Desert Heart (The Wolves of Twin Moon Ranch Book 4)

by Anna Lowe

  He blinked, willing his eyes to work, but the wolf was still there. Where was Tina? He searched behind the wolf. No Tina. Rolled his head farther. Still no Tina. Maybe she was crouched in the car, out of sight. A good thing, too, because he was lying in the dirt, slowly dying in the no man’s land between two very angry beasts. The hellhound and its friend.

  Except the newcomer wasn’t the hellhound’s buddy. Rick figured that out the second it started growling—not at him, but over his chest, toward the beast. Flashing white fangs and pink gums, growling like it meant business. She clawed the ground like she couldn’t wait to charge and—

  Wait a second. She?

  Imminent death must screw with a man’s mind, because not only did he have the newcomer pegged as a she-wolf, she looked strangely familiar, too. Something about the eyes. Deep, dark eyes. Beautiful eyes. Like the rest of her, all silky and shiny and purely feminine despite the fur, the fangs, the angry face.

  The she-wolf stuck her nose toward him and whimpered. Then her eyes darkened and lifted to the hellhound, snuffling somewhere over his shoulder. Somewhere not too far, but he wasn’t looking, because he couldn’t drag his eyes off her.

  She coiled, growled to high heaven, and jumped. Jumped clear over his body. Rick rolled, following the acrobatics. He winced as the wolf crashed into the hellhound. The air exploded with canine snarls and a blur of motion as they launched into combat. He watched, fascinated and strangely removed, as the two creatures battled.

  The similarity between the two canines ended at four feet and a tail. The hellhound looked like a huge dog that had been resurrected and dragged out of a muddy grave, while the wolf was sleek and glossy and somehow pure, as if God had spent a good long time perfecting that project before releasing it into the world to fulfill its purpose.

  A purpose which seemed to include saving Rick’s ass, of all things, because the she-wolf wasn’t just fighting the hellhound. She was driving it away. Every razor-toothed attack and parry of lethal claws pushed the hellhound half a step farther from him.

  Why? Why would the wolf risk her life for him? He was dying anyway. Couldn’t she tell?

  He rolled to his stomach and worked his knees under his body, ignoring the seeping sensation in his gut. Got to his feet and swayed for a second, then focused on the fight. Tightened his fingers around the wood he’d picked up and vowed to hang in long enough to help the wolf finish the beast off.

  He advanced, looking for an opening. Easier said than done, because the fighting canines were a whirlwind—a lethal, snarling whirlwind, and the hellhound was winning the upper hand. The wolf snapped and slashed and danced away, barely an inch ahead of those greedy jaws, but the hellhound was bigger—much bigger—and fueled by some unearthly energy. It slashed at the sleek wolf’s shoulder, and she howled in pain, leaping away.

  Rick bounded forward and swung his makeshift weapon, catching the hellhound above the eye. He sent it sprawling, giving the she-wolf a chance to get up. She struggled to her feet and faced him with an incredulous look.

  Why were those eyes so familiar? What was it about the wolf?

  He didn’t have time to consider, because the hellhound bellowed and launched into another attack. Rick went down swinging, because his body couldn’t do it any more. He crashed to the ground as the fight continued beside, around, even over him, until he saw the she-wolf being tossed to one side. Everything slowed down and played out in a horribly slow-motion way. The hellhound turned back to his prone body. The glowing eyes honed in on his, and it nodded.

  This time, you really do die.

  This time, Rick believed it. There was no way out.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  What was he thinking?

  Tina scrambled to her feet, ignoring the pain of her wounds. She could have screamed at Rick. This was no time for courage. No time for selflessness. A human had about as much business fighting a hellhound as a lone she-wolf did. It was suicide, and yet there Rick was, charging into battle when he could have shied away.

  For her. He did it for her. He’d pushed her toward the car, squared his shoulders, and faced death just to give her a chance.

  Even after she’d shifted, he fought on. She’d seen the confusion in his eyes. Seen him search for the woman he knew instead of the wolf she had become. But instead of scrambling to safety when she’d given him the chance, he jumped right back into the fray.

  What the hell was he doing?

