Wolf from the Past: Salvation Pack, Book 4

by N. J. Walters

  “I knew things wouldn’t end well.” No one argued with her mate and lived to tell about it.

  “He tried to sweet talk the woman.” And that had shocked her to her core. She’d never heard such a cajoling tone from Andre before. “When she refused to let him into her home, he hit her.”

  Sylvie’s hand automatically went to her cheek. She knew all too well what the back of his hand felt like against her face. Armand swore, jolting her back to the present. She dropped her hand back in her lap.

  “What did he do next?” Jacque prompted.

  “He beat her to death.” Sylvie remembered being frozen in place as she watched the brutal attack. Knowing she should do something but too afraid to move. “I didn’t do anything to help her.”

  “Nothing you could have done.” Louis’s words were a balm to her wounded soul, but he was wrong.

  “I hid. I watched him kill her.”

  “And if you hadn’t, he’d have killed you too.” Louis raked his fingers through his hair, his frustration evident. “We thought he had killed you.”

  “So did he.” The last came out before she could stop it.

  Armand surged from the sofa and knelt at her feet. He took her hands in his. She was so cold. She’d been warmer earlier with the heat from the sun beaming down on her and the nearness of Gator’s body surrounding her. Here she was alone.

  She glanced at Gator, but he was no longer in the room. Before disappointment could set in, he came back down a short hallway carrying a blanket. He shook it out and draped it over her shoulders. “You looked cold.” His voice was gruff but his actions were gentle. He was such a contradiction.

  “Thank you.” She pulled the blanket around her and inhaled. It was his blanket and carried his scent. That little detail shouldn’t have comforted her as much as it did. She fought to keep from burying her face against the soft fabric. She paused and sniffed again. “You have cats,” she blurted out. It was unheard of for werewolves to keep cats as pets.

  Armand chuckled. As impossible as it seemed, she’d almost forgotten her brother’s presence even though he was still kneeling at her feet. “They’re Anny’s cats. You’ll meet Tigger and Seymour later.”

  “What happened next, chère?” Gator prompted.

  She tried not to tremble, but the memories always caused her to shake. “I don’t know if I made a sound or if the wind shifted enough for him to scent me. Or maybe he knew I was there all along. I’ll never know.”

  Terror had gripped her when Andre had turned away from the body of his dead mistress and smiled at her. “I ran.” She’d raced through the bayou as fast as she could, but he’d caught her. “He ran me to ground. We fought and he killed me.”

  Armand made a sound of distress and she reached out and stroked his beloved face. “He thought he’d killed me. Almost did. He left me for dead on the edge of the swamp. He figured the smell of blood would bring the gators.”

  Gator growled. “That bastard.”

  “He was that and more,” she agreed.

  “How did you survive?” Gwen asked. The woman seemed genuinely distressed. Jacque wrapped his arm around his mate and hugged her against his large body.

  She didn’t remember a lot about those first excruciating hours of survival. There had been so much blood. So much pain. She’d lost herself, but her wolf had fought to survive.

  “I dragged myself deeper into the woods and managed to squeeze in between a group of rocks for protection. I honestly don’t remember much.” She wouldn’t allow herself to remember. “Eventually, I had enough strength to move.”

  “Why didn’t you come to me?” There was so much pain in her brother’s voice.

  She blinked rapidly several times and forced back the tears that threatened to come. “If I came to you and told you what he’d done, he would have killed both of us.”

  “I would have protected you,” he insisted.

  She hated to hurt Armand, but she had to be brutally truthful. “No, he would have gone to Pierre and we both would have died. No one could have stopped him. Not then. Not with the power of the pack behind him.”

  Armand surged to his feet and began pacing. His mate watched him, concern written all over her face. Sylvie was glad he had Anny. She truly seemed to love him.

  “Sylvie is right.” Jacque rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “As much as I wish it was otherwise, Andre and Pierre would have gathered their most loyal wolves and killed you both before any of us even knew there was trouble.”

