She moved him to the bathroom as quickly as she dared, afraid to waste any more time before addressing his wounds. She had no idea how much blood a dog his size could lose before needing more, but she wagered he was already pushing the limit. She was pretty certain that blood loss and the potential for internal injuries were her biggest concerns. There wasn’t a lot she could do to address internal injuries, but she could sure as hell stop his bleeding.
Luckily, she’d left the bathroom door open earlier and was able to drag him right in. His front paws twitched after she stepped away, as though he wanted to jump up and follow her. She held out her hand to stop him. “Stay.”
He lay his head on the floor and stared at her with plaintive eyes. Heart breaking, Katie backed out of the bathroom and ran down the hallway toward the kitchen. Her singular focus was on getting the shotgun so she could examine Shilah more fully. So far she hadn’t observed any obviously fatal wounds. It was almost unbelievable that Shilah was alive at all, and that he’d been able to hold his own against a larger and more powerful opponent. What a tough dog.
As she approached the kitchen table, the hair-raising sensation of being watched swept over her. She slowed her pace and looked around, unsettled by the feeling that she wasn’t alone. After moving around unhindered since killing that last wolf in the living room, she’d simply assumed that she’d taken care of all the intruders. Now she wasn’t so sure. Perhaps she wasn’t giving these wolves enough credit. One of them could be biding its time, stalking her and waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.
No sooner had she thought it then something heavy slammed into her from behind. Already reaching for the shotgun, the barrel slipped out of her grasp as she fell to the kitchen floor. Determined not to get pinned on her stomach, she rolled onto her back and saw two things simultaneously: the yellow eyes of the wolf that had bitten her twenty-four hours ago, and the tantalizing shape of the stock of the shotgun hanging over the edge of the dining room table.
The biter held her down with his front paws, lips drawn back in a feral grin. Saliva dripped from his wicked jaw onto her face, turning her stomach. Before he could sink his teeth into her for a second time, Katie did the only thing she could think to do. She drove her fist into the center of his throat. The wolf let out a satisfying yelp, so she punched him again. He swiveled his head and caught her wrist with his teeth as she drew back her fist for another go, tearing her skin as she snatched her hand out of his jaw. Visceral emotion surged through her—anger at this wolf and his buddy for creating this whole mess, fear that Shilah was bleeding out at that very moment—and she jammed her thumb into one of the wolf’s yellow eyes with a ferocity that shocked even her.
The wolf roared in pain and turned his head to the side, trying to get away. Unconvinced that she could reach the shotgun from her position beneath him—not without getting chomped in the process—Katie pulled her thumb from his eye socket and scrabbled to reach the revolver that dug into the small of her back. Wrenching it out from beneath her with a cry of relief, she disengaged the safety and pointed the muzzle directly at the wolf’s head. Then she pulled the trigger, sobbing as the wolf’s remaining eye went blank and he transformed into the man who had traumatized her so badly the night before.
Having his naked, dead weight on top of her was almost too horrific to bear. She pushed at his shoulders frantically, rolling out from beneath him with a tremulous whimper. Uneasily aware that she was on the verge of a genuine emotional meltdown, she set the revolver on the floor beside her. Then she grabbed the shotgun from the table and cradled it to her chest as she tried not to lose her composure.
Four wolves had descended upon the cabin after finding the two bodies she’d left outside, and now four corpses littered the floors of Rafe’s home. There was a good chance that she’d just killed the last of the intruders, but she wouldn’t put money on it. The biter had lain in wait for a good ten minutes while she barricaded the window and carried Shilah to the bathroom, biding his time even when she’d been vulnerable to attack, so it stood to reason that yet another wolf could be doing the same thing now. Maybe they enjoyed toying with humans just as much in wolf form as they did when they were human. In any event, she had to search the cabin before she could focus on Shilah. She needed to be certain they wouldn’t be ambushed again.
She struggled to her feet only because she knew Shilah’s life depended on her not shutting down completely. It took every bit of her courage to walk into the den, shotgun at the ready, and check the closets. She was nervous about finding another wolf lying in wait. Frankly, she couldn’t believe she was still alive. She’d killed six werewolves tonight. Six. Even if she’d made a mistake in leaving Shilah to fend for himself, those were six wolves who wouldn’t join in an attack on Rafe. That had to give him a better chance of survival. Maybe something good would come out of her stubborn impulsivity, after all.
She conducted a cautious search of every room before concluding, gratefully, that she had managed to kill every werewolf that had broken into the cabin. Trudging her way back to the bathroom, she tried to guess just how much time had passed since she’d left Shilah. It felt like hours. Perhaps it was only ten minutes. It was impossible to tell—time had lost all meaning. Wolves continued to fight outside, but for now, no one else seemed interested in breaking in. Hopeful that she would finally have time to work, Katie went to her patient, nervous about what she would find.
Shilah’s ears perked as she entered the room, but he betrayed no other sign of movement. Closing and locking the door behind her, Katie leaned the shotgun against the sink and sank to her knees for her first good look at Shilah’s wounds.