  He’s doing what we’re doing, her wolf retorted. Fighting for our lives.

  Our lives. Plural. The team aspect was the only thing she liked about this situation, because it was utterly hopeless. She could delay the inevitable, but she could never win. Zack had said as much that day in the council house.

  To kill a hellhound, you get every wolf in the county together and attack it from all sides. Hope it doesn’t kill too many of you while you try to kill it.

  Try? Ty had asked.

  Try, Zack had echoed, looking grim.

  Well, she was trying, but it wasn’t enough. The hellhound was too big, too powerful. Even a wolf like Ty wouldn’t hold out against this powerful demon for long.

  The second before her shift, she’d closed her eyes and concentrated everything on sending an urgent cry to her packmates. But even the fleetest werewolf couldn’t cover the fifteen miles from Twin Moon Ranch to Dead Horse Bluff at the speed she needed them to. They’d get there, all right, but they would be too late. Too late for Rick, too late for her. All she could hope for was victory for her packmates with the least possible loss of life.

  She coiled every muscle and jumped at the hellhound, knocking it away from Rick. Each blow she landed was a blow that would weaken the beast, helping the others to finish it off. That’s what she had to concentrate on.

  She slammed into it then scrambled away from its deadly claws. Twisted her front paw in the process and earned another angry snarl from the beast. At least she’d gotten him away from Rick, who was fading fast. He’d lost too much blood, been wounded too critically. Her soul howled, knowing he was on his last legs.

  The hellhound focused those deadly eyes on her, and the red flared. It advanced slowly, snarling into the ground. Yes, it was the end, all right.

  Even Tex, who’d been whimpering in her car the whole time, howled. At least he would survive this horror, locked safely away. If it weren’t for the dog, she’d have never found Rick, because Tex had met her at the gate of Seymour Ranch with a wagging tail and worried eyes and insisted on leading her in the direction of the back road.

  Lady! Run away! poor Tex screamed. He was about as articulate a dog as existed, which wasn’t saying much. But maybe he’d be articulate enough to tell the others how bravely Rick fought. How she’d tried to the bitter end.

  An end that faced her now, because there was no mistaking the intent in the hellhound’s eyes.

  Die, she-wolf. Die.

  She took a step back, wavering for the first time. Rick struggled to get up, but he was too weak now, and she cried inside. Cried for not being able to hold him, to comfort him, one more time.

  That was on the inside. On the outside, she unleashed the most brutal snarl she’d ever uttered. A snarl worthy of a warrior who’d never be cowed.

  Try me, you monster, she challenged the hellhound. Try me.

  The red eyes blazed, and the creature leaped so high, smashing into her so hard, she knew that was the end. She crashed to the ground with its jaws at her neck, its body weight pinning her down on her side. Foul breath engulfed her.

  You die, she-wolf, a gravelly inner voice goaded.

  She’d pissed the beast off enough to make him drag it out, apparently, because the hellhound lingered there, huffing into her fur. Crushing her ribs. Drooling. Taunting her.

  Cry, little she-wolf. Cry while you can.

  Her teeth were too far to bite, but she bared them all the same.

  Now die, little she-wolf. Die.

  The hellhound dipped its head and stretche
d its jaws wide, honing in on her throat. Tina closed her eyes, trying to transport her thoughts elsewhere. Like Spring Hollow, all those years ago, and her very first kiss. Like the grandfather clock in the Seymour house, and waiting with the other kids for it to bong. Sitting in the sunshine on the veranda, where Rick had fed her a feast. Any of the thousand little memories she had of times with him would do. Anything but this.

  The hellhound murmured in greed. It was so close to her ear, the sound echoed in her head. Grew and grew until the ground rumbled and her body shook and—

  Something like a freight train thundered past her, and the hellhound’s weight was lifted away. She watched it arc through the air in unnatural flight. Blinked, trying to understand. Blinked again when cloven hooves appeared. Lots of them, thundering past. Her ears filled with the sound of deep, deadly squeals and grunts. So low, she could feel the bass in her bones. Curled ivory flashed and—

  Yes! her human voice cheered. Her wolf whimpered in sheer relief.

