What would my parents think if they could see me now? Dirty and homeless. Illegally staying the night in someone else’s home.
The shock of cold water against my skin jerks me out of my thoughts as the bottle overflows. I quickly turn the faucet off and recap the bottle.
My bare feet patter against the cold wood flooring as I turn off all the lights. I walk over to the bed but pause before getting in. I let my toes curl in the soft fibers of the rug as I graze my hand across the comforter.
This is crazy. I feel like Goldilocks. I glance out the window at the relentless snowfall. But I don’t really have much of a choice right now.
Letting out a pent-up breath, I rearrange and fluff the pillows. The lingering dust kicks up, tickling my nose. I rub it while turning down the comforter. As I slide into the bed, goosebumps erupt across my skin from the cool sheets against my bare legs.
I turn onto my side and stare at the moonlight cast across the living room. The heat kicks on just as my eyes snag on the dull light of the thermostat.
My eyes adjust to the darkened room, taking in the minimal decorations. What kind of person remodels a barn in the middle of nowhere?
It sounds like something I would do. Build a safe haven to escape. Far away from everyone else. I wish I could stay longer than one night, but I know how unrealistic that is. This isn’t my home. The owner could come back at any moment.
Besides, I can’t stay here for long. In three months, I’ll be moving on to the next place.
Turning over, I place a spare pillow on my legs—needing the weight to comfort me—then resettle to look out the window. Despite the nice bed and how exhausted my body is, my mind won’t shut off.
A chill runs through me and I curl up into a ball. On cold nights like tonight, I used to sneak into my parents’ bed and listen to them tell stories. One of my favorites was the one where people could change into animals. A large dog snuggling up against me sounds really nice right now.
But I’m alone.
I squeeze my eyes shut as my chest gets tight and clutch the comforter to my chest. Why did they have to leave that night? Why did they leave me all alone? Their happy smiles and the love that poured out of their eyes as they said goodbye is burned into my mind. I wish I’d known that was the last time I’d see them. I would’ve begged them to stay.
A cold breeze drifts across my exposed face and arm, jerking me awake. I can’t remember falling asleep, I’m not even sure how long I was asleep for, but something seems off...
The door is open.
But I can’t see anything else. It’s too dark.
Dark. It’s too dark. There’s no light.
Visions of the basement resurface.
Jolting up, I lean over and switch the lamp light on.
I freeze at the sight.
Instead of Goldilocks getting caught by the three bears, I’ve been caught by one giant wolf.
My pulse races as the wolf and I have a staring contest. My mind has to be broken because there’s no way there’s actually a wolf in the middle of the room. A huge wolf to be exact, with fur as dark as night. Are wolves normally this large? This isn’t what I pictured when others spoke of wolves. I pictured them smaller for one, but also wild and menacing. But as I stare at this beast in front of me, the words that come to mind are elegant and beautiful.
And intimidating.
Confusion swirls in its intense glacier-blue eyes as they bore into mine. The wolf takes a step forward and my mind goes blank as I’m filled with utter terror.
What are you supposed to do when you encounter a wolf? I faintly recall seeing on the internet how to react when it’s a bear, but I’m not completely positive I remember it correctly. It doesn’t really matter though, since this is clearly not a bear.
The wolf loses its balance as it takes another step, swaying on its feet. Its eyes glaze over before it collapses on the ground.
I hold my breath as I stare at its limp form, daring it to move. My eyes flicker over the wolf and the open door, my gaze snagging on bloody tracks before snapping back to the wolf.
Is it injured?
My mind screams at me to not move as I place my feet on the ground. Slowly, I tiptoe closer to the wolf.
As I draw near, bile rises in my throat. Large gashes across its stomach ooze blood onto the rug. I should not be seeing this much exposed flesh on a live animal.
Fear grips me and I stumble back. My eyes go back to the open door. If something could injure a beast this size, what else could be out there?
