by D. M. Turner
Wishful thinking. If he thought her father would give up looking for her, he’d better think again. The man never let go of something he’d deemed to be his. That’s why her mother hadn’t seen any way out except death.
“You’re willing to accept me, even knowing it could mean a nasty fight at some point?”
“Of course.” He shrugged as though that was obvious.
Kelly looked back at Brett, keeping Ian in her peripheral vision. “I’d like very much to stay, learn what it’s like to be part of a pack that cares about each other.” Tears burned her eyes. Great. Weepy female again. She’d never shed so many tears in her life. “If Brett will have me, he’s my choice for a mate.”
“Good. Get some rest.” He nodded, pushed away from the wall with a yawn, and left.
She huddled in the blanket and kept her eyes on Brett.
The distant call of the mountain lion penetrated the windows and walls.
She shivered. Maybe she only imagined it. It wouldn’t have come closer to the house, would it? Kelly got up, closed the bedroom door, and checked the windows to be sure they were closed and locked. She also made sure the drapes were tightly closed, so nothing and no one could see in from outside. Just in case.
Brett stirred, sucking in a sharp breath. His eyes fluttered but didn’t open.
Perched on the edge of the bed beside him, careful not to jostle or brush against him and cause further pain, she removed the lid from the dish to find partially cooked roast of some red meat or another. She pulled a bite-sized piece off and pressed it to Brett’s lips. “Eat this. It’ll help you heal.”
A moment passed with no response, then his mouth opened enough for her to push the meat inside. He slowly chewed and swallowed.
She fed him two more bites before he went still again.
After that, he stirred every thirty minutes or so, eating a few bites each time.
The digital clock on the nightstand read past five in the morning by the time he finished the last bite. During the intermittent hours, his breathing had deepened and leveled out.
Instead of returning to the chair, Kelly stretched out on the other side of the bed, avoiding the bloody patches. Curled up on her side to face him, she watched Brett sleep the deep sleep of the healing.
* * *
The soft whisper of breathing broke through darkness.
Brett took a deep breath, and regretted it instantly. Every organ, muscle, and bone in his torso hurt. The memory of that mountain lion launching itself at Kelly’s back made him tense. Had he lost the fight and the cat carried her off?
He scented without opening his eyes, in case the predator was near. The air was warm and… domestic. He wasn’t outdoors. Soap?
Eyes opened, he immediately recognized his surroundings. The guestroom of Ian’s home. How had he gotten there? He closed his eyes and concentrated on the last event he remembered. The cat leaping for Kelly’s back. He’d tackled it. He vaguely recalled yelling for her to go. She’d refused, but he couldn’t remember what she’d said. Had she really gone after that animal with a stick?
Everything after that was fuzzy and disjointed, like a half-forgotten dream. No clear images made it through the haze. Was she okay? How had he ended up in the guestroom?
The bed shifted, but he hadn’t moved. He turned his head on the pillow.
Kelly frowned then settled back into sleep.
He breathed easier. She was safe. What was she doing there though? He raised a hand to brush dark brown hair away from her cheek then froze and caught his breath. The movement caused a ripple effect of pain through his chest and shoulder.
Green eyes slit open, closed, and then popped open fully. Kelly rose up on one elbow and captured the hand still lifted off the bed to touch her. “How do you feel?”
“Like I was put through a meat grinder with a dull blade.”
She winced. To his surprise, tears formed in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve realized you were out there for a good reason. I—”
“Don’t. It might’ve helped if I’d explained myself.” Instead of snarling at her. Ian had often told him over the years that explanations, even short ones, went a long way to avoiding ruffled feathers and flared tempers.
Her gaze connected with his. “Ian said you probably contemplated going after that cat yourself. You wouldn’t have done that, would you?”
He smiled. His friend knew him too well. “If I’d been able to figure out where he was, yeah, I’d have gone after him.” He chuckled then grimaced at the pain through his chest. “I was giving it serious consideration before you almost ran me over.”
“In that case, I won’t apologize for almost killing you. You realize that would’ve been one of the stupidest decisions you’d ever made, right? Going after that thing alone.” She glared him.
He grinned. “Yeah, I realized that, about the time it registered how big the cougar was. If he’d gotten hold of me out in the forest somewhere, and me alone, I’d be dead. Pure and simple.” He closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath, releasing it just as slowly. Man, that cat had done a number on him. He was weak as a newborn pup. “I guess I should thank you for nearly running me down.”
A long silence made him open his eyes.
Green eyes had darkened with fear. “That scared me. Almost hitting you.”
“I realize that.” The skin across his chest began to itch. He reached up to scratch without thinking and winced. Note to self, don’t do that again. Werewolves healed quickly, but the amount of damage he’d sustained could only heal so fast. Too overwhelming to a system with finite resources.
“It’s probably the dried blood. That always itches like mad.” She shifted closer and studied his bandaged body. “When the wounds are better healed, you can take a shower and wash it off. Until then, you’re kinda stuck with it.”
“Yippee,” he muttered.
She frowned at something she saw on his bandages, but he couldn’t look down to see what might be bothering her. “I’ve decided to stay. I already spoke with Ian. My father will look for me. I know that. I also know he’ll probably find me, which will bring trouble to the pack’s doorstep.”
