by KH LeMoyne
“I think we should negotiate that first,” she whispered before everything turned black.
10
Deacon caught Lena before she collapsed, gently cradling her against his chest. Her face was ghostly pale against his T-shirt, with a faint sheen of perspiration. The thick tang of her blood assaulted his nostrils. He forced back his wolf’s instinct to take control. Strong and powerful, the urge almost won, the need to comfort his mate pressing hard.
“She’s going to need stitches.” Matthew dropped from the ledge and lowered a boy from his back to the ground. They both crouched and stared at Lena’s wounds with wide-eyed horror. “We have an antibiotic in the packs somewhere. I’ll search for it.”
“Find me a blanket to lay her on. Another shirt too.” Deacon needed space. What he was about to do would shock Matthew, but, given the wounds he’d seen on Lena’s body, her survival depended on a mate’s healing magic. His magic. He glanced between the man and child as they stood frozen. “Could you both gather some kindling here in the clearing for a fire?”
Matthew jerked his head once, his expression wary. “Trevor, let’s get some things to help Lena.” Then the two headed slowly, hand in hand, toward the backpacks near the trees.
Deacon trembled as his wolf’s anger built again. The humans were wasting precious minutes that stood between him and losing his mate forever. Her attacker’s blood lust had nearly issued her death warrant. The jagged wounds on her arm were minor compared to the mutant’s intent to rip out her throat, but the deep slashes in her back were a hair’s breadth from her spine.
Matthew’s close murmur provided enough distraction to sever Deacon’s wolf’s downward spiral and his human side took control. He glanced at them both and shook his head as they made a rather crumpled mess of laying a sleeping bag for Lena at his feet.
So Shanae had a son. An occurrence she’d neglected to notify her alpha of. An unusual scent covered the child. Even from feet away, Deacon recognized the anomaly, but deciphering the odd component proved a problem. The scent of Shanae’s wolf and the aroma of his human father were both prevalent. Fortunately, the smell differed from the sour, chemical scent of the attackers. Not that he had time now for analysis.
Carefully, he positioned Lena on the sleeping bag. She didn’t respond as he laid her on her stomach. Her pupils dilated as he lifted one lid. Her weak pulse and low blood pressure concerned him. Even so, he rejoiced that she lived. Her soul would hear his words and not dare leave him for the afterlife.
You are not allowed to die, Lena. I need you. He didn’t care about the charges against her. Her efforts to save her clients proved her heart was pure.
He nuzzled gently against her hair, thinking of the boy. His iron-willed mate had kept secrets from him. Not dangerous omissions like the ones he’d kept from her, but hers had more far-reaching repercussions. Trevor’s existence and his pursuers added new danger and urgency to Deacon’s timetable. To hers as well. Ever the good soldier, she’d taken a defensive position and almost lost her life protecting her charges.
Using her knife, he sliced along her sleeve and laid her arm bare. Bone showed through in the deep bite, but the invasive canines hadn’t broken any. Still, an odor of the feral lingered with her blood.
He ripped her shirt down the back and leaned close. Nose a fraction above her skin, he inhaled, driving her scent deep into his system. The bitter copper of blood hit his scent glands. Grinding his teeth, he fought the nagging itch of his incisors. The wolf wanted out, but he continued inspecting the lacerations. Lena’s shirt lay in shreds, muscle and flesh flayed to the bone, but as he inhaled, no sign of infection stung his sinuses. He’d gotten to her in time. For those shifter abominations were unclean, not a half-breed or mated combination, but some clinical, chemical contortion from a laboratory.
Linked around her neck, a silver pendent sparkled with an etched image: a furred mane framed a long narrow snout and arching eyes of citrine. The image was almost a wolf, but with a face too long for a shifter. He touched the design. His breath caught in his throat. How had she encountered Vendrick? More importantly, what did the creator of his species mean to her? He shook his head.
When he inhaled again, the piquant combination of her blood, sweat, and feminine essence beckoned to him. Her mere existence gave him a reason to pay homage to Mother Nature for her compassion, for she’d given him the power to save Lena.