Taking another step back, I draw in a deep breath to try to calm my nerves. I have two options right now: grab my things and trek through the snow or stay here with a wounded animal that could very well be bleeding out.
How long would it take for it to bleed out completely? Could I stay here and watch an animal die right in front of me?
The open door is not only letting freezing cold air in, but snow as well.
Leaving isn’t an option.
My decision made, I quickly get up and close the door, then comb through my backpack. If I’m going to stay here, I might as well try to save it, even if I get my head bit off for trying.
I find what I was searching for and walk toward the wolf.
One thing I always make sure to do is overstock my first aid kit. It has come in handy more times than not in the past three years. Not just for myself, but for the people I meet when squatting. I can’t look away when others are hurt. Apparently, that also applies to animals now.
There’s just something that pulls me to it. Deep down I know it’s because when I was injured and alone, I’d wished there was someone there to help me.
I shake my head to refocus. Despite not wanting to rummage through the kitchen, I end up going through all the cabinets until I find a bowl and a few small towels. I fill the bowl with warm water, then set up near the wolf. I eye it constantly, but the only movement I notice is its labored breathing.
Kneeling down about a foot away on the soft rug, I open my kit. With nothing left to set up, I glance at the wolf, my bottom lip between my teeth. How different is sewing up an animal from a human? I swallow a lump. I’m really going to do this, aren’t I?
I hesitate, then scoot closer. As gently as I can, I wipe the blood around the gaping wounds with a wet towel. The wolf tenses and I freeze. There’s no other sign of it waking. My heart races as I examine the wolf closer and there’s blood near his head and legs.
To get a better look at the wounds, I’m going to have to touch the wolf with my hands.
Alright, Ellie, you can do this.
The wolf is unconscious, so there’s nothing to worry about.
Yeah, right. It could wake up and rip my head off, for starters. Taking a deep breath to refocus, I set my shoulders. I’m just delaying the inevitable and if I keep procrastinating, it will die.
Reaching out, I lightly stroke its fur with my fingertips. I’m surprised at how soft it is. I press deeper into the fur until I connect with its warm skin. A zap goes through my hand and I bite back a yelp, jerking my hand away. My whole body tingles with the aftershocks.
What the heck was that? Static electricity?
I glare at the wolf, but all it does is nuzzle its head into the rug with a groan. I find it oddly cute.
I run a shaking hand down my face with a sigh. This is taking way too long.
“Come on, Ellie,” I grumble, frustrated. “You’ve been through worse.”
I try again and this time no strange zapping happens, only little tingles. Deciding they’re probably just an aftereffect of the first zap, I ignore them.
Gently probing through the rest of its fur, I find multiple wounds, but minor compared to its abdomen. I also find out the wolf is actually a he. So there’s that.
Now for the hardest part. I gnaw on my bottom lip as I pick up my needle. I wish I had something to numb the pain for animals, but at least he’s unconscious. Letting out a heavy breath, I focus on his torso.
&nb
sp; Time to put on my big girl pants.
I try to be quick and precise as I stitch the skin together. I push the needle through the skin at an angle until it pokes through the other side. Then I pull the needle all the way out and form a simple overhead knot with two loops, creating a suture. I cut the remaining thread and begin again, just below my first stitch. Sewing skin stopped bothering me a long time ago. It’s the cries that pain me more as I try to help, but this wolf doesn’t make a peep.
Once done with the abdomen, I pull away fur around his neck that’s matted with dried blood. My hands shake when I find deep teeth marks on his neck. An animal did this. I exhale slowly as I wring out another towel. Thankfully, it appears to have stopped bleeding. I clean up the dried blood as best as I can and place a bandage over it.
Leaning back, I examine my handy work. There’s no doubt that this is a fierce beast, but it has a beauty to it that I wouldn’t expect. As I clean up, my gaze is drawn to it. No, him. Shaking my head, I focus on scrubbing my hands and arms. My eyelids grow heavy, reminding me how fatigued I am. I quickly dry my hands and slip back into bed. I wrap myself in a cocoon trying to keep the chill out, but I toss and turn in spite of my exhaustion, visions of my past haunting me. Knowing there’s a large wolf just a few feet away doesn’t help, but I eventually drift off into a restless sleep.