  “We found your torn clothing and blood.” Leave it to Gator to point out that fact.

  “Yes.” Even now, years later, Sylvie couldn’t believe she’d done what she had. “I went back to the woman’s home, the woman Andre had killed. I found a shallow grave in the woods behind her home.” And it had been another slap in the face to discover her mate had buried his mistress but left her for gator bait.

  “She looked a lot like me. Same long black hair. Same build.” Had Andre taken this woman as mistress because she’d looked like Sylvie or had he mated Sylvie because she’s resembled this woman? She’d never know the answer to that. Not that it truly mattered in the scheme of things.

  “I went into the woman’s home, showered and dressed in some of her clothing. I also took the money from her purse. I thought about taking her driver’s license and car but knew that was too risky.”

  Gwen gasped and Cherise covered her mouth with her hand. All of them looked slightly ill. “I had no other choice.” Whether they believed her or not, it was the truth.

  “Good.”

  Shocked by Gator’s response, she automatically turned his way. He was hovering a few feet from her practically vibrating with energy. “Good?”

  “Yes, good. It was very brave what you did. Smart too.”

  A deep knot of shame inside Sylvie unraveled and let go. She’d hoped and prayed for understanding but never in her wildest dreams had she expected praise.

  “You took your bloody clothing back to the swamp.”

  It wasn’t a question, but she answered Gator anyway. “Yes.”

  “And that’s why we found the torn clothing and your necklace on the shoreline.” Armand was pale and the scars on the left side of his face stood out more prominently.

  “Yes. I knew you’d eventually go looking for me. If I’d died, my body would have decomposed quickly, but the clothing would remain.” Werewolf biology was unique. Their ability to heal swiftly, their longer lifespan and the fact that their bodies disintegrated within days of their death were a part of their heritage.

  Sylvie still had nightmares about all the blood and the woman’s dead body and knew she always would. “I ran, knowing what Andre would do to me if he knew I was still alive.” She shivered and pulled Gator’s blanket more firmly around her.

  “You need something hot to drink. And food. When was the last time you ate?” Gator asked her.

  She hadn’t eaten since the evening before, and then only a little. Knowing she was coming here had made her too nervous to do more than pick at her food. “Yesterday.”

  Gator swore and stalked off into the kitchen. Armand stood and Anny immediately rose and came to his side. “I think we could all use a break,” her brother said. “And Gator’s right, you need to eat.”

  “Would you like to freshen up?” It surprised her that it was Cherise who asked her. She was a lot like Cole, neither of them said much, but Sylvie sensed a kindness, an acceptance from the other woman.

  “Yes, please.” She needed a few minutes alone to compose herself before she told the rest of her story.

  She stood but kept the blanket wrapped around her. It might only be a false sense of security, but the blanket made her feel better. Protected.

  Sylvie followed Cherise down the hallway, stopping when two cats sauntered out from one of the bedrooms. “The black o
ne is Seymour. The calico is Tigger,” Cherise told her. “They’re friendly once they get to know you.”

  Both cats paused and stared at her. Tigger hissed and hurried past them. Seymour sidled up to Cherise. The other woman laughed, bent down and scratched the big cat behind his ears. Seymour began to purr. “This one loves attention.”

  Charmed, Sylvie bent to touch the cat, but the animal pulled away and hissed before heading after his friend. Stupid as it was, she felt hurt, rebuffed by the cat’s actions. She knew it was because the cat smelled her wolf and it was unfamiliar. But it still cut her deeply.

  “You can use the bathroom in my and Cole’s room.” Cherise motioned to a doorway.

  “Thank you. I won’t be long.” Cherise hurried through the bedroom and into the attached bath. The room was much like the rest of the place—well done with good finishes but extremely livable. The bathroom had an extra-large shower stall. The tiles were earth toned and the vanity was granite. It smelled of both Cole and Cherise.