He traced a particularly deep wound on her back with his tongue. The aroma and flavors culminated in a delicious surge of energy through his body. Shaking back his reaction, he continued cleaning her with his tongue. The enzyme his body reserved for the woman meant to claim him carried potent healing power. As long as he released it in time.
“What are you doing?” Matthew snapped as his eyes narrowed, his mouth tightening. He stood several feet away, hugging his son with a hand over Trevor’s eyes. “If you dare—”
Deacon didn’t bother lifting his head but glared from his position and growled, low and deep. Matthew took a step backward.
“Have you not been paying attention, Philmont? Do you truly believe I would harm her?” Deacon demanded.
Matthew’s glare turned to a frown. “She’s not like you. Or them.” He dropped the hand from his son’s face and dug in his pocket, tossing a plastic bag with medications to Lena’s sleeping bag. “So I’m holding you to that. She isn’t immune to infections. We—humans need medicine and stitches.”
His wolf’s growl escaped before Deacon could control it.
Matthew’s eyes widened further as he retreated another step. “I know we’re alive because you showed up. But she’s here because I asked for her help. I won’t leave her to whatever you plan, just because she’s not conscious to object.” He held his son tighter and stepped back one more pace.
Smart man to put distance between them. Though Deacon credited Matthew for his loyalty. “I’m not contagious. She needs the help only I can give her. It’s not as if getting her somewhere in time for treatment is an option,” he responded, ignoring Matthew’s implied accusation. Shanae’s husband obviously considered him capable of attacking Lena, but that wasn’t even a possibility. Unfortunately, he couldn’t explain.
He took another swipe with his tongue, covering as much torn skin as possible to encourage Lena’s healing. At a gasp, he glanced aside and caught Trim’s expression. She’d halted behind Matthew, mouth open but eyes narrowed at him as well.
Now that was something he could have done without. Her continued reaction toward Lena annoyed his wolf—a disrespect of his alpha status. However, it wasn’t as if she’d discuss what she’d seen. Though it would soon be obvious to everyone else that he’d found a mate, while the woman involved would be clueless about their intimate connection.
He glanced at the first aid bag and back to Matthew. “I’ll use what you’ve found after I’ve finished my inspection. If you’re interested, there’s no infection.”
“Is that what you call it? Inspection?” Kneeling at the other side of the blossoming fire, Matthew raised a brow. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he didn’t cower.
Deacon nodded. “Our abilities and sharpened senses might surprise you, but I can at least rule out poison from those creatures.”
Matthew silently settled Trevor by the fire, the butt of Lena’s gun clearly visible at his side. He unwrapped an energy bar and handed it to his son. He frowned, though his gaze never left Lena’s wounds. “Creatures? So they aren’t like you?”
Biting back a snarl, Deacon ground his teeth. “No. My people are born with our abilities, a balanced combination of human and animal traits. Those creatures are mutations. At this point, that is all I know, but I will get to the bottom of their origins.”
With everyone still wound tight after the attack, Deacon didn’t ask why the boy wore only a T-shirt. Matthew had obeyed his command to come down, despite bringing a gun with him. From Deacon’s mental count of shots during the fight, it was unlikely there were any bullets lef
t, but antagonizing Shanae’s husband by asking for the weapon would be a waste of effort. “We’ll need to keep everyone close.”
“I can promise there won’t be more tonight. I also think we’d do well to let loose the live one and track him,” Trim said, her expression unreadable, her shock masked. Her gaze kept shifting between him and Lena’s unconscious form. In spite of her initial confusion, she focused back on the issues at hand with the speed and accuracy he’d demanded of his second.
Deacon sniffed in the direction Wharton had left with his prisoner. Given the shabby mix of fur and flesh and irregular features, the prisoner epitomized a science-experiment mutation gone bad. They all had. Scent confirmed he lacked pure boar DNA. He possessed barely enough shifter composition to reform totally in either human or animal form. The unsettling question crossed Deacon’s mind as to whether the prisoner was even a shifter. “Did he talk?”
“He whined. And cried.” Her mouth rose at one side in a snicker before she shrugged. “I got the names of the others and their cities of origin, but nothing relevant. No indication of their leader. I’m not sure this one had enough brain matter for him to respond to anything but simple commands. We didn’t cause that problem.”