He was a mess. There was no other way to describe it. His coarse brown fur was matted with tacky blood, pink tissue peeked out from deep slices on his chest, and the corner of one ear had been torn clean off. She blinked back tears as she searched through the medicine cabinet for supplies. “We’re going to fix you up, boy. Then when your daddy gets home, he’ll really fix you. I know he will.”
The quiet thump of Shilah’s tail against the floor encouraged her that she wasn’t just being overly optimistic. Shilah was a strong dog, clearly, and if he’d held on this long, surely he could make it until morning. Pleased when she found a first aid kit that included needles and suture thread, she only hoped she could successfully close the wounds that required stitches. Of course, before she could do that, she would have to wash and disinfect them. She grabbed the antibiotic ointment, disheartened to find half the tube gone. She hated to use all the medical supplies on Shilah when she was worried that Rafe would need them tomorrow morning, but she couldn’t not treat Shilah’s wounds.
She would just use the ointment sparingly—and hope that Rafe’s ability to heal himself would come into play when this long, hellish night was over. Because she needed him back with her.
Now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Somehow, she was able to clean and stitch Shilah’s wounds in relative peace. She could hear the occasional muffled snarl or howl from outside, but there were no obvious attempts to break in to the cabin, and nobody tried to breach the closed bathroom door. Time faded away as she meticulously washed each gash on Shilah’s body, her entire world narrowing to the injured dog in front of her. Certain that Rafe wouldn’t mind, she borrowed his razor and shaved the fur away from the lacerations she felt were deep enough to require stitches. Then she went to work creating the sloppiest sutures she’d ever seen.
Shilah lay perfectly still for nearly all of her tending, only twitching and pulling away during her first couple of tries with the needle and thread. Soon she fell into a comfortable rhythm with her needle work and Shilah relaxed, watching her with alert brown eyes. She was relieved to discover that none of his injuries seemed particularly life-threatening, save for one deep cut on his side. Katie wasn’t certain whether it was deep enough that she needed to worry about internal bleeding, but that wound made her nervous. So did his leg, which was twisted
and nearly severed at the knee.
“I’d give anything for an emergency vet right now,” Katie murmured to him. Considering her options briefly, she pulled off her shirt and wrapped it tightly around Shilah’s leg, creating a tourniquet. This was one injury she simply didn’t know how to treat. She suspected he would need a cast—or God forbid, an amputation—and she was in the position to provide neither. All she could do now was keep him comfortable and get them through the rest of this hellish night.
Exhaling shakily, Katie stroked Shilah’s head and tried to decide what to do next. She could either defend this position or else move Shilah to Rafe’s bedroom and defend that one. Though she hated the idea of moving Shilah again, the small, confined space they were in made her nervous. If a wolf did break into the bathroom, there would be very little room to maneuver. Shilah could easily get caught up in a fight that his body was in no condition to survive.
That settled it. She had to move Shilah somewhere safe.
Not about to make the same mistake as last time, she took the shotgun and walked through the cabin on another security sweep. She visited every room and opened every closet door, unwilling to get surprised again. Satisfied that they were still alone, she tucked the revolver into her jeans and left the shotgun on Rafe’s bed. Spotting Shilah’s dog pillow in the corner of the room, she carried it to the closet, opening the door and arranging it safely inside. She could hide Shilah in there for the night. That way, even if wolves broke in, he would be safe from harm.
Satisfied with her plan, she made the short trip to the bathroom next door and dragged the rug Shilah still lie on down the hall and into Rafe’s bedroom. He seemed to snuggle into her body as she picked him up and carried him the short distance to the closet, and she pressed a kiss to his uninjured ear and whispered, “You’re a good boy. Thank you for trying to protect me.”
He turned his head and licked her face. Placing him on his bed with a tired groan, she closed the door nearly all the way, but left just enough room that she could see him and he could see her. Then she pushed Rafe’s dresser in front of the closed bedroom door, blocking the only way in and out of the room. Shilah whined as she went to sit on the bed, but quieted when she held up her hand and gave him a firm look.
“Now it’s my turn to protect you,” she told him. “No arguments.” Scooting backwards so she could rest against the headboard, she held the shotgun on her lap, pointed at the door, and waited. And she tried not to think about whether Rafe was still holding his own. If she felt their connection get severed while she was sitting inside—safe—on his bed, she wasn’t sure she would ever forgive herself. Of course, if she left Shilah and he died, she’d never forgive herself for that either. Frustrated by her dilemma, wishing for sunrise, Katie gave Shilah a smile she didn’t feel. “Don’t worry, boy, it’ll be over soon.”
She wished she believed that.
Katie couldn’t remember having spent a longer night in her life. Not when she’d been trapped in her snow-covered car alone, waiting for rescue. Not that evening in college when her mother called to tell her that her father was in emergency surgery after suffering a heart attack. The only memory that even came close was the time she was six years old and convinced herself that there was a monster in her closet when her mother left the door ajar after her bedtime story. She’d been too frightened to get out of bed, or call out for her parents, or sleep. So she’d lain there for hours, staring into the inky depths of the closet and praying that the boogeyman wouldn’t come for her.
