by Kari Cole
A snarl thundered inside her head and threatened to shatter her skull. She shook hard and collapsed into the snow. Her heart hammered like it was ripping free from her chest. Bones snapped and ligaments popped.
Please, God, make this stop.
Izzy’s muscles tightened until she felt like a soda can crushed in a meaty fist. The burning heat exploded into an inferno of agony as her skin split, jawbones shattered, gums ruptured. She was drowning in blood, suffocating in her own clothes.
Dying took eons.
* * *
Through his wolf’s eyes, Luke stared in shock at the quivering lump of rags on the ground.
Isabelle had shifted.
Damn the night to hell. He’d never seen anyone change like that. It hadn’t flowed over her like water rippling over rocks or even the sudden explosion of lightning, violent and beautiful. It had come in fits and starts, tearing, devouring.
Her agonized cries would haunt him forever.
Is she alive? he asked his wolf, terrified of the answer.
Carefully, so carefully, his wolf nosed the shredded pile of torn and bloody clothes. The sour scents of fear, blood, and death drowned the wolf’s senses in horror.
Freddie screamed for Isabelle, pounding on the ruined glass. “Damn you, Luke! What the fuck did you do?”
The accusation hit Luke like a blow to the face. He’d been trying to soothe Isabelle, whispering to her, offering his strength. But her presence had been thick and muted, like trying to speak through a wall of mud. In his panic, he’d mentally pounded at that barrier. Had his clumsy attempts at communicating with her triggered her first change?
His wolf paced. Our fault.
Luke remembered his first shift. It had hurt like hell, and he had been prepared for it.
Still in wolf form, Dean and the others circled her, whining with anxiety. She twitched and jerked within the prison of her clothes, too scared and disoriented to free herself.
With her teeth, Daphne pulled at Isabelle’s jacket sleeve. When Dean and Rick moved in to help, Luke’s wolf bared his fangs at them. They backed off in a hurry. Together, his wolf and Daphne tore away the fabric confining Isabelle’s wolf. She thrashed as the clothes fell away, revealing a small silver-and-white werewolf.
Beautiful, his wolf said.
Isabelle’s wolf staggered to her feet, threw her head back and howled. The high, piteous sound froze them all. Every shifter for miles would cringe in sympathy at the pain in it.
Unable to stand the distance between them, his wolf nuzzled her blood-matted head and licked her muzzle, trying to offer some small token of comfort.
She leapt back and the expression on her face was plain, even in wolf form: total and complete shock. Wide, glassy, gold eyes darted around. Her breath burst from her like a machine gun.
Have to go, Dean said with a mental shove that was practically a scream.
His wolf agreed. He walked slowly toward their panicking female, lifting and placing each paw with deliberation. She watched his every move as if fascinated.
Good. Pay attention, little wolf.
His wolf ducked a bit, then raised his chin, maintaining eye contact with Isabelle’s wolf. He let his mouth fall open and tongue loll out, a doggy grin on his face, eyes open and happy. He didn’t have to fake it either. Despite the situation—and it was a crappy one—Luke felt his wolf’s joy radiate through their entire being. Their mate was alive, and his wolf was ecstatic to see Isabelle’s lupine counterpart in the flesh.
Tail wagging in a quick, sweeping rhythm, his wolf paused in front of her. He let her take him in: his size, the aura of power radiating from him. He let a bit of their pack magic leak out to brush over her in a light caress. A shiver ran through her, rippling her gorgeous coat.
Good, easy now, Luke said to his wolf. Nice and easy.
Letting a little more power out, his wolf sent her a message, barely a whisper. Friend, he told her. Friend.
When she tilted her head at him, obviously listening, his wolf tried more. This time he let his concern and worry roll out. Her ears twitched and she sniffed the air. Yes, sweetheart, that’s it, let him in.
Come now. Friends. Come with friends. His wolf looked to Dean and the others. Daphne and Rick already had Rissa limping toward the tree line. With a flick of his head, Luke’s wolf sent his packmates on.