She whimpers in her sleep. The same little human who stitched me up. Me, a monstrous-looking wolf.
And the little noises she makes call to me. Strange as it sounds, I want to comfort her. I want to know what troubles someone so brave. A woman I don’t know is rousing something inside of me that I thought had died years ago.
When our eyes had first connected, even when I was delirious with pain, something stirred inside me. There was fear in her hazel eyes, but also an inner strength. It drew me in.
Another whimper escapes from her. I lift my head to get a better look at her in the bed, but the movement stretches my wounds and forces me to rest once more. My stomach and neck throb under the bandages she carefully placed, but my skin is already slowly knitting back together. She cared for me.
What’s haunting you, little human?
I want to shift back, to ask her all my burning questions.
Why she’s here—specifically in my bed, in my barn—and what’s troubling her. Why did she tend to me? And why does she know how to stitch someone up?
But even on the mend, I shouldn’t shift for another few days. Even then I won’t.
Because the same feeling that is drawing me to her is also warning me to be cautious. That having a giant wolf shift into a large man would freak her out. Like it would anyone.
So, I can’t shift when she’s trapped in this place with me. I don’t want to scare her more. Or change her reality. Because once you know that magic and shifters exist, there’s no going back. Your mind won’t let you.
It’s better if she only thinks of me as a wolf.
Once I’m healed enough, I’ll leave. I won’t terrify her longer than I have to.
The warmth and brightness of sunbeams on my skin wakes me up from my fitful slumber. I slowly get up, my body still aching from yesterday’s journey. I glance at the wolf, my breath hitching as we make eye contact. He watches me with curious eyes and a tilt of the head.
With the wolf awake, I’m even more hesitant to go near it. So I don’t. Instead, I pull my legs back onto the bed and stare at him, but it isn’t long before my bladder calls for my attention. I crawl over the bed to have a straight shot to the bathroom. I slowly place my feet on the ground, then shoot across the floor and slam the door shut behind me.
I let out a heavy breath as I lean against it. I catch my reflection in the mirror, all wild eyes and bedhead. Bursting out laughing, I try to contain it with a hand over my mouth.
This is ridiculous. Never in my life did I think I would squat with a wolf.
Shaking my head, I step away from the door, relieve myself, and wash up. I place my hands on the counter and look at the door. I need to get out of here, but I need to pass the wolf to do that.
Or I can take a shower and delay seeing the wolf.
I remove my clothes and wait for the water to heat up.
Am I really going to take a shower while there’s a wolf lurking in the next room?
Yes, yes I am.
I step into the shower and let the warm water run over me. It slowly chips away the stress that has been building up. I reach for shampoo but pause when I realize I don’t have any of my hygiene supplies.
“Seriously, Ellie?” There’s a bar of soap and a men’s two-in-one bottle. So this is a man’s place. With the minimalistic style I thought it could be, but I wasn’t entirely sure. I guess I could’ve gone into the closet that’s next to the bathroom, but I don’t really want to snoop. Grabbing the soap, I wash my body as I debate on what to do.
I could use the men’s two-in-one for my hair, but I hate trying to detangle without real conditioner. I lightly knock my head against the shower wall as another realization hits me—I forgot my clothes. That doesn’t leave me much of a choice. I rinse off the suds and get out. Leaving the shower on, I’m relieved to find a towel in a cabinet. I wrap it around myself then go to the door, but my hand hovers over the handle.
I just won’t look at the wolf. I’ll walk right past him as if he’s not even there and then go back to my shower as if nothing happened.
Nodding once in determination, I open the door.
