by Rebecca York
And suddenly something like the fight or flight imperative kicked in. He had been a fool to come here. Now he should run from her before it was too late. No, it was already too late. The ability to flee was only an illusion. He shook off that dark notion and moved closer, until only about thirty yards of space separated them.
She watched his progress, and when he halted near the fence, disappointment flooded her face.
“Help me,” she whispered. The plea might have been too low for a human to hear, but not for a wolf.
He nodded, every instinct urging him to dig his way under the barrier. But then what?
He was a covert operative, carefully trained by Frank Decorah and his agents. On a rational level, he knew what he should do if he wanted to help this woman. He should return to his camp, make some preparations, and come back tomorrow when he had a better idea of what he was doing. Teeth gritted, he turned and faded back into the woods, heading for his camp, making plans as he moved silently through the forest.
Chapter Eight
Brand made it a few hundred yards into the woods, every cell in his body screaming for him to turn around.
And finally the thought of leaving the woman caged and in danger made him almost physically ill. He turned and started back— an image blazing in his brain.
It was of himself, rushing the fence and slamming against it. He ached to find the men who had been talking about her and rip out their throats for what they had done to her—and their casual discussion of her situation.
And if he did any of that, he’d be shot as a rabid beast.
He came silently back, and he saw the woman still on the balcony behind the wire mesh. Now she was standing with her head bowed, her shoulders slumped in defeat.
The sight of her helplessness was like a knife twisting in his gut.
He made a small yipping sound.
Immediately, she raised her head, making eye contact again, their gazes locking.
“I thought you’d left me, but you came back,” she breathed.
He nodded.
“You understand me?”
Unable to help himself, he nodded again, then sat and raised his paw in a silent salute.
As he did, she flattened her hand against the mesh, pressing her palm into the hard metal.
“My name is Tory,” she murmured. “Please, I’m in trouble. Can you help me?”
The only thing he could do was nod. She had told him her name, and knowing it was a joy.
He wanted to tell her who he was, but there was no way for a wolf to speak. When he was on an assignment in animal form, he could use hand—or rather paw—signals. But she wouldn’t understand them.
He scratched at the ground—the signal for staying—longing to make her understand that he wasn’t leaving. But for now, his only option was to back away, his breath freezing in his lungs as he watched the way the hope in her eyes dimmed. Turning, she went back inside.
But he wasn’t going to simply leave her here. He was sure he could get into the compound. Finding her would be more difficult—although he knew she was on the second floor and on which side of the house.
When a light went on in the room beyond the balcony, it was like a signal to him.
From the outside, he could see her room, which might not help him once he got into the building. He studied the layout as he walked along the fence, coming back to the place where he knew a wolf could slip under.
He sat down in the shadows, waiting with his heart pounding for the guard to return.
Now he silently counted, judging the time passing. He thought it was twenty minutes before the man came back, walking along the inside of the fence. The wolf growled deep in his throat and waited until the enemy was out of sight. Then he slunk to the barrier and enlarged the hole with his claws until there was enough room to wiggle under. Once on the other side, he scratched at the dirt again, making the hole smaller and pawing leaves over the ground to make it look like the rest of the surroundings.
Satisfied that his escape route was secure, he sprinted to the side of the house and moved around it, making sure he hadn’t been spotted as he searched for a way in.
oOo
From inside her room, Tory stared at the spot where the wolf—or perhaps it was a big dog—had faded into the shadows under the trees, she fought the sensation that he was abandoning her.
But what would that mean? He was only an animal out on the prowl. Only an animal? Well, he seemed to be trained. The look in his eyes had been highly intelligent, and he’d nodded at her and raised his paw when she’d spoken to him. It was almost like he understood perfectly what she was saying and wanted to give her his name the way she’d told him hers.
She tried to shake the muzzy feeling from her brain. Had she really gone so far into wishful thinking that she was imagining that a wolf had understood she was in trouble and was coming in here to rescue her?
With a deep sigh, she lifted her hand up and scrubbed it over her face, trying to clear her thoughts. But they were so foggy that she wasn’t sure that what she had seen was real—or if she’d imagined the whole thing. Did she think the wolf was her only real friend when everybody else was playing a role? And he was going to somehow get her out of this mess?
The thought brought a hollow laugh.
She took one more look into the darkness outside the asylum.
“Come back,” she called.
There was no answer, and finally she switched on the overhead light and looked around her prison. Dr. Son of a Bitch had told her she’d been here for weeks, but there was nothing familiar about the room.
Silently she looked for something she recognized, once again examining the single bed along one wall and the shelves with folded clothing neatly lined up. She’d seen them a few minutes ago, but she couldn’t remember them from before. In the bathroom she found a plastic cup, a toothbrush, a small bar of soap that looked like it had been used several times, and a box of tissues on the toilet tank. Of course there was nothing she could use to help her escape.