The small white wolf swayed in the wind, eyes wide. Wolf inched closer until he could brush her neck with his muzzle. She shied from him and Luke held his breath. But his wolf was patient. With confidence, he moved alongside their mate again, and lightly hip-checked her. He nodded his head at the tails of the retreating werewolves.
Isabelle’s wolf looked back at the helicopter and the injured humans within. As she stared, Luke saw a dangerous light come into her eyes.
His wolf bumped her again, trying to redirect her focus. She glanced at him but leaned toward the helicopter. Nostrils flared as she scented the air. Luke knew what she would smell.
Blood and fear.
To her newly heightened senses: prey.
Before she could do anything stupid that would feed into her fear that she was a monster, his wolf barked. She hopped away and flattened her ears to her head. Stepping in front of her again, he blocked her view of the injured humans with his much larger body. He jerked his head toward the trees. She didn’t move. He rubbed his muzzle against hers, licked her face, and filled her senses with his scent and touch. Finally, she blinked, her eyes glazing over again, and leaned toward him.
When her front paw touched the ground, she stumbled and whined. Blood matted the pale fur of her foreleg, but they couldn’t wait. There were humans coming who had no idea that werewolves lived among them.
Gently, Luke’s wolf guided Isabelle out of the clearing. He was careful to never move more than an inch or two away from her, surrounding her with his scent. As they entered the shelter of the trees, she looked back at the helicopter once more before turning to lean on him as they slid into the darkness.
Dean drifted out of the trees and joined them.
Between her injuries and unfamiliarity with her form, Isabelle moved with the awkward gait of a newborn colt. Her rear leg dragged through the snow and she whimpered with every misstep. There were many.
How would she make it to the pickup area? It was situated on top of a plateau. To get there, they’d have to climb a steep trail. There was no way Isabelle could do it. She was already panting like a hunted doe.
We have to go to Haven, Luke told his wolf. The pack’s hidden den offered safety and security, and didn’t require mountain-goat-level climbing skills to get there. But it was still several miles away through deep snow.
Please, goddess, let her make it.
Chapter Eighteen
Biting wind lashed Izzy’s raw, vulnerable nerves. The dawn’s anemic gray light scorched her eyes and drilled into her sloshing brain. Her hands and feet—no, she had paws now. Paws. The frigid cold made them feel like they were on fire, and each step left a bloody print in the pristine snow. Her bones had turned to brittle stone. Another strong gust might crack her apart to disintegrate on the wind.
While she felt everything, she controlled nothing—not where she moved or what she looked at. She was locked in a cold, dark room, huddled in the corner of her own mind.
All her life, Izzy had ignored, denied, or flat-out quashed the other voice in her head. Since Bess’s death, it had been getting harder and harder to reject the thing she knew lived inside her. Now, she’d let it out, let it take over.
And it was mad. Incensed.
An electric sense of menace pulsed around her. There were no words or images, just the unmistakable impression of vengeance.
What the hell had she done by letting this thing assume power?
Pain flashed like lightning as she—they?—faltered and fell. Lu
ke, in wolf form, nosed her face and neck, nudged her side, urging her to get up. Every time her strange body stumbled, Luke and a huge brown wolf barked, pushed, and even dragged her by the scruff of the neck. They never allowed rest.
Now there was more barking. The sound raked over her eardrums, which must be nothing but bloody tatters. More pushing and shoving.
Dear God, why wouldn’t this hell end?
The snow gave way, replaced by something hard that flayed the last shred of flesh from her paws. She would have screamed but she had no voice. No air to give the cry.
A strong grip tightened around her, lifting her from the torturous ground. “Shhh, sugar. You’ve made it. You’re safe.”
Safe.
Had she ever been that?
* * *
Haven had never looked so good. Luke took his first steady breath when the sanctuary’s thick stone walls stood between his mate and the wind and snow.
Watching her suffer through each and every agonizing step—hell, every breath—ripped his fucking guts out.
