Doctor Wolf (The Collegium Book 4)

by Jenny Schwartz

  “No. Thank you.” They reached his guest room and he closed the door behind them, shutting out the world; shutting her in with him. “I don’t know how pain pills will react with the gentian extract.”

  She frowned. “The methodology of your impromptu experiment sucks.”

  He grinned, tiredly. “I know. Help me get my shirt off?”

  Just the touch of Liz’s hands on his skin helped. The pain still chewed on his ribs, but he felt soothed.

  She helped him strip off his borrowed trousers as well, then flipped back the bed covers.

  He hesitated. “Liz.”

  “Are you rethinking the pain pills?” she asked hopefully.

  “Actually, I’m thinking of a different pain relief. When you touch me…I feel better.”

  Their gazes locked. His confession meant so much more than what the words said. Mates could help ease and heal each other. He and Liz didn’t have a mate-bond. Yet. It meant something that she wanted to share his bed rather than sleep alone, and that he craved her touch.

  She trailed her fingers ever-so-lightly over his bruised side where the cracked ribs ached viciously.

  He put his right hand around the nape of her neck, holding her lightly, needing the connection.

  “This helps?” she asked huskily.

  “Yes.”

  Her caresses traced muscles and loosed some of their frustration and pain-fueled tightness. He breathed in her scent and listened to her breathing. He swayed towards her, into her touch.

  “You should lie down,” she said. “Try to ease into sleep.”

  “With you.”

  She kicked off her shoes. “I’ll lie down first, then I won’t jostle your ribs getting in.”

  Lying down was torture. He settled on his back and Liz was there, running her hand over his chest, soothing and petting. He put an arm around her.

  “You’ll hurt yourself,” she warned.

  “Hold you close,” he murmured.

  She cuddled into him, stroking and healing him.

  He had to do the same for her. The pain Brandon had inflicted on Liz was emotional more than physical, a betrayal that wounded her omega soul. That was why her family raged. More than a straight-out attempted murder, the pain of a pack member’s evil could scar her.

  “Your instincts never trusted Brandon,” he reminded her gently. “A part of you sensed the evil in him, hidden though it was.”

  “Carson, I don’t want to talk about it. You should sleep.”

  “I don’t want you to have nightmares.”

  She kissed his chest. “That’s why you’re here. To keep them away.”

  His arm tightened reflexively around her, hard enough to hurt his ribs. He didn’t care about the physical pain. “Honey—”

  “You don’t need to say anything, or worry about me, or do anything. Just being here is enough.”

  “Stretch up,” he said.

  “Pardon?”

  “I want a kiss on the lips.”

  He felt her smile against his mouth, the soft fervor, and welcomed it. “No nightmares,” he whispered the command.

  “I promise.” She nestled back against him, her fingers caressing his chest gently. “With you, I’m safe.”

  Chapter 10

  Carson woke and found he could breathe without pain. Liz lay curled against him, her hand over his heart. He moved carefully, experimentally, and stared at the ceiling in wonder and jubilation. In triumph. His ribs were healed. Even with accelerated were healing, it should have taken nearly a week for the fractures to seal.

  Whole and happy, Carson concentrated on the woman in his bed: Liz, whom he’d tried to resist and totally fallen for. Last night, her touch had helped heal him.

  Have I found my mate? He ran a hand through her hair.

  She murmured in her sleep and shifted closer. One leg tangled with his. She’d gone to sleep fully clothed.

  He’d like to remedy that, but now was not the time. Nor was it the place, under her grandfather’s roof.

  Outside, dawn lit the sky with the pearlescent gray of a misty London morning. Steve would have woken them if Brandon had been found. Which meant that somewhere out there, the bastard was still free.

  Not for long. Carson bared his teeth. He couldn’t remember ever feeling as savage as he had in the aftermath of the attack on Liz. Even now, the hunting, predatory drive in him surged.

  Liz stirred. Her hand drifted across his chest and a fingertip flicked one of his flat nipples.

  “You awake, honey?” he asked

  “No,” she muttered into his throat.

