Wolf hurdled a clump of underbrush into a clearing. The air burst with scents: gun powder and smoke, blood and death, lycanthrope and Mate.
Bleeding and furious, she stood over Luna, guarding her from an unknown werecougar. She fought not with tooth and claw but a stick and silver knife. Blood covered her, head to foot.
Rage boiled in his blood. These rogues hunted in Wolf’s territory. Hunted his people. Now the cat dared bare its teeth at Mate? Wolf snarled, savage and loud. His own packmates cringed. Even Beta lowered his head in submission.
Wolf stalked the cougar. It snapped and hissed. The pack closed in. The rogue charged Mate and Luna, and sailed over their heads, surprising the wolves behind them. He barreled through the line, knocking two wolves into the brush. Without being commanded, five wolves pursued their prey.
Wolf twitched with desire to lead the hunt, but not even vengeance could make him leave Mate. Fear flowed from her like fog. He would curl around her until it faded.
“Stay back!” she shouted, holding her weapons high.
Daphne, Luna’s littermate, approached. She jumped back from a sweep of the stick, and bared her teeth.
“Just try me, bitch,” Mate said.
Inside his head, Luke laughed. Wolf sidled closer, and Mate’s gaze leapt to him. Emotions ran over her face like clouds in a stormy sky and colored her scent: fear, recognition, relief. Satisfaction warmed him. She knew him.
Beta’s high howl sang through the night, calling the Pack.
The rescue team should be close, Luke said. Wolf agreed, having heard the roar of snowmobile engines during the hunt. They needed to leave, to remove the dead cougar before he changed back into his human skin. But the smoky cloud of terror surrounding Mate grew.
Don’t leave her.
Wolf snorted. He would not leave his mate ever again. Look what happened when Luke let her get on that flying cage.
“Rissa, baby! Are you okay?” Luna’s mate called. Shaking, Luna limped to the broken machine.
“Get away from them!” Mate screamed. She stumbled toward the helicopter. Bitter pain radiated from her small body, but she did not stop. Rick stood on his hind legs, his nose pressed to a hole in the window next to Luna’s mate.
“It’s all right, Iz,” Luna’s mate said. “Jenny fainted. She’s out cold.”
Sam, a young male, nosed the human on the ground and growled low.
Death?
Wolf sniffed the air. Branson, Luke said. Now Wolf growled, too.
Mate yelled again, swinging the branch wildly and pointing the bloody knife. “No! Get back.”
Wolf commanded the others to move away. He did not. Instead, he stepped within striking distance of the stick. Blood dripped from Mate’s arm and the stick wobbled.
“Please,” she said, her voice a cracked whisper.
Luna’s mate tried to speak to her again, but she only shook her head and leaned weakly against the side of the helicopter. Both weapons fell to the ground. Her eyes closed and she pressed her bleeding arm against her abdomen. A grimace of pain contorted her features, and she curved like a possum. The sour metal scent of illness and injury covered her.
His human became frantic calling to her, but she couldn’t understand them yet. She wasn’t pack. Wolf whined, his heart pounding. He licked her chin, putting every bit of strength he had into willing her to open her eyes. She jerked away and fell to her knees with a moan. Her lids fluttered, then opened wide. Her eyes shone like the afternoon sun.
Then, she screamed.
* * *
Blinding pain lanced through Izzy’s head. Her guts churned. She fell to her hands and knees, screaming, as her skin writhed. The ground should feel cold. She should be shivering. But she was burning up. Sweat dripped from her face and soaked her clothes. The black wolf—was it really Luke?—licked her cheek, his tongue rasping, crackling across her skin like lightning. She was being electrocuted, every nerve sizzled and sparked.
Before she could draw a breath to tell him to stop, her lungs seized and she slumped against his bulk. His whine grated on her ears like broken glass.
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.
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.