  Javelinas. Wild boars.

  Correction, her wolf murmured. Javelina shifters. Allies of Twin Moon pack.

  They were big, bristly, and angrier than a trio of charging bulls. About the size of charging bulls, too; each must have topped three hundred pounds. One charged past so close she could feel the rough hide, the whoosh of air, the rush of heat.

  The javelinas were all fury, all revenge, as if the hellhound had attacked a daughter of their own kind.

  You should have seen these javelinas! She remembered Lana saying the first time they’d appeared in the ranch, years before. Like no javelina I’ve ever seen. They were huge! Massive! All muscle. All power.

  Even coming from Lana, the superlatives had been hard to believe. But she hadn’t been exaggerating. Not one bit.

  The first javelina wheeled and charged the hellhound just as it found its feet. The hellhound roared and slashed with its razor claws. The boar grunted wildly and body checked it, jerking his head toward the hound’s side.

  Goring it. He was trying to gore the hellhound with his tusks. Tina cheered inside.

  The hilltop exploded into noise as the other two javelinas closed in, screaming their fury. They worked together, driving the hellhound toward the cliff.

  Yes! her wolf cried. Push it off the cliff! Not even a demon would survive that fall.

  For all their raw power, however, the supersized javelinas struggled to win ground. The hellhound was far more agile and better armed. It could inflict damage across a wider radius with its claws and teeth, while the javelinas had to get suicidally near to gore their enemy with curved tusks that were lethal, but close to their heads. Only the foremost javelina seemed bold enough to try it. The other two worked as a dual battering ram, charging side by side. They had the look of seasoned warriors who knew how to bide their time, while the third gave every impression of a young buck, eager to prove his mettle in battle. He was quicker, bolder, more willing to take risks.

  Too many risks? Tina winced as the hellhound’s claws raked four parallel lines into the javelina’s side. He grunted in pain and stumbled away while his brethren bulldozed in just in time.

  Every thundering charge the javelinas made was met by a hellish roar, every inch won in the battle counteracted by a furious inch regained.

  Jumping into the fray would be suicide, so Tina limped over to Rick and crouched over his prone form, shielding him from the kicks, the jumps, the crushing falls. She dipped her head and found his eyes. Deep, dark eyes blinking up at her, trying to comprehend.

  It’s me, she wanted to cry. Me.

  Her human side screamed to shift so that she could hold his hand, cover his wounds, murmur in his ear. I love you, Rick. Please, please hold on.

  Hold on for what, she didn’t let herself think, because he was bleeding from wounds no doctor could heal.

  Her wolf side growled and kept one eye on the battle, one eye on Rick, protecting her mate. Mine! she roared so fiercely, the hellhound and javelinas glanced her way. My mate!

  Her incredibly brave mate, who was staring a wolf in the face without so much as a flinch. He lifted a shaky hand toward her—slowly, cautiously—and she leaned in, desperate for contact. Tentative fingers touched the outer edge of her coat, then flexed and dug closer to the skin beneath. The raging battle faded to the background, pushing everything away. It was just her and her mate. Warmth coursed between them as she willed him to understand.

  It’s me. I love you. I always have.

  Rick’s eyes went wide. His fingers dug deeper, threading through the thick ruff at her neck then sliding higher toward her jaw. Tina imagined him cupping her human face, stroking her lips.

  I love you. Her voice shook, even in her mind. I always wanted you. It killed me to say no when you asked if I would leave Arizona with you. She pushed the thoughts his way, hoping they’d somehow register in his mind. It wasn’t you that made me say no, Rick. It was me. Me, the wolf. I couldn’t go.

  His cheek twitched, and he drew in a breath so raspy, it hurt to hear.

  She’d never wanted to believe in a heaven as much as she did in that moment. God, did she want to believe. That there was a peaceful, sunny place somewhere where lovers could reunite and live all the dreams they’d never gotten to enjoy in real life. A place where they’d come together in a crushing hug and never, ever be dragged apart.

  But what if that place didn’t exist?

  She blinked back tears and licked his arm, the best she could offer in wolf form. She eased her belly to the ground, curling around him. Shielding him from the horror of the battle, letting him find heaven in the never-ending blue sky. Even a reflection of heaven would do.