  He laughed, a rumble in his chest rather than vocalized. Hell, it felt good to be able to laugh and not have cracked ribs stab him. He ran a hand down her spine to rest on her hip.

  She kissed his throat, adding a tiny lick.

  He lifted her over him.

  “Your ribs.” Even as she adjusted, straddling his waist, she was careful of his chest.

  “Healed.”

  “No!”

  “Feel.” He guided her hands up along his rib cage. He knew she couldn’t really feel the healing, but he wanted her touch even if he no longer needed soothing.

  “Truly healed?” She searched his expression. “No pain?”

  “Healthy and whole.” He sucked in a deep breath, released it. “The gentian extract works, at least for weres.”

  Her eyes widened. “Wow.”

  He nodded, still guiding her hands up and down his chest, trailing them lower each time. “It’s promising for the rejuvenation aspect John hopes for with ageing mundanes.”

  “His friends,” Liz said.

  “Yes,” Carson agreed. John took his responsibilities seriously: to friends, family and pack. So did Carson. “Now that I’m healed, I need to join the hunt for Brandon.”

  She scrambled off him and off the bed. “I need to shower and change. My grazes feel like they’ve healed. Then I’ll join you.”

  “You don’t need to hunt.” He sat up.

  “I’m a wolf, too, Carson. I need to be part of protecting myself. Yesterday, I think I was in shock. Today, I know I need to…” She pushed a hand through her hair and made a vexed sound when the strands snagged for an instant on her bandage. “It wasn’t just me Brandon hurt. There’s Daria, Albert in hospital, and if Brandon is involved in human trafficking he has to be stopped.”

  “Plenty of people agree with you.” He caught her right hand and gently undid the bandage. She was right, the grazes had healed. “Leave it to people trained in the hunt, people like the marshals who serve the Suzerainty.”

  “I need to be part of it,” she said stubbornly.

  He set aside one bandage and unwound the other on her left hand. “You can help Phil in the library.” He thought it was a good compromise.

  Liz didn’t. “Are you going out to hunt?” She didn’t wait for his answer. “I’m going with you.” She snatched up the bandages and left.

  Liz showered, enjoying the freedom of healed palms and knees that meant she could luxuriate in the hot water. But she was conscious of time passing and had to keep the shower brief. If she wanted to go with Carson on the hunt, then she couldn’t let him sneak out. He wanted her to stay safely at home.

  She dressed swiftly in a practical white t-shirt, gray sweater, jeans and boots, and caught up with Carson at the stairs.

  Someone must have gone to his house for clothes since what he wore fitted perfectly and his jeans had a well-worn look.

  “I forgot to mention earlier.” He bent his head to murmur against her ear. “Don’t tell anyone about the gentian extract.”

  “They’ll notice you’re healed.”

  “Let them think I’m on strong painkillers. No, no need to lie. They’ll make the assumption. Now, I’m starved and I smell bacon.” He put a hand to her lower back and nudged her into the dining room.

  The room had a scattering of people. Some looked as if they’d been up all night. Others looked rested, alert and eager to ge
t going.

  Liz filled her plate with pancakes, maple syrup and cream, and sat beside her mom who had an empty plate in front of her, and a mug of coffee cradled in her hands. “Good morning. Did you sleep at all, Mom?”

  “Good morning. A few hours.”

  Three at the most, Liz guessed.

  Her dad walked in, brisk and triumphant. There were dark circles under David’s eyes but grim satisfaction in the lines of his face.

  Everyone stopped eating. At the buffet, Carson put down the plate he’d been loading with bacon and eggs.

  “Steve has Brandon,” David said.

  No one responded verbally. There was little to celebrate in hunting down one of their own. But there was a stir of energy that the hunt had concluded.

  “The marshals are taking Brandon directly to the court.”

  There was a buzz of exclamation at that since David meant the court of justice at the heart of the Suzerain’s fort in Alexandria. As Liz had guessed he would, Steve had apparently decided that the case against Brandon was serious enough for him to hear it as Suzerain and deliver judgement. Grandfather could have judged the attack of one pack member against another. However, Brandon was involved in human trafficking, and Steve had a special hatred for slavery of any kind.