  Sylvie forced herself to release her grip on the blanket. It pooled on the floor at her feet. She quickly used the facilities and washed her hands before finally looking at herself in the mirror.

  Sylvie groaned. She was pale as a ghost and several strands of hair had fallen out of her braid. She quickly undid the braid and finger-combed her hair before redoing it.

  “You can do this.” The worst was over and she was still here. They hadn’t asked her to leave. That was a positive sign. She was due for something good to happen to her. Her life had been hell for years, long before she’d mated Andre. Her father had been as big a bastard as her former mate.

  A knock on the door startled her. She grabbed the blanket off the floor and wrapped it around herself like a shield.

  “Sylvie, you okay?”

  She swallowed hard. It was Gator on the other side of the door. She slowly removed the blanket and draped it over one arm. It wasn’t a shield or a barrier against anything. She couldn’t depend on a man to protect her. It was up to her to protect herself, just as she’d been doing for most of her life.

  She reached for the doorknob. Before she could touch it, the handle turned and the door swung open.

  Chapter Three

  Gator shifted his weight from one leg to the other as he waited for Sylvie to open the bathroom door. He was still reeling from her earlier confession. They’d all thought Andre had killed her, though none of them had ever been able to prove it. If not for her strength and courage, he would have. Gator could only imagine what it had been like for her clawing her way through the woods, bleeding and hurt, having no one to turn to.

  He also knew they were getting a whitewashed version of the story. He’d bet his life that there was a whole lot more she wasn’t telling them. He needed to know the entire story. Why he needed that, he wasn’t sure, but he wanted to know every detail about Sylvie—the good and the bad.

  The fact that she’d taken money and clothes from a dead woman, faked her own death and disappeared for years was a testament to her intelligence and her amazing fortitude. Wolves weren’t meant to be alone. They were pack animals at heart. How had she survived on her own?

  Impatient to see her again, Gator tried the door handle and was grateful when it turned. He’d have broken down the damn door if he’d had to, but he was glad not to have to make home repairs. And doubly glad he wouldn’t have to piss off Cole by destroying his bathroom door.

  He pushed it inward and came face-to-face with Sylvie. There was a bit more color in her face than there’d been earlier, but that wasn’t saying much. She was still pale as the ghost he’d thought her to be when she’d first arrived.

  “You okay?” Stupid question. Of course she wasn’t okay. There were still goose bumps on her arms, but she was carrying the blanket he’d given her instead of wearing it.

  He took the blanket from her unresisting hands, shook it out and draped it around her shoulders, bringing the ends together over her chest. “You’re still cold.” His voice was gruff, but there was nothing he could do about it.

  His emotions were all over the place. He wanted to take care of Sylvie. He also wanted to toss her over his shoulder and drag her off to his bed. He figured she might let him do the first, but the second one would have her screaming and likely get him killed by her brother and cousins.

  Gator knew how to bide his time. He also didn’t want to do anything to upset Sylvie more than she already was. He breathed deeply. He smelled soap and woman, but not the bitter tang of fear. That was a huge improvement.

  “There’s coffee and sandwiches in the kitchen. Anny is reheating the leftovers from the beef stew we had for dinner last night, if you’d like some.”

  “That would be nice.” Her voice was low and intimate even though he knew she didn’t mean it that way. She was trying to keep her voice low so the others didn’t hear. He also got the feeling she was used to speaking in a low tone so not to draw attention to herself.

  That was impossible. Sylvie was a beautiful woman. There was a sensuality about her that he wasn’t even sure she knew she projected. It was as natural to her as breathing. She’d fixed her hair and it once again hung in a glossy tail down her back. Gator longed to unbraid it and run his fingers through the long, dark strands.

  She’d probably knee him in the balls if he tried. That brought a grin to his face.

  “What?” she asked.

  He’d been standing here like an idiot staring at her, but she’d been watching him right back. What the hell. He’d always lived dangerously.