A memory flickered in her mind, and she touched the side of her face. One of the goons had smacked her at the airport, and she thought the spot still felt a little tender. Or maybe she was making that up to fuel her conviction that she’d just gotten here. Too bad she hadn’t torn a nail trying to fight him off. Then she’d have proof of her conviction that she hadn’t been here for weeks.
She felt grimy, but she didn’t want to get undressed and take a shower, not when she wasn’t quite steady on her feet and when she didn’t know who might come in. She settled for washing her face and brushing her teeth before returning to the bedroom.
Kicking off her shoes, she flopped down on the mattress, not bothering to change her clothes or slip under the covers. It was in defiance of her normal behavior. Would the bastards that ran this place mark that up against her?
Patient refuses to wear nightclothes?
Lying in the dark, she listened for sounds around her. She heard nothing except perhaps the murmur of distant voices drifting up from the lower floor.
So were they all downstairs plotting their next moves against her? Or were they really watching The Sound of Music, and she was only being paranoid?
Trying to think logically made her head hurt, and she closed her eyes, gripping the side of the bed to steady herself. In her mind she was picturing someone coming to check on her.
If they did, she could pretend to be sleeping, then overpower him and get away.
The pipe dream was comforting. But she was pretty sure no one would give her a chance to escape—not after she’d almost gotten away at the airport yesterday.
Yesterday. She knew damn well it had only been the day before, no matter what everyone was insisting. She hung on to that conviction, even when her thoughts began to fuzz over as though mold spores were growing on them.
oOo
The wolf circled the house, staying close to the foundation, looking up for cameras recording his movements. As far as
he could tell, there were none. The lack of video surveillance spoke of supreme confidence. Whoever had equipped this place was sure that nobody was coming to rescue the woman. Probably because nobody even knew where she was.
Brand halted as he heard the low buzz of voices inside, but the window was closed and he couldn’t distinguish what anyone was saying. Even with his wolf senses, he could tell only that several different people were involved. He stopped to evaluate. One man was doing most of the talking. The others were listening and sometimes commenting.
Padding on, he came to an open door and felt a surge of excitement. It was an invitation into the building—or a trap. Yet he couldn’t turn away.
Creeping cautiously closer, he was able to look into a kitchen, where a man wearing jeans, a knit shirt and a white apron was standing beside a sink, loading a dishwasher. No one else was in sight, and when the guy was finished he took off the apron, folded it over the back of a chair, and disappeared through a doorway.
Now or never, Brand thought as he slipped inside, paused to make sure he wasn’t being observed, then sprinted across the kitchen to a darkened hallway, where he stood listening.
He could see a lighted room down the hall. It must have been the room where the people were talking. He could still hear their voices, and then a man stepped into the hall and headed in his direction. In the shadows, Brand froze, readying himself to turn tail and run—an animal that had somehow come in through an open door. Before spotting the wolf, the man stepped into a room along the hallway.
A bathroom Brand figured, as he heard what must be a stream of piss hitting a toilet bowl.
Silently he backed away. If he didn’t want to be discovered, he’d better avoid the rest of the crew down the hall.
After turning in the other direction, he came to a broad flight of stairs leading up. He took them, coming out on a second floor landing, where he could look over the railing. Quickly he made his way along the hall until he came to a turn that cut off the view from downstairs. He hadn’t been sure how he was going to proceed. But he knew a wolf had limitations in this situation. The animal had gotten him in, but he couldn’t, for example, open a door.
He dragged in a breath and let it out. Taking a chance, he began to say the words of transformation in his mind. He pushed through it, muscles, skin and internal organs changing as he changed from wolf to man. Moments later, he was human again—also naked and vulnerable.
Hoping he wasn’t going to run into anyone up here, he started opening doors, looking for clothing. The first rooms he came to were entirely empty. On the fourth try, he found a room with a bed along one wall and shelves holding clothing opposite it. Unfortunately, the clothing was for a woman, but he’d seen more guys here than women.
Two doors down, he found men’s clothing that was about his size. He pulled on a pair of jeans and one of the knit shirts that he’d seen the guards wearing as they stood on the porch smoking.
The shoes were way too small. He left them where he found them, hoping he wasn’t going to have to explain why he was barefoot.
Continuing down the hall, he tried the knob on each room. A few held beds and shelves like the ones where he’d taken the clothing. Some were empty. Ten rooms contained clothing—which gave him an idea of how many people were in the house, at least the ones who slept upstairs. One room had more shelves with bed linens and towels.
He crossed the balcony area, then came back to a room halfway down the hall where the door was secured with a heavy bolt.
One locked door up here. On the side of the house where he’d seen Tory.
It could be where they stored the drugs, but he didn’t think so. This looked like a device designed to keep someone in—not out. He went back in the other direction, still seeing nothing similar on any other door.