  David raised his voice, speaking over the murmurs. “Those who wish to attend the trial need to leave for the portal, now.”

  Liz spared a regretful glance for her pancakes.

  Chairs scraped as people stood.

  Snatches of conversation indicated that while some of those present intended to travel to the court, most were content to know justice would be delivered. They had jobs to go to, families to care for, lives to live. As far as they were concerned, the situation was closed. Their wolf-natures helped them to live in the moment.

  “Thank you, everyone,” Liz said. “For caring and being here.”

  By the time she emerged from the crush of hugs, Carson had a bacon butty waiting for her and coffee in a travel mug.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  Most porters kept the entrance to their portal quiet. Since portals were sited at cellar level, the buildings that hid them could be anything, and around the world, ranged from private homes to the Suzerain’s fort. Where the portal existed in an area likely to have many and curious mundanes, porters employed various magics to distract, obscure and flat out hide the comings and goings of magical people using their portal. No one wanted mundane authorities asking questions.

  However, the London porter was a little different to most, and his quirkiness seemed linked to the traditions of his portal.

  For a start, rather than hiding discreetly in a private building, the portal in Drury Lane occupied the cellar of an extraordinarily popular pub. Actors and minor celebrities, tourists and busy Londoners crowded in for traditional food served hot and fast in a genuine English pub. It had oak beams, stained by centuries of London smog, wooden settees and bentwood chairs, small tables, long counters and brass. Lots of brass and a few foggy mirrors.

  As a were, the magics that obscured the operation of the portal and its many visitors didn’t affect Liz. Nonetheless, it was always eerie to walk along the wall of the main bar unnoticed by its many patrons. Not a head turned, not even now with two dozen people stalking grimly through to a door marked simply, Cellar. Magic hid them.

  Down the stairs they went, and there was the porter, Trevor.

  He looked like a stereotypical publican, so much so that it had to be a conscious decision. Camouflage.

  But when he saw Liz, he stopped smiling.

  The jolly, chubby-faced, gently balding persona fell away, and the power of the portal he owned surged around him. He pulled Liz in for a bear hug. “That Brandon. What a rotten bastard. I never would have guessed it. You okay, luv?”

  “Yes, Trevor. If you’ll let me breathe.”

  He laughed, gruff and a bit embarrassed. “I was there at your christening, love. I’m entitled to worry.” He looked at David, Liz’s dad. “I hadn’t heard any rumors about Brandon till you started asking. I’ve put the word out that I want answers, too. You’ve got the were community, but I have everyone who wants to travel to London via portal. I’ll pass on what I learn.”

  “Thank you.”

  “All right.” Trevor clapped his hands together. “You know the drill. Hold hands, ladies and gents, and I’ll pass you along.” He shouted into the portal. “You there, Faroud?”

  The Alexandrian porter acknowledged that he was.

  Holding tight to Carson’s hand, Liz accepted Trevor’s. The human chain of hand-clasped weres stepped into the in-between. Trevor released her hand and Faroud clasped it. She stepped out into the familiar, vast, vaulted chamber beneath the Suzerain’s fort.

  Lilith, head of security at the fort, waited for them. She pulled Liz into yet another hug, before releasing her to hug Michelle. Liz’s mom and Lilith were old friends.

  “We have Brandon Moffatt waiting in the court,” Lilith said. “Steve and Fay and the two marshals with them are just finishing a meal. They’ll meet us there.”

  There was a tired but alert grimness to their group. Without talking, they walked up the wide stone staircase. Carson walked a step behind Liz. In other circumstances, she’d have asked him if it was his first visit to the ancient fort. But today, idle conversation died unuttered. As familiar as the fort was to her, she felt the weight of it. They were walking to judgement.

  Steve and Fay waited for them in the corridor outside the court. Steve looked severe. Fay sipped coffee and had the unobtrusive yet unmistakable vibe of someone keeping watch. Standing guard.