“If it does, we’ll deal with it.” He captured her gaze and held it. “We’ve dealt with rogue werewolves in the last year, and we’ve fought before to protect what’s ours. This won’t be any different.”
“I have to choose a mate.”
“I know.” He offered a faint smile. “You probably discounted the lower ranking males too quickly. They’re good men. You’d like them.”
“Probably, but I’ve already made my choice.”
Had she chosen Ian? An entirely different pain fractured across his chest. He closed his eyes and checked gathering jealousy. They’d known each other less than twenty-four hours, and they’d spent what little time they’d had together arguing. Okay, yeah, that kiss hadn’t been much of a fight, and he’d love nothing more than to repeat it, but he’d respect her choice, even if it meant seeing her with Ian. Better his best friend than someone he didn’t like, he supposed.
“Brett?”
He hesitated then opened his eyes. “When are you getting married?”
Kelly cocked her head, giving him a faintly puzzled look. “I guess that depends on how fast you’re back on your feet.” She snorted and grinned. “Unless you’re too afraid to marry me.”
Brett barely dared to breathe, locking his gaze on her. “Me? I thought you’d chosen Ian.”
Her brows shot up. “How did you come to that conclusion?”
“I don’t know. Guy who almost bled to death here. I don’t think my brain’s getting enough oxygen.”
She chuckled. He’d made her laugh. He, Brett Mitchell, boring history professor, had made that incredible, aggravating woman laugh. Unfamiliar warmth spread through his chest into his extremities.
“I feel like I could sleep for a week and still need more.” He closed his eyes. As much as he wanted to engage in more playful banter
and see where it led, rapidly fading energy called for a time-out. “I hate being so weak.”
“I’ll see what I can find in the kitchen.”
“You might leave that to Ian. The kitchen’s his territory, and he doesn’t take kindly to invaders.”
“He told me there’s more roast in the fridge. I’m going to track it down. The more you eat, the better you’ll feel.”
“Great,” he muttered, eyes still closed. “She’s gonna fatten me up for slaughter.”
The warm sound of Kelly’s laughter faded as she left the room.
Alone, he opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling. I’m getting married. If he’d had the energy, he might’ve run. Instead, he could only lie there, helpless and wounded, and contemplate the newest, unexpected turn in his life. I’m getting married. Somehow repeating it didn’t make it any more real.
Better adapt quickly, pup, because you’ve committed yourself.
Blessed be the LORD, my rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle. - Ps. 144:1
Campbell Wildlife Preserve
Somewhere outside Flagstaff, Arizona
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
EVERYTHING in me demanded “Hide!”, but concrete walls and floor offered no retreat, no sanctuary. Only a metal bench bolted to the walls and floor provided any sort of barrier to attack, but I couldn’t see that far in the dark, and even if I could, I hadn’t the energy to move.
Breathing hurt, no matter how shallow the breaths. The metallic scent of blood was unmistakable, even if I hadn’t been painfully aware of the damage he’d inflicted on my body. Everything hurt, especially my chest and stomach, where claws had ripped gaping wounds. I kept my hands on the hard floor, not wanting to learn the full extent of the injuries. It wouldn’t matter anyway. I had no way to stop the bleeding.
If he returned, so be it. Maybe he’d finish me off and spare me the agony of bleeding to death, alone in the dark. The others had finally stopped screaming. Or maybe it was me who had. I don’t know, and it didn’t really matter.
Was it day or night? How long had I been there? An eternity had passed since I’d awakened in that impersonal, stuffy space, stripped of my clothes. The lack of air flow made it difficult enough to breathe. Knives going through battered ribs every time I breathed was worse.
Would my parents ever know what had happened to me, or would I be just one more of countless people who disappeared without a trace, leaving family trapped in the endless grief of not knowing?
Fresh agony ripped through my body, stealing what little breath I had. Like someone tearing me limb from limb, breaking every bone, shredding every muscle, twisting every tendon. Would an infection have set in so quickly? Life ebbed. I felt it letting go. Death had come. I closed my eyes and willed myself not to fight it. Go with the pain. Relax. It’ll be over soon. There’ll be peace.
Lord, please don’t leave my parents to wonder.
Fractures crackled across my skull, down my face. I screamed, unable to keep it bottled up inside. Screaming released the pain, gave it an outlet.
Agony passed, fading to lingering stiffness and aches. I panted as I lay on the floor. What had just happened? How had I ended up on my side? I tried to roll onto my back, but the position caused new levels of pain and felt awkward so I stayed where I was.
I don’t know how long I lay there, waiting for death to show mercy and end my suffering, before I heard them coming. Male voices that had become familiar since I’d first awakened in my prison. Metal doors opened and closed. Muffled curses moved closer.
“One of them better have survived. We can’t keep this up, or someone’ll figure out what we’re doing and come looking. The last thing we need is a bunch of pigs poking around.”
“We’re bound to get lucky eventually.”
“Yeah, well, we can’t count on eventually. We need results. Now.”
The light came on inside the cell. Clank. The lock gave way.
