. Charming a hard-to-amuse male thrilled her.

  “You from Florida originally?” he asked her.

  Damn it. She didn’t want to lie about who she was and where she came from. And she’d been having such a nice little fantasy about enjoying the Thunder Moon week with this prime male.

  “No.” Even though she resolutely stared out the passenger-side window, she knew he was looking at her. “I’ve been all over.”

  “Even when you were a kid?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” They had traveled quite a bit growing up. For vacations.

  “Unusual for a werewolf. We tend to like to settle down in one den.”

  Very true. She so missed home.

  “I didn’t have the usual upbringing.” Other werewolves didn’t have great-grandmothers who could turn bath bubbles into sparkling light shows, or mothers who grew prize roses with a twitch of her nose.

  “Hmm.” He flicked the turn signal and hung a right onto a roughly paved road, the last trappings of town fading behind them. “Cassandra, we’re going to see the pack. We need to get a few things clear.”

  That sounded ominous. “Okay.”

  “They’ve been through a lot in the last two years. Lost the Alpha and Beta to traitors”—he paused for her gasp—“and several more people before they were done.”

  “Dear God.”

  “We don’t want trouble. Got no appetite for it anymore.”

  “And you think I brought the trouble of the last two days,” she said. That hurt, but she couldn’t deny it. No matter what Raze said, she might be the reason.

  Ellis stopped at an intersection and looked her in the eyes. “Did you know those males?”

  “No. I never saw either of them before. I don’t know them.” Of course, she didn’t know most of the people she was hiding from.

  His eyes remained on her for a few more seconds. Finally, he made a left-hand turn after a Jeep passed. “Why are you here in Black Robe?”

  “I told you before. I’m here to see Jessie. That’s it, Sheriff. I swear.” Before he could ask another question, she threw out one of her own. “What rank are you in the pack?”

  It took him a moment to answer. “Third, I guess.”

  Third male. The pack enforcer. In her pack, that position was held by a male named Bryce Angelo. Together, he and her father handled problems for the Alpha. Her father used his sharp legal mind to bury people with threatening letters and lawsuits. Bryce used his sharp claws and just buried them.

  She fought back a shiver. “You guess?”

  Vaughn shrugged those massive shoulders. “It’s not something I worry about. I answer to the Alpha, Beta, and Luna. I don’t care about the rest of it.”

  “That’s an unusual philosophy. What if someone wants to challenge you?”

  He shrugged again. “They’re welcome to try.”

  That statement should not be so appealing, but her wolf was nudging her to nibble on the sheriff’s ear. That sounded like a lot of fun, and a really bad idea.

  “How’s your wound?” he asked. “Will you have trouble running tonight?”

  Except for when she’d hit the ground in Jessie’s living room, she’d barely noticed it at all this afternoon. Surprising, considering it was from silver. Damage from silver and another lycanthrope’s claws or teeth generally healed human-slow. Not for Hannah, though. This was her first—and hopefully last—silver injury, but she’d always healed from dominance fights much quicker than her friends. Her father thought it might be due to being half witch.

  “It should be fine as long as I don’t get smacked around.” She turned in her seat to face him more fully. “That’s not going to happen, is it? Getting smacked around? This is a pack run. I have no interest in challenging any female for her place.” She wouldn’t be here long enough for it to matter.

  “No. The Alpha invited you. The Luna, Rissa, is close to the healer and her pups. I doubt she’ll allow anyone to look crosswise at you. Anyone who disrespects the Luna is asking for an ass-kicking.”

  “Good to know.”

  He made another turn and the road narrowed as it cut through dense forest on either side. In front of them, the Cabinet Mountains peaked above the trees.

  “Cassandra,” he said, and something about his tone told her they were back to interrogation mode. “Before we get to the run, is there anything I should know?”

  Crap. Should? No. He may be the sheriff, but there was nothing he could do to help her. If he tried, he’d only end up hurt or worse.

  She hugged herself, tucking her hands under her arms, though they weren’t cold. “No, Sheriff. I promise, I’m not here to cause any trouble. I’d never willingly hurt anyone.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means, sometimes we hurt people even when we don’t mean to, or even know we’re doing it.”

  * * *

  Vaughn sucked in a breath, her words triggering a flood of memories and regrets he didn’t have time to dwell on right now. That he couldn’t dwell on if he wanted to keep doing his job. He stretched his neck while he considered her scent. Unlike words, it couldn’t lie. Some shifters learned to not let their emotions get the better of them and be displayed in their scents, but it was rare and very hard to do, something you had to train for.

  Or...get a witch to do for you.

  He shot another glance her way and breathed in deep. Her strange scent, delicate like honeysuckle, was laced with the same lemon-and-vanilla fragrance that clung to Jessie. Her soap, probably. There was something...he shook his head. She definitely wasn’t cloaking her scent with magic. It waxed and waned as her emotions flared. Since they’d gotten in his truck, she’d tormented him with her lust, fear, anger, and sadness. The desire to pull her across the truck cab and hike her onto his lap to hold her and pet away her worries and pain was maddening.

  It was insanity. Completely inappropriate. She was a victim, maybe even a suspect. Of what, he didn’t know yet. Or maybe you’re a paranoid jerk and she’s just a traumatized f
emale who needs your compassion and protection?

  “I apologize if I seem harsh,” he said. “I can’t take chances with the pack’s safety.”

  “I understand. Family is everything.” Again, sadness—no, grief—flowed from her, covering her sweet smell with salt. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to hurt your pack. I never intended to even be around it. I’m sorry that I’ve complicated things for you. You must be so busy with the Thunder Moon and all the tourists.”

  He slowed as they approached the turnoff for the private track into the pack lands. “Yes,” he said. “You can trust me—us. This is a good territory, with good people.”

  She nodded. “Thank you. I’m fine.”

  No she wasn’t, but he couldn’t force her secrets out of her. How could he when he had a boatload of his own?

  There was a light touch on his arm. “This bracelet is beautiful,” she said, tracing a leather-clad finger over the phases of the moon cast in metal. “The design work is amazing. Is it an heirloom?”

  “It was my grandfather’s. He was the pack healer before Sarah,” he said. “A local Salish artist gave it to him as thanks for patching her son up. They were camping when the kid fell and broke both bones in his forearm. My grandfather heard the commotion and came running. They were so thankful, they never even asked why he was out in the wilderness with just a pair of sweatpants on.”

  Cassandra hooted. “Thank goodness for woodland clothes stashes.”

  “No doubt. They might not have been as pleased to find a naked guy emerge from the forest offering to look at their kid.”

  Her laughter filled the truck cab and he grinned.

  “Are you Salish, too?” she asked.

  “No, Kootenai. Though both tribes are consolidated now with the Upper Pend d’Orielle. Several of my ancestors found human mates among the indigenous people in these mountains.”

  She looked out the window. “It is a lovely place for a werewolf to settle down. I can see what appealed to your people.”