  Somewhere behind her, a javelina screamed in agony. Surely, death was on the way there, too. She bent her head, trying to shut it all away. The frantic grunts, the hellish snarls. Even the baying sound that announced the arrival of her packmates, sweeping onto the scene. Coyotes, too, from the sound of the determined yips, but she shut all that away to focus on her dying mate. Nothing mattered but him.

  I love you. I love you. I love you. She whimpered it over and over. Listened to the ever-weakening thumps of his heart. Hoped for a miracle she knew would never come.

  Rick’s lips twitched, but no sound came. His eyes drooped, his fingers tightened on her fur.

  Behind her, the battle reached fever pitch. An eerie scream pierced the air, then faded, and even Tina had to look up at it. A dozen wolves looked on as the hellhound flew over the cliff, flailing wildly at thin air. It tumbled out of sight, and a dozen wolf muzzles dipped, watching it fall. Two javelinas hurried to a fallen third, squealing in dismay.

  So much pain, so much loss. Tina looked at Rick and ran a finger over his eyebrow—yes, a finger, because her wolf had let go and allowed her human side to take over at last.

  The enemy was vanquished, but there were no cheers, no shouts of triumph. Only heart-crushing grief that hung over the bluff like a fog.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Tina bent over Rick, whispering. Trying to hold herself together for his sake. If nothing else, she could give him peace.

  At the first touch of her fingers, his eyes widened a bit and her name fluttered from his lips.

  “Tina.”

  She shushed him with one gentle finger, and he smiled. Smiled, like he wasn’t bleeding from a dozen wounds or lying in the dirt at death’s door. Smiled, like he couldn’t think of a place he’d rather be.

  Tina. She swore he repeated her name, if not aloud then in his mind. I love you.

  I love you, too.

  The smile grew. His whole face lit up, and his lips quirked, about to say something. But then his eyes grew distant. His fingers relaxed, one by one.

  Her heart thumped harder, and she dropped to his chest, listening for the beat of life. It was still there, but weak. Weaker…

  “Tina,” somebody whispered. Someone familiar. Carly? Tina pushed the hands away. No one was going to force her away from her mate. No one!
/>   “God, Tina,” another voice whispered. Lana dropped to her knees alongside.

  Tina held back a growl, protecting her mate.

  A wolf snuffled closer and shook its head sadly. Tina…

  Why couldn’t everyone just go away? Couldn’t they let Rick die in peace?

  He won’t have peace, not like this. That was Zack, reading her thoughts. His whisper penetrated her mind. Hellhound wounds don’t always kill, Tina.

  Her back went stiff. Everyone went stiff, judging by the shocked silence.

  The bite of a demon can turn its prey, Zack murmured, still in wolf form.

  Lana pulled back, shaking slightly. “You mean…”

  Tina wanted to slap her hands over her ears and scream.

  Sometimes, the victim doesn’t die, Zack said. The strong ones hang on…

  Rick was strong. She could feel his heart, soldiering on.

  Some hang on with a little bit of demon poison in them, and they slowly turn. Like this hellhound. It must have been a shifter before.

  “You mean…” Lana trailed off, aghast.

  Everyone stared at Tina, perhaps wondering if she was going to turn into a beast, too.

  Zack shook his head. It’s rare, but it happens to those who reach the edge of death. If the power of the poison kicks in, they tip back to life. As a demon. Demons in human shape. Demons in the form of animals…

  “No wonder the hellhound looked so…sick. So scrappy.” Lana shook her head.

  Horrible images assaulted Tina’s mind. Images of Rick—kind, pure-hearted Rick—slowly losing his mind. Slowly going mad. Going evil. Hurting others…

  No, no! It couldn’t be.

  We have to finish him off, Zack said. Make sure he dies before the poison makes him tip back.

  She threw herself over Rick’s chest. No way was anyone touching her mate!

  “Tina.” A hand closed over her shoulder. Cody murmured in his softest but most insistent voice. “Tina, you have to let go.”

  No, no, no! She shoved her brother away.