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. Luke, 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.