Despite my pep talk about acting normal, I rush out toward my bag. I hold the towel in place with one hand while frantically searching my bag with the other. Once I find my conditioner and a set of clean clothes, I clutch them to my chest. I turn around and bite back a scream.
The wolf has moved.
Not only has it moved, but he’s standing right in front of me.
The wolf is a lot bigger than I remember, his head almost level with my chest. How was he able to move with all his injuries? He was bleeding out just last night.
His eyes darken.
I gulp.
He’s probably hungry, right?
Unable to conceal his injuries completely, the wolf limps closer. I’m frozen in place until he’s a breath away.
What does he want?
It’s getting harder to breathe, air saws in and out of my lungs. I’m not ready to be wolf chow. He huffs, limps to my side, then nudges my back, pushing me. I stumble a bit, then look over my shoulder at him. I can’t tell if I’m shaking from the cooling water on my skin or, I suppose, the enormous beast inches behind me.
The wolf nudges me again, toward the shower where I can still hear the water running. When I start moving, making my way back to the bathroom, he slowly follows. Once at the door, I spin around to give him a bewildered look.
He tilts his head.
“You’re not going to eat me?”
He huffs again, and I swear he rolls his eyes.
“Are you wanting to join?”
His eyes spark, but he lies down.
“So, no.”
He huffs again.
I swallow. “Okay, then…” I slowly walk backward into the bathroom and slam the door. I clutch my towel and things to my chest.
What just happened?
I open the door to find the wolf asleep. The only movement is the slow rise and fall of his chest. Carefully stepping around him in my set of clean clothes, I make my way back to my bag. I get my bag ready, stuff my arms into the sleeves of my broken-zipper coat, grab the bag, and cram my feet into my boots. I can’t chance staying here longer with a wolf. It may seem civilized and housebroken, but it’s also a wolf.
Opening the front door, my eyes widen as I’m greeted with at least three feet of snow, chunks breaking off and falling inside.
No.
This isn’t normal for late September, right? This has to be some fluke and the weather will go back to normal tomorrow.
But what am I going to do now? I’m snowed in. I’ve never been snowed in in my
entire life. How am I supposed to get out? I start to hyperventilate. I can’t be stuck here. I need to be able to leave. The walls are closing in. I can’t breathe. Clawing at my throat, my vision blurs with visions of dark cement walls and damp floors.
Soft fur brushes against my arm, jerking me out of my memories. The wolf is in front of me with his paw up, looking at me with big, concerned eyes. He whines in the back of his throat as he nuzzles against my stomach.
My chin wobbles. Why doesn’t he attack? Why is an animal kinder than most of the human population? My hand hovers over the wolf before I let my fingers run through the fur on his head, relishing in the softness. My throat is still tight, and my hands shake as I touch this large animal, but there’s a calmness that comes with it as well. There’s enough peace in his touch to want to push those anxious feelings away.
Why do I feel safe with him?
I sniffle and wipe my nose with my sleeve. “Thank you,” I whisper.
He nudges me back before closing the door with a strangely dexterous combination of his body and head.
I set my things back down to remove my coat and boots. My stomach growls, and I make eye contact with the wolf before his eyes drop to my stomach.
“You hungry, too?” I kneel to unzip my backpack. “I’ll give you food as long as you don’t eat me,” I say as I rummage through my bag. I know I have some beef jerky I could give him. Would dried meat even satisfy a wolf?
Shaking my head, I grab it anyway. It’s all I have to give. I tear it open, throw it on the ground near him, and fill a bowl with water. I place it near him before grabbing myself another granola bar. I bite into it as I watch him chew. He could probably inhale it in one bite, but he’s taking the time to savor it.
Thunder booms, startling me into a near granola-induced choking attack. Firmly gripping the granola bar, I walk over to the window. My chest tightens as I find another storm brewing. The tree line slowly fades from view with fog and snow taking its place. It’s odd how quickly the storm turned. My hands shake as granola pieces crumble onto the floor.
Saving Ellie (Lycans Book 1) Page 2
