White Wolf Mate (Silverlake Shifters Book 2)

by Anastasia Wilde

  But she couldn’t leave it in there, either.

  Taking a deep breath, she turned him on his side. Then she braced herself once more for leverage, grabbed the end of the stick, and pulled.

  He arched his back, screaming. Seeing him in such pain made her feel like she was being stabbed in the heart, but she forced herself to ignore it. She pressed clean bandages to both sides of the wound, front and back.

  Then she watched the white squares darken with blood, and waited, and prayed.

  She didn’t know why she needed so much to help this man. To save him. But she did.

  The red stains grew larger, but not at an alarming rate. Terin kept pressure on both wounds.

  After a few minutes, the bleeding slowed. Terin kept the pressure on a little longer, until it was nothing but a trickle. Then she sat back with a sigh of relief. His shifter healing was kicking in. He just might make it through the night.

  She made up some new bandages and taped them to his chest with the surgical tape she kept in her first aid kit in the cave. Then she put more water on the fire to heat, taking some herbs from a pack that she kept in her supplies. He needed to drink something, since he’d lost so much blood, and the herbs would help.

  Now that he was stable, shock shouldn’t be a problem. Not for a shifter. But she’d have to keep an eye on him until he regained consciousness. If he didn’t wake up soon, she didn’t know what she’d do.

  She didn’t want to get involved with people. She especially didn’t want to get involved with a man. One had been enough. Now she had her place up the mountain, her cabin. She had her books and her paintings. Things were peaceful. No one bothered her.

  The last thing she needed in her life was a man with sexy abs who rode motorcycles too fast.

  Chapter 3

  Rafe felt himself drifting in and out of consciousness. There was wet, and cold, and pain. And then hideous excruciating jolting, and more pain. And blackness.

  And then there was a healing angel. Someone with soft hands, who touched him gently. After that, wrenching, screaming agony, followed by sweet relief. He didn’t know where he was, except that it was warm. And there was a face, hovering above him.

  A beautiful pale oval, with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. So beautiful it must be a dream. Her hair was long and straight, and pale, pale blond—almost white. It shimmered in the firelight, dropping like a curtain when she dipped her head.

  And she was naked. He could see her breasts—firm and lightly bronzed, as if she walked naked in the sun all the time. Or maybe lounged on a cloud. That thought made him smile. He was mesmerized; he’d never dreamed anyone so beautiful before. He reached out and cupped a breast, smoothing it with his hand, feeling the warmth and weight of it, the silkiness of her skin.

  “Angel,” he murmured.

  Her eyes locked onto his, wide and shocked. For a moment she went very still, like a hunted rabbit. And then she gently took his hand and laid it down by his side.

  She pressed something down onto his chest, and pain shot through him. Shit. This was no dream. It was real. He felt like he’d been beaten up—or fallen down a ravine on his bike. Oh, right. He’d just done both. And now he’d grabbed the breast of a woman who was trying to help him.

  Way to go, Rafe. Being your usual fuck-up self.

  “Sorry,” he slurred. “Dreaming. Thought you were…angel…”

  A faint smile appeared on her face. She shook her head.

  She turned away for a minute, and the firelight illuminated her hair like a halo. Maybe she was an angel…

  She turned back, holding a steaming mug. It smelled evil. Rafe frowned.

  “No…”

  He tried to push it away, but she gently intercepted his hand. She supported him so he could sit up. Pain shot through his chest. And his head. And his leg. He winced. He drank a few swallows of the foul-tasting stuff and tried to lie back down, but she managed to be insistent without saying anything, coaxing him to drink the whole thing.

  He did feel better afterwards. But he might have changed his mind about her being an angel.

  She let him relax back, tucking something under his head for a pillow. “Thanks,” he murmured, drifting. There was no response, and he forced his eyes open again. He must have passed out for a minute, or an hour. She was kneeling by him again, this time wearing an oversized shirt.