I tried to get to my feet, but the best I could do was rise to all fours and back unsteadily away from the door. I tried to ignore fire blazing through my chest and stomach, but it wasn’t easy. I blinked rapidly to clear my vision. Something red with a weird glow coated the floor and splattered the walls. The sharp, familiar, metallic scent assaulted my nose, stronger than it had been before. Blood, marking where I’d lain and blazing a path as he’d flung it during the attack. The sight and smell of it made me heave, but I forced the sensation back.
The hinges of the heavy metal door creaked, sending a shiver up my spine. My butt hit the wall underneath the bench, which confused me. Shouldn’t my feet have hit first? No, wait. I was on my feet. I felt concrete under them. I resisted the urge to look, afraid to take my eyes off the opening door.
My attacker filled the doorway, cursing roundly, hands on his hips. “She surrendered to the wolf.” A strong, acrid odor swept through the room.
Huh?
“If she’s so weak-minded that the wolf has already taken her, she’s useless. Leave her.”
“I really liked that one.” My attacker shook his head, then he smiled. “Wait. Maybe I can force her to return.”
“I guess it’s worth a try. She’s made it this far.”
He took a step into the room and glared at me. “Return!” he commanded in a harsh tone.
I growled.
Growled? Since when did I growl?
“I said ‘return’!” He grabbed for me.
I bit him, tasting blood.
Cursing colorfully, he yanked his hand away.
“Leave her. If she’s not controllable, she’s worthless.”
He cursed again, backed out of the room, and slammed the door with a resounding crack that left my ears ringing for a few moments. Grind. Clank. They’d locked me in again.
Had I really growled at and bitten the man? I waited for a while to see if they returned. When they didn’t, I glanced around at where the wall pressed against my butt. White, furry. A tail? I looked at my feet. Not feet. Paws. Where my hands were supposed to be, too. What had they done to me? Maybe I was dreaming.
Everything felt, looked, and smelled… wrong. Different. I snorted to clear my nose, but it did no good. The huff of breath made my ribs and stomach hurt, a painful reminder…. I lay on the floor and tried to make sense of it, but I was so tired. Thoughts wouldn’t pull themselves into any cohesive form. I just wanted to close my eyes.
Don’t sleep. Don’t leave yourself so vulnerable. If growling makes them go away, you need to be awake to threaten them. Don’t sleep!
How much time passed, I don’t know. Another eternity.
Then I heard footfalls outside my door, and the lock clanked again. Had they returned to finish the job? Would they kill me now? I could only hope.
The man who filled the doorway was a stranger. Tall, lean, with dark wavy hair. He towered over me.
I pulled back under a bench insufficient to hide me. What did he want?
He dropped to one knee and leaned down. “I won’t harm you. I’m here to get you out. I can help you.”
Muscle tension-induced pain forced rapid, shallow breaths. Can I trust him?
* * *
Tanya watched Ian read, barely able to sit still in the chair beside his desk. He stood in front of the windows in the back wall of his office, slowly shuffling from one page to the next. Would he think it was the stupidest idea he’d ever heard? Would he scold her for even considering it? As the pack alpha, as well as her father-in-law, he’d only do so to protect his pack, but knowing that wouldn’t make it any less uncomfortable.
Maybe she’d chosen the wrong day to present the idea. The dark moon climbed higher in the sky, bearing down on her. She should’ve gone for a run and waited until the new moon passed to approach Ian. It might’ve been even better to have Colin with her when she’d come, but he had run an errand in town for his father, and she’d convinced herself there was no reason to wait.
He lowered the hand holding the pages to his
side and stared out the window for a moment that dragged on forever. At least, that’s how it seemed. Finally, he returned to the desk, laid the papers on the corner next to her, and lowered his tall, broad frame into his chair, rubbing a hand over his bearded chin and jaw. He crossed an arm over his chest, cupping his chin with the other hand. “What gave you the idea to do this?”
“Donna and I talked a couple of months ago about how frustrating it’s been for me to get everything in small pieces about the changes that came into my life with all of this. She mentioned the possibility of fictionalizing information on werewolves. I haven’t been able to let go of the idea. It’s a safe way to record details. If anyone reads it, they’ll perceive it as fiction instead of factual information.”
“Not necessarily.” His eyes narrowed.
Here it comes. He’ll shoot it down.
He tapped the pages with an index finger. “Found like this, someone could easily decide it’s a journal.”
“Oh.” She should’ve thought of that. Maybe first-person point-of-view had been the wrong choice. Perhaps she could change it to third-person, see how the story flowed.
“However, published for consumer consumption, either in novel or short format, would lend it credibility as a work of pure fiction.” He leaned back in his chair. “Brett and I can serve as your editors and help you publish it.”
Shock went through her, drawing her up straighter in the chair. “Is it good enough for that?”
“Absolutely.” He half-smiled. “In fact, I think you should select a couple of your fellow students at the university to be first readers. Get their input on the story and all. Brett and I have never written fiction.” He frowned in thought. “In fact, I’m not even sure we’ve ever read any, so it would be good to get feedback from readers who enjoy this genre.”
Was he giving her the go-ahead? “So… you… want me to do this?”
