Wolf from the Past: Salvation Pack, Book 4

by N. J. Walters

  But Sylvie ignored him and kept on talking. “He said he’d hurt Anny if I didn’t go with him.”

  Armand made a low sound of anger. In his arms, Sylvie nodded. “I couldn’t let him harm her, so I went with him. As soon as I knew we were far enough away, I broke free long enough to howl and warn Anny. I knew she’d go for help.”

  “It’s all right, mon ange,” Gator told her. “Anny got help as fast as she could,” he told her. He glanced at Armand and saw the pain in his friend’s eyes. His wife and sister both threatened, but that danger was gone, he reminded himself. Travis wouldn’t be hurting anyone else.

  The women burst from the house as soon as Gator stepped into the yard. “How is she?” Gwen asked.

  “Fine.” Gator kept going.

  Anny hurried back and held the door open. “What can I do?”

  Gator wasn’t sure. “I’m going to get her cleaned up.”

  “I’ll make food.” He knew it was her way of dealing with the crisis. It was always better to have something to do.

  “Get Cherise to help you,” he told her. It would help settle both women. Gator knew Gwen was probably already hounding Jacque for details.

  He left them all behind. All except Armand, who still had hold of his sister’s hand. At the door to Gator’s bedroom, Armand finally released his grip. “Take care of her.”

  Gator gave him a brisk nod. “I will.” It was a promise he’d never break.

  “I’m okay,” she promised her brother. “I just need to get cleaned up.”

  Gator wasn’t so sure about that, but if she needed stitches he was the best one to take care of her. No other male was touching her.

  He growled and kicked the door closed behind him.

  It belatedly occurred to him he hadn’t even asked if Sylvie might prefer to have one of the women help her. After what she’d been through, she might not want a man anywhere near.

  “Sylvie.” His voice was hoarse with unexpressed emotion. “I can get Anny or Gwen or Cherise if you want.”

  She shook her head and rested it against his shoulder. “I don’t want them. I want you.”

  Her poor Gator. He was more upset than she’d ever seen him. He’d been calm and cool and so remote when he’d killed Travis it had been more than a little scary. He’d been methodical, almost detached.

  She shivered and he quickly carried her through the bedroom and into the bathroom. She could do without seeing him like that ever again.

  No, that wasn’t fair to Gator. He was a complex man and she had to accept all parts of him. As scary as he’d been out there, she knew to the depths of her soul that he’d never hurt her. Would always protect her.

  He’d done that today. He’d risked his life to save hers without a thought to himself. For God’s sake, he’d taunted Travis into attacking. It was only after the fact she’d realized it was a deliberate tactic on Gator’s part. He’d known just what buttons to push to make Travis lose all reason and blindly attack.

  He released her legs and let her lower body slid down until her feet touched the floor. “Can you stand?” he asked her.

  “I’m really okay.” She was shaky and weak but she was alive. That was all that mattered.

  “Lean against the vanity.” Gator waited until he was sure she wouldn’t collapse in a heap and then he hurried to turn on the shower and adjust the temperature of the water.

  He was already naked, having been out running in his animal form. He was unhurt and mostly free from any blood spatter. She was the one who was a mess. Gator was tall and strong, his shoulders broad and unbowed. The tattoos running up both arms were all that covered his bronzed skin.

  Her wolf gave a rumble of contentment, even as the hussy rolled on her back and presented her belly. Her wolf made no secret of the fact she wanted Gator.

  What did Sylvie want?

  Gator came back to her and briefly hesitated. His mouth pulled into a thin line of determination and he reached for the zipper on her shorts. She was already naked from the waist up. The remains of her tattered top and bra were somewhere on the forest floor.

  He went down on one knee in front of her and eased the blood-soaked garment down her legs, careful not to hit the healing wounds. She reached out and braced her hands on his shoulders as she lifted one foot and then the other. He groaned and rested his face against her stomach.

  His chest was heaving as he pulled air into it. His hands trembled oh so slightly when he peeled her panties down her legs and off. His touch was so gentle and careful it brought tears to her eyes.

  Gator stood, took her hand and led her to the shower. She stepped into the tiled enclosure with him and was immediately enveloped in humid warmth. He turned his back to the spray and studied her.

  His jaw hardened when he studied her face. “I hurt you.”

  She shook her head. “No, you didn’t.”

  “You’re crying.” It sounded more like an accusation. He grabbed the washcloth and began to carefully clean away the blood from her wounds.

  “Not because you hurt me,” she told him.

  “Your wounds—” he began.

  “No.”

  “Then why?” Gator frowned as the water cleaned away the blood and revealed that her body was already doing its job. The worst of the wounds were still seeping slightly but the others were already closed.

  She caught his hand and made him stop tending her. “Because you’re always so gentle with me.”

  “Oh chère.” He kissed her then, light and tender on her lips. Then he went right back to work, washing her entire body until he was satisfied all the blood was gone. He gave himself a quick rinse before he turned off the water. He stepped out, plucked a towel off the rod just outside the stall and wrapped it around her.