He swallowed hard, then shot the bolt as quietly as possible, waiting the see if a guard came running. When no one appeared in the hall, he stepped inside, closing the door behind himself as he looked around. Deliberately ignoring the blond-haired woman lying on the bed, he checked the surroundings. He already knew that the sliding glass doors led to the totally enclosed balcony. Another door led to a bathroom, but the window was also secured by heavy screening bolted to the exterior wall. The window was large enough to climb through if the barrier were removed, but when he looked out, he saw a two-story drop to the ground.
Stepping back into the bedroom, he finally allowed himself to focus on the woman lying in the narrow bed.
Tory.
The first thing he saw was that she hadn’t bothered to get undressed or climb under the cover.
She lay with her eyes closed, unmoving. Did the rhythm of her breathing denote sleep? Or was she faking it?
As he walked closer, his gaze swept her delicate face and the blond hair framing it.
He breathed in her scent, a mixture of soap and woman that should have been ordinary, but he found it intoxicating. His eyes skimmed over her body as he focused on the swell of her breasts, the slight curve of her hips under the sweatpants, the long legs and the graceful, long-fingered hands that lay at her sides.
As he took her in, his brain buzzed with raw emotions that he had never experienced before and couldn’t name. A voice in his head urged him to turn and flee the room—flee whatever it was that drew him to this woman the way he’d been drawn to no other.
But the voice faded as he took a step closer, unable to turn away. He wanted to press his lips to hers, to undress her and draw her naked body against his, and he knew he was teetering on the edge of a journey from which there was no return.
Her features were relaxed, but as he leaned over her, he saw what looked like sleep change to determination.
The realization came too late as she lunged upward, trying to knock him aside.
Chapter Nine
Brand had quick reflexes, but he’d been completely wound up with his reaction to this woman. Her attack was so unexpected that he only dodged aside to avoid a direct blow to his face, even as he silently cursed his own stupidity.
He should have been prepared for her to react with hostility in this place where she thought everyone was an enemy.
Ducking low, he came down on top of her, pressing her arms to her sides, as he tried to keep her from doing him serious damage without hurting her. When she tried to ram him with her head, he reared back, almost getting a knee in the balls for his trouble.
The only way to subdue her without pounding on her was to get closer. He pressed his form to her, securing her with his weight and one arm while he tried to stop her struggling. But fear and determination kept her rolling from side to side, desperate to throw him off.
Even as he fought her, he felt himself reacting to the pressure of his body against hers.
“Don’t. I’m not here to hurt you,” he whispered.
She gave him a fierce look, and he knew she was preparing to redouble her efforts—until her gaze met his.
In one charged second she quieted. Still, he wasn’t willing to trust her. She might be feigning acquiescence while preparing another assault.
“Your eyes . . .” she murmured. “You have his eyes.”
He didn’t have to ask who she was talking about. His body went rigid as she delivered that bit of startling insight. Was that what his friends thought when they looked at the wolf?
“No,” he denied.
“Did he send you?”
“Who?”
“The wolf.”
He drew in a quick breath as he wondered how to answer. Finally, he settled on “Yes,” because he couldn’t explain the truth.
She relaxed under him, and he took a chance on rolling to the side. The bed was too narrow for him to put any distance between them, but at least he was no longer being driven crazy with the feel of her body under his.
“Did you come here to help me?” she asked, and the hope in her voice made his insides clench.
He had seen her outside, heard the men talking, and knew that she w
as in bad trouble. He could have told himself it was none of his business. Instead he’d found a way to get inside the building and into her room.
“Yes,” he answered, vowing that he would make good on the promise.
She looked relieved before her expression turned wary.
“What?” he asked softy.
“Everybody here is . . . an enemy.”
“Yeah.”
His agreement made her shiver.
“Are you real?” she asked as she turned on her side and studied his face. “Or did I make you up because I was longing for someone to get me out of this mess?”
Tentatively, she raised her hand, stroking the beard stubble on his cheek, then the line of his brows before lowering her hand to trace the shape of his mouth. Her touch was light, but it sent tongues of fire through him.
“Don’t.”
“You feel real,” she murmured, then leaned to touch her lips to his. It was a light touch, but rich with sensuality. When she pressed more firmly, heat spread through his body. She had started the kiss. He could have pulled away. Instead he angled his head for better access, drinking in the taste of her. She opened for him, inviting more, and he was helpless to resist, his arms gathering her close as he swept his tongue along the inside of her lips, then the ridges of her teeth, drawing a moan from her as he deepened the kiss.
The way she responded to him was like a jolt of lightning sizzling through his body, arrowing downward to lodge in his cock. This was the woman he had craved all his life, only he hadn’t realized that he was searching for her. It was easy to picture himself stripping off her clothes and pressing her naked body to his. He might have done it if an owl hadn’t hooted outside, breaking the spell and reminding him where they were—and why.
Christ, what was he thinking? Suppose he’d allowed himself to get lost in the pleasure of making love with her, and someone came in? Yeah, that would be perfect.
He struggled to hold his emotions in check as he rolled away.
When she reached for him and tried to pull him back, he shook his head.