Waiting for morning to come—and Rafe’s torment to end—was infinitely worse than all of those tense nights combined. Once Shilah was settled and she had nothing to do but watch the door, she began to notice that some of the pain that radiated through her body didn’t seem to be the result of her own injuries. It was Rafe, who had to be exhausted and hurting. He’d been fighting for hours at that point with hours left to go, and it was obviously taking its toll. All night she strained to hear the sound of fighting, uneasily aware that it was her best indication that Rafe was still standing. The only other noise in the room was Shilah’s labored breathing and the riot of anxious thoughts in her head.
She hoped Rafe would return to her as soon as the sun came up. That he would be in one piece. That Shilah would be all right, and that Rafe would forgive her for allowing his dog to get into a fight unaided by her marksmanship. His potential anger with her for going against his wishes was the least of her worries. What would happen if he didn’t come back? What if she couldn’t even find him tomorrow morning? Or she did find him, but with injuries too severe for her to treat? She didn’t know what she would do if he was killed. Take his truck and Shilah and simply leave? And what then?
Katie jolted awake at the realization that she’d dozed off. With no windows in the room and no alarm clock on the nightstand—proof of the polar opposite lifestyles she and Rafe led—she had no way of knowing how long she’d slept. The first thing she did was roll out of bed and go to the closet to check on Shilah, whose rhythmic breathing had slowed but not stopped. His eyes were closed and his paws and nose twitched in fitful sleep. Relieved, she stood and stretched, determined not to join him in slumber again.
That’s when she noticed that something was different. The air was too still. Too quiet. Walking to the barricaded door, Katie tilted her head and listened.
She couldn’t hear the sound of fighting anymore.
Which could mean anything. Heart pounding, Katie braced herself against the dresser with both hands. She put her head down and closed her eyes, trying to reach out with her mind and body to feel Rafe. Before she’d never had to put any effort into their supernatural communication. It had just happened. Rafe had just been there. Now there was…nothing.
That didn’t mean Rafe was dead. Did it? Her knees wobbled and threatened to give out, but then she sensed…not nothing. The sensation was weak, thready, barely there—but it was something.
Shoving the dresser away from the door, she had a fleeting worry that morning hadn’t yet arrived. She’d promised Rafe that she wouldn’t go outside until the sun was up, but she would be damned if she was going to wait in his bedroom any longer. Not when his presence within her was as weak as it had ever been. Shilah whimpered from the closet as she snatched up the revolver, then the shotgun, but she silenced him with a single look. “I’ll be right back. You stay. And be quiet.”
She turned right after she left the bedroom and conducted a stealthy search of the guest room before venturing down the hall. She wasn’t going to make the same mistakes as she had last night. Even if the eerie silence suggested that the threat was over, complacency could get her killed. She checked every room in the house except the attic, trying not to let her gaze linger on the corpses she’d created only hours earlier. Once she was satisfied that she was still alone, she went to the kitchen window and pressed her eye against a narrow gap in the boards. Daylight greeted her.
Relieved, Katie walked to the front door and moved to unlock it. Then she hesitated. Daylight didn’t mean she was safe. No matter what their alpha had decreed, the other pack had suffered heavy losses throughout the night, six by her own hand. And she was still standing. Whatever peace treaty the two alpha wolves had forged to avoid a pack war was very likely null and void after the carnage she and Rafe had inflicted. Who was to say that Jack Devereaux wasn’t standing on the other side of the door, waiting to tear her apart the moment she walked out?
She dropped her hand and took a step back. The smart thing would be to go up to the attic and look out the windows before she ventured outside. At least that way she could survey the landscape and check that nothing but Rafe was still moving. If he was still moving.
“Stop it.” The sound of her own voice was shockingly loud, yanking her back from the edge of the abyss that beckoned when she thought of losing Rafe. She couldn’t succumb to the aching loss that threatened to consume her. He wasn’t dead. She’d felt something. She had.
Knowing it was t
he right plan made it no easier to return to the den and set the ladder back under the still-open hatch. It was hard enough to be around the bodies of the wolves she’d shot downstairs. The thought of having to see the one who’d come at her in the dark attic scared the hell out of her. Just thinking about the way he’d leapt upon her made her stomach clench. But there was no choice—not if she wanted to help Rafe.
Katie put down the shotgun and climbed the ladder slowly, feeling each and every hit she’d taken over the past thirty-six hours. Her muscles quivered from a mixture of fear and exhaustion, and despite her trepidation, when she got to the top she hauled herself into the attic and collapsed with a grateful sigh. All she wanted to do this morning was curl up in bed with Rafe and allow her body to heal, but instead she was lying face-to-face with the corpse of the man who’d fucked his female friend on Rafe’s lawn the day before. Blood pooled around his head and his chest, where her blindly fired bullets had left neat holes. His lips were still drawn back in a terrible, ghastly snarl.
Shivering, Katie got to her feet and pointed the revolver at the body as she cautiously stepped around it and made her way to the window that overlooked the front of the cabin, from which she’d last seen Rafe. She paused before she looked outside, afraid that she would need a moment to prepare for the sight that might greet her. She had no idea what to expect. What kind of trouble they might still be in.
Soul Bonded Page 20