  “You…talk?” he slurred. If she’d said anything so far, he hadn’t heard it.

  She gave her head a slight shake, and then shrugged. His mind wouldn’t put things together. A mute?

  “S’okay,” he said. “I talk enough for both’ve…us. Ever’body…always telling me…shut up.”

  That got another faint smile.

  “Least…you have…sense of humor,” he murmured.

  She put her finger gently on his lips. Then she moved her hand over his eyes, to shut them. With great effort, he lifted his hand and took hers, kissing the palm, then the wrist.

  “Thank you,” he said. “And…sorry. ‘Bout the breast thing. Touching…‘thout permission… bad.” He could feel himself drifting off, remembering the feel of her skin. “Was nice, though….”

  Chapter 4

  Terin watched him for a long time after he fell asleep. His breathing was steady and his temperature seemed normal, so there was probably no infection. Thank goodness for shifter immune systems. Now that she’d stopped the bleeding and set the bones, he should heal okay. The head injury didn’t seem serious; he’d been awake and talking. She smiled to herself. He’d almost been making sense.

  She studied him in the light of the fire. Dark brown hair turning into wild, unruly curls now that it was drying. She knew his eyes were dark too, though they’d shaded to golden when he was in pain. He’d nearly shifted while she was trying to set his leg, which would have been a disaster.

  Strong jaw, vulnerable mouth, with that hint of humor in the way the corners turned up, even when he was asleep. She had a feeling he was a handful—wild, rebellious, restless. She could feel it in him; she’d seen it in the way he rode his motorcycle so recklessly.

  There was an untamed spirit in him that spoke to hers. And he was…broken…inside. Like her. She hid her brokenness by retreating from the world, by being quiet. Listening to the silence. That’s the way she’d learned. She had a feeling he was different. That he tried escape his brokenness by running so fast it couldn’t catch up to him. Riding fast. Riding the edges. Trying to keep ahead of it so it wouldn’t drag him down.

  They were so different.

  And yet she found herself wanting to soothe him, calm that restless spirit and give it a place to rest. Fill the void with—something.

  She touched her breast lightly through the shirt she wore. She could still feel the imprint of his hand, the way he’d cupped it, touched her reverently as if she were something impossibly beautiful and precious. An angel.

  Sadness flooded through her. If he only knew. She was a demon, just like Ben had said. A monster. She’d panicked, and Ben had died. It was like she’d killed him—the only man who had been kind to her. And now she was alone, the way she was supposed to be. A lone wolf, just her and her paintings and her garden.

  Ben. She didn’t think about him as much anymore, not like it had been right after he died. After he’d turned on her. Gradually she’d erased his presence from the cabin. It was hers now, for better or worse. But she thought back now to how it had been with them.

  She had slept with Ben, of course. Made love. It had been pleasant, comforting. He needed it more than she did, but it was something she could give him to repay him for everything he’d given her. And she’d liked it when he held her afterwards.

  But she’d never felt the rush of feelings that this stranger evoked with a simple touch. The heat that had rushed through her, making her body tingle. The desire to touch him, to run her hands over the flat planes of his chest, to feel his arms around her, his body against hers, his hard cock inside her.

  And the urg
e to protect him, to soothe him, to make him whole again.

  It shook her world.

  She lived alone; she had been alone too long to tolerate other people. She knew she wasn’t like other people, or other wolves. She had been abandoned by her pack, her family. She couldn’t even remember them—everything before Ben was a blank. She was broken and damaged, and the one person who’d cared for her didn’t even want her once he knew what she was.

  But there was still beauty in the world. When she was in her wolf form, she could see how beautiful the world was. She tried to put it into her paintings—the feel of the sun and the wind, the way the moon called to her at night, the vast deep mystery of the stars.

  She wondered what this man would look like as a wolf. If he would see any beauty in her when she was changed into her true form. Or if he only could love the woman who looked like an angel.