Her strength and determination filled him with awe.
He barely noticed the sentries guarding the den’s perimeter, or his packmates who swarmed them at the entry. With Isabelle shuddering in his arms, he sprinted toward the hot springs in the middle of their den, kicking open the heavy door that blocked his way, splintering the frame.
He shot into the humid chamber and headed straight for the gently bubbling pool at the far end. As he descended the first carved step into the water, a beat of magic tickled along the bare skin of his arms and chest. “Get Sarah in here, now!” he yelled to several wide-eyed people as his mate started shifting again.
“No, Isabelle, don’t.” But it was too late. Too weak and inexperienced to remain in wolf form, her body reverted to the shape it knew best. He should have expected it. She’d gone completely limp the second he had lifted her from the ground, unconscious immediately.
Terrified, he sat on the edge of the pool and rocked her as she changed, praying she would survive. The power of her shift was so weak, he wouldn’t have felt the magic if he wasn’t holding her in his arms. A minute later, Luke held an ice-cold, naked female. A very still female.
Her head fell back over his arm and he stared at her chest, listening hard. She wasn’t breathing.
“Sarah!” he roared as his wolf keened.
Luke slid down into the water. It felt boiling on his chilled skin. His mate didn’t react to the high temperature or to him shaking her and screaming her name. He fit his mouth over hers and breathed for her.
One breath. Two.
Nothing.
Again. Three. Four.
Please, goddess. Five.
Dean charged into the room with Sarah on his heels. He skidded to a stop at the opposite side of the pool, swearing loudly. Sarah swore, too, and jumped across the pool, landing in the water next to him with a giant splash.
Before Sarah even touched Isabelle, her head flew back and she gasped a wheezing breath and started coughing.
Thank God. Thank you, oh, sweet Jesus, and the goddess, and every other deity in the universe.
Eyes huge, wild, and unseeing, Isabelle fell back against his chest, shaking like an angry rattler’s tail. She breathed shallowly, her lips and pale skin blue and mottled with cold.
“What do you need, babe?” Dean said to his mate, setting her heavy, toolbox-like medical kit on the lip of the pool.
Sarah didn’t answer as Isabelle’s eyelids closed. She took Isabelle’s wrist in one steady hand and placed the other on her neck, feeling for a pulse.
“Pretty sure she has a concussion,” Luke offered, feeling totally helpless as Sarah examined Isabelle with quiet intensity. “She vomited on the way here.”
Nodding, Sarah gently pried open Isabelle’s eyelids, one after the other. “Dean, she’s in shock. We need an IV.”
The medical kit clattered open as his Beta set to work.
A soft, warm breeze of power brushed Luke’s arm as Sarah used her abilities to check over his mate in a manner you wouldn’t find in any normal hospital. Better than an X-ray, MRI, and barrage of diagnostic tests combined, lycanthrope healers were born, not made. He’d seen them heal cuts, mend broken bones, and repair damaged organs all with the innate magic gifted to them by the goddess. But there were limits to a healer’s power. Right now, that was the thought he couldn’t chase away.
Biting his tongue to keep from shouting at Sarah to hurry, he held his mate against his chest and tried to calm the hell down. While his heart raced and a cold sweat ran down his back, his wolf raged, growling and pacing within. Luke tucked Isabelle’s head under his chin and nuzzled her hair.
She had nearly died. Right in his arms. The thought of—no, he wasn’t going there. Jesus, they hadn’t even had time to exchange more than a few sentences with each other.
Light bloomed in the cavern as Rissa’s sister, Daphne, moved along the wall lighting several hanging lanterns. She unhooked one and carried it over, placing it so the light shined on Isabelle.
Sarah nodded. “Thanks.”
Isabelle cringed away from the light and whimpered.
“Shh,” he murmured as he smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead, leaving his mouth on her soft skin for a few seconds. The power of his beast flowed into her as Luke kissed her again.