Deacon nodded. If the wretch had any information, Trim would have extracted it.
“He might give you something,” she continued. “Unfortunately, I suspect all of these—things were expendable to their creator. Chosen for their stupidity and lack of control. They would have either succeeded”—she delivered a side-glance toward Matthew—“or gotten killed. Not sure they have anything of value to share.”
“I’ll talk to him, but contact Breslin before following up on your plan. Once I’ve interrogated him, ensure the target’s released well away from here. If I see him, he dies. Send Wharton back to me.”
The air currents moved, and the flames in the fire jumped higher for a second with Trim’s swift departure. Deacon returned to his ministration of Lena’s back. Raw and fleshy, the exposed wounds gaped. Absent of the blood and grime, her skin flushed pink instead of angry red. Slowly he applied some of the ointment Matthew provided along the edges of each wound. Numerous butterfly bandages were the best the small kit had to offer. The large roll of gauze would at least seal the area against accidental tearing. Not that every movement wouldn’t pull and sting for the next several days. For now, he’d done all he could.
She mumbled as he reached beneath her to wrap layers around her. Her eyes fluttered open for a second, glassy and unfocused, as her palm opened and her fingers searched. A flinch and she stopped.
Looking for her knife, Deacon thought.
“Trevor,” she muttered.
Amazed, he passed his hand over her cheek and leaned closer. Her protective instincts were so strong that even the haze of pain couldn’t dissuade her from her duty. How had he earned such a prize? Glancing from beneath his lashes, he caught the boy’s intense stare at the mention of his name. “He is safe, Lena. Matthew and Trevor are both safe. You did an excellent job.”
Another sweep of his fingers sent a slow ebb of his alpha power into her body, and her eyes closed. He continued for several more strokes, finally cupping his hand over her scalp and closing his own eyes. A stronger thrum of her pulse met his keen hearing. Her breathing remained even and steady, in synch with his heartbeat. Good for now. He consoled himself that he’d at least accelerated her recovery. “Rest, Lena. We will keep watch tonight.”
He wiped her knife clean on his pants and gently tucked it back in its sleeve at her thigh. Then he rose and looked around. Wharton had returned, lying in full wolf mode at the fire’s edge. Like everyone else, he watched Deacon intently before settling muzzle to front paws and turning his gaze toward the boy.
Trevor sat wide-eyed, his gaze still fixed on Lena as he leaned against his father’s arm. One granola bar, a small fire, and a fuzzy blue teddy bear weren’t enough to compensate for a missing mother. With the only other woman he seemed to trust violently damaged, panic waited in those watchful eyes. He looked a bit war torn and weary. Luckily, Wharton’s omega handled children as well as he did everyone else in Deacon’s territory. His comfort pulsed in steady, soft waves.
“Is she dead?” Trevor asked. A hitch in his breath ended in trembling lips.
“No,” Deacon replied calmly. “She’s sleeping so she can get better.”
Trevor glanced at his father as if for confirmation. After a reassuring squeeze, he turned back and continued watching Lena as if she would dissolve without his attention. No doubt he’d experienced his mother’s disappearance with a similar dread, but Deacon refused to give him false hope. Honesty was the only way to begin this boy’s life in the shifter clan.
He walked to Wharton’s wolf, crouched, and ran a hand over the soft head.
Trevor’s gaze followed Deacon.
“Wharton will make certain Lena is safe, that all of you are, while I go take care of something.”
Trevor’s brow furrowed as he stared, unblinking. Then Wharton rolled slowly onto his back, belly up, and stretched his paws toward Trevor in a lazy fashion before he rolled back and continued his watch over Lena.
The gesture seemed to satisfy the child, and Trevor’s eyelids drifted lower. Deacon pushed a firmer silent command his way. The boy would be asleep in minutes, but calm now instead of fearful.
With the child’s attention absorbed, Deacon strode into the trees. For once, he relished the idea of interrogation. His wolf called for vengeance.