  She’d never know. She couldn’t stay with him. She couldn’t even let him know where she lived. His pack would want her territory, and then she’d be surrounded. Suffocated.

  She gently stroked his hair back from his forehead. She’d stay a little longer. Just until she was sure he was going to be okay. Then she’d go back to her real life, and he’d go back to his pack.

  And they’d never see each other again.

  Chapter 5

  Rafe woke up with a beam of sunlight in his face. It took a second for him to realize where he was. The cave. He’d crashed his bike and been injured, and he’d ended up with some woman dragging him to a cave and tending his wounds.

  An angel.

  Most of what had happened to him after the crash was a blur of pain and confusion, but the memory of her was sharp and clear. Those stunning blue eyes, and the silky curtain of platinum hair, shining like a halo in the firelight.

  She’d kept him alive.

  He tentatively stretched his limbs. He was a little stiff, and definitely weak. And thirsty, but not as hungry and thirsty as he should have been. He vaguely remembered her pouring different drinks down his throat. Nasty-tasting, most of them, but it seemed like they’d done the trick.

  He gingerly touched the place on his chest where he’d been impaled. That was something he’d pay money never to experience again. It was almost healed now, though. His leg was sore and his knee still hurt when he bent it, but he could feel that it was healing okay too. And the damage to his head was mostly gone—he had a vague headache that was probably more hunger than anything else.

  He wondered if she was coming back—his angel. Her scent had faded—it seemed like it had been at least twelve hours, maybe more, since she’d been here. He touched the fire pit. The ashes were mostly cold; only the embers buried deep inside were faintly warm.

  How long had he been out? How long had he been here? He’d completely lost track of time, but to judge by how healed he was, he’d been in this cave for at least two days.

  Shit. Nobody in the pack would have any idea what happened to him. Last they’d heard, he was going out for beers. They were used to him disappearing, though. Probably no one was even worried about him.

  He wondered where his clothes were. They had to be a mess, but if he could patch something together he might have the option of hitching a ride home in human form, instead of going wolf and walking all the way.

  He got up slowly, holding on to the wall while a head rush came and went. He put his weight on his bad leg and found out it would hold, though it was not happy. Then he explored the cave.

  He was intrigued to find a stockpile of supplies. First aid, dried food, water, more nasty herbs. He snarfed down all the food and drank the water thirstily. He’d have to remember to come back and replace it. The woman obviously used this cave as some kind of supply dump, and the least he could do was repay what she’d used on him. There were also clothes in a plastic box—oversized men’s shirts and jeans that looked like they’d fit her. Another, larger box was empty. Probably for the blankets he’d been lying on.

  On top of that box was a clean set of clothes—men’s work clothes. They might be a little tight, but they’d fit him. Next to that was the saddlebag from his bike, with all of his things intact and his motorcycle jacket inside. His gun was underneath it, with his extra ammo. Even his bandanna. And the things that had been in his pockets—wallet, change, knife, phone—were piled neatly next to it.

  He picked up the phone and pushed the button. Dead. That figured. The charge had run out while he was unconscious, which explained why no one in the pack had found him. He knew Jesse could track their phones, but that didn’t work if the battery was dead.

  If they’d bothered to look for him at all.

  Why should they? They could do without him. Jace was alpha, and although Rafe was Second, Jesse was the one who really helped with the day-to-day administration: organizing things, making alliances with other packs, negotiating deals. All Rafe contributed was labor—working up the mountain harvesting lumber, clearing land, building cabins. Anybody could do that.

  He was just annoying everyone by being restless and unsettled. He’d been spending more and more time away from the pack since Jace brought Emma home. Not that he didn’t like Emma—he liked her a lot. And unlike their Enforcer, Kane, and his shadow Israel, Rafe didn’t have a problem with their alpha taking a human woman as a mate.

  It was just…they were so damn happy. The love between them was so palpable the rest of the pack could feel it. They basked in it like sunshine.