  He didn’t bother drying her. He simply lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. She protested when he went to place her on the bed. “You’ll get the sheets wet,” she warned him.

  “Fuck the sheets.” He set her down and raked his fingers through his wet hair, slicking it back from his face. Rivulets of water trailed down his shoulders and chest. Going lower and lower.

  Sylvie licked her lips and stared as a bead of liquid was lost in the hair of his groin. His cock was full and firm.

  “For fuck’s sake, stop staring at me like that.” His voice had gotten rougher and his vocabulary was deteriorating. He’d never sworn that much around her before. She knew it was a sign of just how upset he truly was.

  “Like what?” she asked, curious as to what he would say next.

  “Like you want me to fu—” He broke off and sighed. “Like you want me to jump your bones.”

  “I’d rather you fucked me,” she told him quite bluntly.

  He growled and shook his head. “You’re hurt.” He strode to his closet, his usually fluid gait stiff and wooden. He grabbed a pair of jeans and yanked them on. It took a bit of work to get them up his damp legs but he managed. He zipped them but left the button undone.

  Honestly, if he thought that was going to make her stop wanting him, he was wrong.

  Sylvie knew she was slightly in shock from the attack and the blood loss, knew her body needed rest and time to heal. None of that seemed to matter. Not when she was faced with a naked Gator, or partly naked now.

  Instincts much older were driving her—the need to mate.

  She swallowed hard. Yes, she wanted to mate with Gator. She loved him. That fact had become very evident to her when she’d thought she was about to die at the hands of Travis Dubois.

  Gator sat on the side of the bed and peeled back the bloodstained towel. For the first time, she allowed herself to really look at her body. There were two very thick gouges that ran down her side and hip. The rest weren’t nearly as deep and had already closed. He pressed the towel back over the wounds.

  “You�
��re gonna need stitches.” He was already on his feet and headed back toward the bathroom.

  “Can we talk about this?” She hated needles.

  “Non.” Gator’s hard voice drifted out from the bathroom. She heard a cupboard door open and close and then he was back carrying a large white box in his hands. He set it down on the bed, opened it and began to pull out various paper-wrapped packages.

  “They’re healing,” she protested.

  “Not fast enough.” He opened one packet and drew out what looked like a large needle that was already threaded.

  Sylvie felt her stomach drop and sweat peppered her forehead. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

  His gaze jerked to her face and he frowned. “I won’t hurt you, chère,” he promised.

  She swallowed heavily. “The needle will.”

  His expression softened. “You don’ need to be afraid of the needle.” His accent was thicker now, reminding her of the place they’d both been born and raised.

  “I’m not so sure of that,” she muttered.

  Gator wouldn’t be deterred. He cleansed the area with some kind of antiseptic and then sprayed it with something that he promised would help deaden any pain.

  “Is this really necessary?” She really didn’t want to get stitches. If that made her a wimp, so be it. “I’m a werewolf. I’ll heal.”

  “I’m not taking any chances.” His eyes were molten blue, almost feverish. “How is it you can endure an attack, be wounded and bleeding and not complain in the least and yet you’re afraid of a little needle.”

  “I didn’t say it was rational,” she grumbled.

  That startled a chuckle out of him. “Look at me.”

  She focused all her attention on him.

  “Keep watching me,” he ordered.

  She stared at his bent head and tried to ignore what his hands were doing. She felt the slightest prick of her skin. A little pinch really. It didn’t hurt at all.

  Then she made the mistake of looking down just as he pushed the needle through her jagged flesh. She made a sound of distress and things got fuzzy. He called her name and she thought she might have replied but wasn’t sure.

  She really didn’t want to pass out, but that was no longer under control. Her last thought was that he was never going to let her live this down.

  Gator reached out one hand and laid it against the fluttering pulse in her neck. It was fast but not too fast. He took the opportunity to quickly finish setting stitches. He’d set the last one when the door opened. He knew without looking it was Armand.

  He drew the sheet over her body and stood.

  “How is she?” Armand came over to the bed and stared down at his sister.

  “Exhausted. Weak.” He heaved a breath and began to gather up the bloody and damp towel and the medical supplies. “Brave too. She’s sleeping. Best thing for her.” He didn’t want to tell Armand she’d passed out because of a needle. He might tease her about it, but it was between them.

  Armand stroked Sylvie’s damp hair away from her face. “Thank you.”

  Gator growled. “You don’t thank me. Ever.”

  His friend nodded. Gator took the opportunity while Armand was with Sylvie to dump the stained towel and used supplies in the garbage and return his medical kit to its place in the bathroom.

  Armand was still running his fingers over his sister’s face when Gator returned. “Cole and Louis took care of the body.”

  Gator inclined his head. He was glad it was done. He knew none of them would ever mention Travis Dubois again.

  Armand pushed off the bed and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Worry was etched on his face. “It’s not finished, is it?”

  It wasn’t really a question. They all knew that Pierre wouldn’t let this go. “No,” Gator answered. “They won’t stop. Not until Pierre is dead.”

  “You think they’ll stop after that?”