Metal shrieked as the smell of burning rubber flooded Lena’s nostrils. She clawed against the disorienting fog of the terror refusing to release her. A rumble turned to a yelp snapped the sickly shackles of the nightmare. Lena jerked on the ground, her eyes suddenly open.
After several blinks, the golden blur before her redefined itself into flames feet from her face. The cries continued. Forcing her muscles into action didn’t work. Her left arm wouldn’t move, bound by layers of cloth and frozen by muted pain. Damn.
She rolled to her knees and palmed her knife in her free hand. Another blink explained the situation on the other side of the fire. Matthew wrestled a thrashing bundle of fur and flailing paws as Trevor let loose a pitiful wail. Eyes closed, the pup alternated between rubbing his muzzle against his father’s chest and arching for freedom.
“Stay back.” Matthew turned from Trim’s open arms.
Trim dropped her hands but didn’t retreat. Her expression hardened as she stared at the pup. She wrapped her arms over her chest. “You don’t know how to deal with him. I can—”
“I don’t care what you think you can do. He’s my son, and no one is taking him away.”
“You can’t possibly believe you can handle this, that you’ll take him home and everything will be normal?” Trim’s astonishment and obvious conclusion only increased Matthew’s determination. He stood quickly with the pup in his arms.
In one second, Lena assessed the disintegrating peace. Trevor had succumbed to the same nightmares as Lena, and from the looks of it, he wasn’t free. His father’s attention, split between calming his child and holding off Trim’s poorly timed advances, left him unable to handle either task successfully.
Lena struggled to her feet. Trying to stand, she almost pitched herself into the fire as the world spun. She caught herself and used the momentum to propel herself between Matthew and Trim. Bent over with one palm on her thigh, she caught Trim’s attention and issued her own silent warning.
The woman’s gaze moved toward the knife in Lena’s hand as her eyes turned deadly and her jaw tightened.
Oh yeah. She’d forgotten the knife. Lena opened several of her fingers, leaving only her thumb and forefinger on the knife, and lifted it slowly to stop any misunderstanding. Then she returned it to its sleeve with an exaggerated movement that should have reassured the most skittish of opponents.
Evidently, it wasn’t enough for Trim. Her attention remained riveted to the knife before shooting back toward Matthe
w.
“The boy stays with his father,” Lena said. “End of subject. Fortunately, you didn’t wake him. Leave them in peace.”
Finally, Trim’s gaze snapped back to her. “He’s shifted. He needs the family.”
“He has a family,” Lena pressed. “And if you’d lower your voice, you won’t wake him and remind him about the mother he misses.”
Jerking back as if Lena had struck her, Trim stared at the boy. Now nestled more quietly in his father’s arms, the pup finally had his eyes open, but his ears were at attention, waiting for the next move.
Fully human and dressed, Wharton ambled past Trim and sank into a cross-legged seat at Lena’s feet. He stared at Trevor. “She’s got a point, Trimbal.”
“How could you possibly believe her?” Trim snapped at him. Then she pursed her lips and rolled her eyes as he gave her an admonishing look over his shoulder. “Fine. But Shanae’s son needs people who understand him. Not”—she refocused her disdain on Lena—“not humans who haven’t a clue.”
“Not even a fair shot,” Wharton responded as he picked up a walnut husk and tossed it with one hand. The pup fixated on the motion, and his ears relaxed. “We didn’t know about the boy, much less find him. Yet Matthew and Lena are here, and we are one step closer to finding Shanae. Giving them a little credit doesn’t harm us.”
Lena remained silent, puzzling over the unfamiliar peace emanating from the man at her feet. She debated moving, uncertain whether to trust such a strong supernatural push. She swayed a moment but retained her position. He’d at least distracted Trim so Matthew could focus on Trevor and sit again. The pup was quiet, if still in furry form.
Trim nudged Wharton’s leg none too gently with her boot. “Credit for what? Accidentally stumbling across the boy?”
So much for standing silent on the sidelines. Lena straightened, gritting back a curse. Sharp pins and needles speared across her back. She’d forgotten about those wounds as well. Damn, that hurt. Her skin stretched, and her muscles screamed against whatever was holding her together. “It wasn’t an accident.”