  He clasped his hands behind his back to keep from reaching for her, instinctively knowing she’d bolt if she felt trapped in any way.

  Eyes wide open so he could gauge her reaction, Gator leaned down and pressed his lips against Sylvie’s. They were soft and lush and tasted warm and sweet. Like honey. He dragged his tongue over her bottom lip. She released a sigh, the puff of air warm against his face.

  He didn’t smell fear when he eased back. No, when he inhaled her scent into his lungs, he caught the slightest tinge of something else, something much sweeter. Arousal.

  Gator knew he was in big trouble. His arms trembled with the force he was using to keep from dragging her against him.

  Giving her time to object, he leaned in again. This time, she swayed toward him. The yearning in her dark eyes almost brought him to his knees. There was wonder there too. As though she’d never experienced anything like this in her life.

  Like a lightning bolt to the chest, it struck him hard just how brutal her life with Andre must have been. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about that brutal sonofabitch in bed with his sweet Sylvie.

  His. The word echoed in his brain like a time bomb waiting to explode.

  Gator swore under his breath and pulled back. This was not the time or the place. It was a miracle that one of the pack hadn’t already come looking for them.

  He forced himself to step back and motion her out of the bathroom. “The others are waiting in the kitchen.”

  Her cheeks flushed, she ducked her head and hurried away from him. Gator wanted to howl with frustration but refrained, knowing he’d definitely have to explain himself later if he did. Cole would ask. As it was, the big bastard knew Gator was interested in Sylvie.

  He followed Sylvie into the kitchen. There would be time for them to talk alone later.

  What in the name of heaven was she doing? She wanted to touch her lips but didn’t dare with everyone around her. They were still tingling from where Gator had kissed her. His lips had been warm and firm. The kiss unlike any she’d ever experienced in her life. They’d barely touched, but the sensation had rocketed through her entire body, leaving her hot and achy.

  She pulled the blanket more tightly around her and glanced at the others to make sure no one was watching her. The entire pack was seated at a large dining table, eating and talking.
They’d consumed thick turkey sandwiches and potato chips, followed by some kind of pound cake. She’d enjoyed a large bowl of the beef stew as well.

  Her stomach was pleasantly full, but her thoughts were disjointed. Gator had kissed her. Why? That was the big question. She didn’t have any answers and wasn’t about to ask him. Not here and not now.

  She could still taste him on her lips. Being wrapped in his scent wasn’t making it easier, but she wasn’t ready to let the blanket go. Not yet. It had been years since she’d felt safe. It might only be temporary, but it was a respite from the lonely life she led.

  The group fell silent, and Sylvie knew the time had come for her to finish her story. Jacque leaned his elbows on the table and stared at her. He looked as he always had—big and tough and powerful. He was her cousin, but he was also the alpha of this small pack, was able to get four very strong men to follow him. That wasn’t an easy thing to do.

  “What happened to you after, Sylvie?” Jacque asked. “Where did you go? Why didn’t you contact one of us?” He motioned to Louis and Armand as he spoke.

  She picked up her mug and took a sip of the hot, strong coffee. It helped steady her frayed nerves. “I couldn’t risk contacting anyone, not while Andre still lived.” They thought they knew how ruthless her mate was, but they had no idea to what depths the man would sink to in order to get his own way. She’d protected her brother by staying away from him, by playing dead.

  Armand was sitting next to her and he reached out and took her hand in his. His gaze was tortured and she could see his budding comprehension. “You were protecting me, weren’t you?”

  Sylvie swallowed hard. It might be the kinder thing to do, but she wouldn’t lie to her brother. “Yes.”

  He closed his eyes and hung his head. When his hand slid away from hers, she wanted to howl in despair.

  “I’m sorry you felt you had to do that.”

  What could she say to her brother to make things better? Nothing. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come.” The words spilled out of her mouth, but she knew they were true. Armand had a mate now. He didn’t need her or her troubles.