“It’s okay, honey,” Sarah said, as she stroked a hand down Isabelle’s arm. “Poor thing’s like ice, even in the water. Hypothermia is the biggest problem right now. She’s so freaking malnourished she’s not equipped to deal with all this trauma.”
Impotent rage flared at his mate’s circumstances. He never should have let her get in the helicopter. Not when she was already clearly suffering.
More healing energy flowed from Sarah. “Dean,” she said, “we’ll need warm blankets. And have whoever is hanging around out there get some food. Something high in calories but easy to get down. Oh, and have them bring something for Luke, too.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Daphne said.
Luke shook his head as Daphne raced from the room. “I’m fine, worry about my mate.”
Sarah narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ll worry about who I like, Alpha.” She said his title with the kind of sarcasm reserved for someone who had grown up as one of his closest friends. “As healer, I’m telling you, you’ll eat what I tell you to. You won’t be helping your mate much if you don’t have enough energy to support her.”
Shock rang through him and his wolf cocked his head, listening.
It must have registered on his face, because Sarah said, “Oh yeah, you are definitely feeding her energy, all right. That might be the only thing that’s keeping Izzy going at this point.”
“But—”
“But that’s only something that can be done between bonded mates? Normally, yes. But your wolf always was pushy, wasn’t he? How old were you when you first shifted? Four?”
He didn’t answer, too surprised by the realization that he and Isabelle had already established such a connection. When the hell had that happened?
Squatting in the bubbling water, Sarah’s red jacket billowed around her. She made an exasperated sound and yanked on the fabric to get it out of her way.
“Here, babe,” Dean said, helping his mate out of the sodden coat. He pulled off her drenched sweater, too, leaving her in a dark T-shirt.
Sarah murmured her thanks and bent over Isabelle once more, power flowing from her dancing hands. After a few minutes, the healer’s breathing turned ragged, too. She sagged against the side of the pool. Dean handed Sarah an open bottle of sports drink and cupped her cheek in his huge palm.
She smiled at her mate. “You always know what I need, baby.”
“Just doing my job,” he said.
Luke watched the tender moment and tightened his grip on his own mate.
For once he wasn’t flooded with jealousy.
He took advantage of the quiet moment to study Isabelle’s face. A purple bruise stretched from her right temple over her cheek. Blood matted her hair and streaked her skin. The cinnamon-colored freckles on her nose showed starkly against her pale skin.
Unable to resist, he kissed both cheeks, and then her nose. As he pulled back, she opened her eyes. God, they were a beautiful shade. Not brown exactly, more a burnished gold, like great scotch.
They stayed like that, gazing into each other’s eyes for just a few seconds, but in that short time Luke felt something fall into place inside himself.
“Hi,” he whispered.
Isabelle blinked once, then closed her eyes, settling her head onto his chest with a sigh.
A lump formed in his throat.
When he looked up, Sarah, Dean, Daphne, and a half-dozen others were staring at him. Dean met his eyes and nodded once like he understood the intense emotions rattling around in his heart. As his friend’s gaze shifted to his own mate, Luke thought maybe he did.
Chapter Nineteen
Kent Markes paced the warped floor of the grubby cabin. The only light in the room came from the screen of his cell phone, which was in danger of being crushed in his grip. He didn’t care if the male on the other end of the line was paying him. He didn’t bother trying to keep the growl out of his voice. “You said the bomb would destroy the helicopter. It looked pretty good to me.”
The answering growl sounded tinny coming through the phone. “Dodd should have lost all maneuverability. They should be nothing but a greasy smear on the side of the mountain. There is no way they should have been able to land that aircraft.”
“Should, should, should. Obviously, they could fly it and did. They set down in a little clearing, like they hopped through a hole in the trees. Everyone survived the crash. Are you sure you did it right?”
“I placed the bomb myself.”
The unjustified arrogance in the other male’s tone rubbed Markes’s fur the wrong way. “Color me impressed.”
Static filled several seconds of silence. “You blew your cover. No one was supposed to know about you guys yet.”