  Gator had thought about their problem quite a lot and from every angle imaginable. “Oui. With Pierre out of the picture and his brother dead, most would expect Jacque to become alpha. But Jacque has made it clear he wants nothing to do with the Louisiana Pack. It leaves the door open to whoever is strong enough to take the alpha position. Why attack Jacque and risk losing when he doesn’t want the job.”

  “I only hope they think as logically as you do,” Armand told him.

  That was a problem, Gator admitted. He truly believed that Pierre’s death would free them from the threat they’d lived under since they’d left.

  “I’ll let you know if she gets a fever.” That was Gator’s not-so-subtle hint that it was time for Armand to leave them. He wanted to strip off his jeans, crawl into bed and lie naked next to his woman.

  The need to rub his skin against hers, to assure himself that she was indeed safe and alive was overwhelming.

  Armand nodded and headed toward the door.

  Gator swore under his breath. “She needs you, Armand.”

  His friend turned and smiled, but it was tinged with sadness. “I know.”

  Gator knew his friend felt responsible for Sylvie being hurt. He understood it because Gator blamed himself as well. But what was done was done. They’d won this round. All they could do was be more vigilant in the coming days.

  Armand quietly closed the door behind him. Gator pushed the window wider to allow what little breeze there was to flow into the room. It stank of antiseptic and blood. He pulled the drapes closed to keep out the sun but patches of it filtered into the space when the wind made the fabric flutter.

  He could hear the others out in the kitchen. His stomach growled but he ignored it. He had a more pressing need than food.

  Gator stripped off his jeans and crawled into bed. Sylvie didn’t stir when he carefully eased her head onto his shoulder. He wrapped her in his embrace and held her as tightly as he dared.

  He’d almost lost her today. Tears pricked his eyes and he blinked them away. He couldn’t lose her. He’d just have to do a better job of taking care of her.

  He kissed the top of her head and kept a vigil over her while she slept.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  When she awoke, Sylvie was aware of three things—the heat, the itching on her side and the heavy male arm resting on top of her stomach. She inhaled deeply. Gator’s deep earthy scent was mixed with the fainter remnants of something medicinal, sweat and blood. He’d stitched her side shut. Had she really passed out?

  “How are you feeling?” He stirred beside her.

  She should have known he’d be awake. He always seemed so aware of her and her moods. “My side is itching.”

  Gator rolled up into a sitting position and carefully tugged the thin cotton sheet down to her waist. He inspected the row of stitches that ranged down her side. “These are ready to come out.”

  That was the thing about werewolves. It didn’t take them long to heal once they rested.

  “You still need to take it easy for a few days,” he warned as he rolled out of bed. “You lost a lot of blood. And I don’t want you to risk tearing your wounds open. Then I’d end up having to put more stitches in.”

  Sylvie shuddered. “I don’t want that,” she muttered.

  He stood, hands on his hips and smiled down at her. “No, I didn’t think you’d want that.”

  “Beast.”

  He winked at her and padded to the bathroom. Since he was naked, she was given a great view of his firm butt. He disappeared into the bathroom and returned seconds later, giving her an even better view of his front.

  His skin glistened with sweat, emphasizing the broadness of his shoulders and the width of his chest. He really was magnificent. He was also semi-aroused. Impossible not to notice that.

  “Like what you see?” he drawled as he sat on the bed and held up a small pair of scissors.

  “Not al
l of it.” She scowled at the scissors.

  He grinned. “I’m only going to cut out the stitches. No needles. I promise.”

  “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

  He chuckled and eased her onto her right side so he could get at her left. “Maybe in fifty years or so.”

  Her heart skipped a beat when he casually mentioned them being together so far into the future. He snipped the first stitch and she clutched the pillow in her hands. The metal of the scissors was cool against her skin, such a contrast to Gator’s warm, gentle touch.

  He worked fast and removed all the stitches in no time. He dropped the small threads on the bedside table alongside the scissors. “All done. Like I said, you need to take it easy for a few days. Rest and plenty to eat.” He glanced at the bedside clock. “We missed supper, but I’ll rustle us up something.”

  “I’m not hungry.” Okay, that wasn’t quite true. She was starving actually, but she didn’t want the outside world to intrude. Not yet.

  He placed his hand on her forehead. “You don’t have a fever. It’s hard to tell in this heat but you don’t feel overly warm.”

  “I don’t have a fever,” she assured him. “I feel fine.” She licked her dry lips. “Where are the others?”

  Gator stretched out beside her again and she couldn’t help but react to his nearness. Her entire body softened and yearned for his touch.

  “They were all here earlier. Armand was here for a while.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “I hope he’s not blaming himself for what happened?”

  Gator shrugged. “You know your brother, chère.”

  All too well. He’d be beating himself up over this latest incident. “I’ll talk to him,” she promised.

  “They ate earlier and then all went out. I think the women are over at Jacque and Gwen’s place. One or two of the men are probably patrolling.” He stroked her bare shoulder and trailed his finger down her upper arm. The sheet was still draped around her waist, leaving her upper body bare.