  Michelle took one look at them and started fussing. “Did you get any sleep?” She touched Fay’s shoulder, rubbed Steve’s back.

  “We’ll catch some when this is done.” Steve’s gaze ran over the group. “We have a hundred or so watchers already in the court. We’re not bothering with chairs. This won’t take long.”

  And that was ominous.

  His focus shifted to Liz. He gave her a small smile, a brother’s reassurance, before his gaze moved to Carson.

  A message seemed to run between the two men. Carson closed the small distance between her and him; his chest against her back in a promise of support and protection.

  Steve nodded, and walked into the court.

  Fay avoided everyone’s eyes, put her empty coffee mug down on a narrow hall-table, and followed him. As the Suzerain’s mate, she had no power to judge, not even if she’d been were rather than a mage. But she could be there for Steve, and evidently, she intended to be.

  This would be only the second time he delivered judgement as the Suzerain, and it was on a case emotionally close to him.

  People were watching. They were curious.

  What defense of his actions could Brandon offer?

  Liz took a deep breath and followed her grandfather and parents into the court.

  Chapter 11

  The court at the heart of the Suzerain’s fort was an ancient room. Liz had visited her granddad here hundreds of times before the heavy, inherited responsibility of the Suzerainty passed from him to Steve. Granddad and Grand-mère had retired to Brittany, to a chateau near the village where Grand-mère had been born. Now, it was Steve who strode to the center of the court.

  People arranged themselves in a semi-circle in front of him, feet scuffing against the stone floors, coughs and rustles signaling their re-settling.

  Liz waited to one side with Carson, their backs to the immense boardroom table that had been pushed against a wall to accommodate everyone.

  Fay stood in the front corner near the table. She mightn’t be a were, but she had a predator’s wary instincts. From that position, she could watch the whole room.

  Liz watched the doorway to the holding cell that was tucked behind the room’s front wall. It was at the far side from where they waited near Fay. Nonetheless, Liz had a clear view across the empty flagstones that separated Steve from the gathe
red crowd. She saw Brandon enter.

  He walked into a silent room. He wore hiking gear, and, stripped of his customary business suits, he looked broader, stronger, and tougher. Nor did he appear ashamed. His head was up, his eyes fierce, and his mouth set in a thin, brutal line. He was angry.

  Beside Liz, Carson shifted his weight forward onto the balls of his feet. It was a stance of attack.

  A low growl came from the audience. Others resented Brandon’s attitude, too.

  But others had their eyes on Steve, and they seemed wary. Remote. Reserving judgement.

  Liz glanced at her family and saw their anger, controlled though it was. And their anger wasn’t all for Brandon.

  Understanding rocked her.

  Brandon wasn’t the only one on trial, here. Steve’s future Suzerainty was as well.

  Unfair! Rage blasted through her, washing away all her other confused, regretful and unhappy emotions regarding Brandon’s behavior in a torrent of cleansing fury.

  Steve hadn’t asked for the Suzerainty. It had been forced on him; not simply an inheritance, but the gift and burden of a meddling djinn.

  Liz cast a look up to the ceiling, but there was no sign of Uncle, as her family called the djinn who had taken the were community as his own millennia ago.

  Uncle seldom appeared, and when he did, it was generally to the current Suzerain. Steve and Fay had been thrust into danger only weeks ago when the djinn had them…

  Liz froze. Even her breathing stopped for an instant.

  Steve and Fay had nearly died chasing, then fighting, a crazed jackal-were who’d partnered with an untrained, scarily unstable mage to enslave the dream essences of two dozen weres. Steve and Fay had saved those weres, but the horror of what they’d seen—the gut-wrenching, sick horror of slavery—had left indelible scars.

  When Steve judged Brandon, any involvement of the accused wolf-were in human trafficking would damn him.

  As it should.

  How much did Uncle know of the treachery and abuse that ran as a dirty undercurrent through every society, even among the weres? Had her granddad been retired early from the Suzerainty because Uncle knew they needed Steve’s strength—and Fay’s—to clean house?