  But it made Rafe feel…empty. Lonely. Like he didn’t belong. He’d been riding Jace’s coattails his whole life, and now Jace didn’t really need him. No one did.

  Feeling depressed, he packed up the angel’s blankets and stored them back in their box. They still carried her scent—sweet and tantalizing. It confirmed she was a shifter wolf—the white wolf he’d seen just before his bike crashed. That was a surprise. As far as the Silverlake pack knew, there were no other wolves near their territory. And if she was caching supplies here, that meant she’d been in the area for a while. He held a fold of blanket to his nose and breathed her in. His mysterious angel had just gotten more mysterious, and more intriguing.

  He shook his head, dropped the blanket and closed the lid of the box. Everyone called him an overgrown adolescent, but he didn’t have to moon over a fantasy like he actually was one.

  He packed up his stuff and got ready to make his way back to Silverlake. He was still debating whether to shift and go home cross-country, or go back down the road and try to hitch a ride. Or up to Grizzly’s cabin and beg a ride home from the old bear.

  He couldn’t get the woman out of his mind, though. She was so breathtakingly beautiful, in wolf form and human form. He vaguely remembered her smiling when he’d called her an angel. And…oh shit. He’d grabbed her breast. His face went hot at the thought. He might be a jackass by most people’s standards, but he didn’t go grabbing at women without an invitation.

  Well. He had sort of an excuse—he’d been delirious at the time. But still, it was a dick move. Not good at all.

  He wondered where the hell she’d come from—and where she’d gone. Part of him wanted to solve the mystery. The memory of her pulled at him—her face, the feel of her hands, the silkiness of her skin. She was like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

  Ah, well. He’d maybe look for her someday, thank her for what she’d done.

  He was putting the last of his things in his bag when his wolf hearing picked up the sound of human voices. The pack? He went to the cave door and sniffed the air. No. Humans, and dogs. Hunters? He frowned. This was protected land. There was no hunting on it even in season, and this wasn’t hunting season.

  Something wasn’t right. The men smelled—aggressive. Like they were looking for trouble.

  Rafe made sure his gun was loaded, and then he pulled on the work pants and stuck the gun in the back of his waistband. He could protect himself better if he shifted, but if these men were hunting with dogs and rifles, wolf form was not the best way to go. Wors
t case, he’d end up shot; best case, he’d end up having to kill the dogs to get rid of them. And he liked dogs.

  Shrugging on his shirt, he went outside. Right above the cave entrance was a tumbled pile of boulders, with brush and scrub growing around them. He quickly climbed up and ducked behind them, in a place where he could watch the cave entrance and not be seen.

  The men came crashing through the woods, lumbering like elephants to Rafe’s ears. He waited while they followed the dogs up to the entrance to the cave. Then they deployed themselves like Secret Service agents, covering the entrance while two of them went in and checked the interior.

  After a few minutes they came back out.

  “Clear,” one of them said. “There’s nobody in there, although there was recently.”

  “What do we have?” another one asked. He was clearly the leader. A big man, dressed in camouflage like the rest of them, and carrying a hunting rifle. But they all also had handguns and radios. Not your typical hunting party.

  The other one shrugged. “A fire—been out for a while. A little warmth in the embers. There’s also a supply cache—food, first aid, extra clothes. And this.” He tossed what remained of Rafe’s bloody clothes down at the other man.

  The leader frowned. “A fresh kill?”

  The other man shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Someone else piped up. “Or maybe just an injured camper?”

  “Hard to tell. Definitely not someone living there long-term, though.”

  “So if there’s a camper, where are they?”

  That was Rafe’s cue. He stood up and cocked his gun so they could all hear it, and stepped partway out of his cover.

  “Well, that would be me,” he called down in a pleasant voice. “And I’m up here wondering why you nice gentlemen are nosing around my campsite with all those many weapons.”