Chapter Twelve
Saturday morning, Bianca rolled over and extended her fingers, encountering only sunshine. The warmth stroked over her skin, but she missed the heat of Cage’s body sprawled next to her. Down feather pillows didn’t make up for the absent thick-muscled wall of his body beneath her ear.
“Stop it, you fool,” she said aloud to the room. “He got recalled, and you knew he was military from the moment you met him.” To be fair, the second moment she met him. The first time, in the jungle, she’d been too scared out of her mind and exhausted. In the med bay, she remembered him sitting next to her. He’d been by her side from the moment she awoke; he seemed a fixture there even when they airlifted her off the ship.
When they transferred her to a hospital, he’d been the last face she saw before the ambulance doors closed.
“And I am so falling for him.” She groaned and rolled over. Her body ached in all the right ways. Even her joints were hurting. After she’d spent the evening dancing then making love with Cage, the complaints made sense.
Shoving the sheets aside, she swung her bare feet to the floor and sat up. An odd restlessness coiled in her gut. For the first time since she moved into her new project, she wouldn’t have Cage to distract her from the things she needed to get done.
First, a shower, then coffee on her deck and some breakfast. After that, she’d start with the walls in the living room and kitchen. Stripping away the wallpaper and removing the moldings and outlet covers would let her get started. Plan firm in mind, she strode into the bathroom.
By the time she emerged, wet hair combed and wrapped in one of her newly purchased towels, she couldn’t ignore the yearning sensation occupying the center of her chest. She’d promised Cage she would miss him, but this was ridiculous. Everywhere she looked in the room, she half expected to see him.
Hell, she could swear she could smell him. Rubbing a hand against her face, she glanced at the puckered, reddish skin around the bite mark on her wrist. It hadn’t blistered or oozed, thankfully, but it still looked angry. She washed it every single time she showered, scrubbing it carefully. Touching two fingers to the edge, she tested the temperature. The flesh was still warm to the touch. Too warm.
Great, the last thing she needed was an infection. Returning to the bathroom, she retrieved the first-aid kit. First, she used the antibiotic ointment, then rewrapped her wrist. The big Band-Aids didn’t seem to be enough to just cover it. Binding helped it feel better.
It took her a moment to locate her duffel, and she only found it because a part of the strap stuck out from under the bed. When had they kicked it under there? Dragging it out, she sorted through the bag for the meds the doctors in Maryland had given her. She didn’t need the pain medications—good God, why had they given her so many?—nor did she need the anti-inflammatories. The antibiotics were on the bottom. She should have been taking them from the beginning.
Her physician parents would likely read her the riot act for the choice. Bottle in hand, she headed downstairs. Coffee was vital. Java brewing, she washed down two of the antibiotics with some water, then dropped the bread into the toaster. While she waited for her coffee, she opened the French doors to the deck and took a deep breath of the fresh air. Austin didn’t have seasons as they did farther north.
Rubbing the back of her neck, she turned toward the sound of a woodpecker tapping furiously in the distance. The rhythmic nature lulled her. The chirping of a squirrel, followed by a series of almost soft barking sounds, ricocheted from the tree nearest her deck to one near the fence. Drifting toward the railing, she watched a pair of squirrels chase each other, arguing, and playing.
A cardinal alighted on the fence, its noble little head tilting to the side even as it hunched. Bright red plumage drew her attention, but the soft whistle made her smile. Everywhere she looked, glimmers of life played out against the backdrop of her neighborhood.
Children played a few houses down. A lawnmower rumbled to life. The horn from a car echoed. Taking a deep breath, she drank in the fresh green, the flowers—and chlorine?
Frowning, Bianca squinted. Why did she smell pool water? It wasn’t bleach, per se. It was more like what she’d get if she went swimming. Her yard didn’t have a pool. Rising on her tiptoes, she tried to peek into the yard beyond hers, but she couldn’t see. No sense in complaining; the privacy was why she liked her yard.
A ringing phone dragged her attention away, and she retreated into the kitchen. Scents of coffee and toast wreathed her as she stepped inside, though the chirps and whistles followed her. The coffee pot was full, and the toast cool. How long had she been outside?
Her cell phone rang again, the noise jarring. Heat swarmed her face and she gripped the counter. Pushing off, she went to grab her phone. Maybe she needed to find a thermometer while she was at it.
A foreign number blinked on the screen, but she didn’t recognize the exchange. Not that unusual, most of the people she knew were all over the world. “Hello?”
She poured herself a cup of coffee, desperate for the hit of caffeine. Especially since she seemed to have shiny object syndrome going on—everything distracted her.
“Bianca? How are you doing?” Peter’s familiar voice echoed tinny, as though he shouted against the wind. “Did I get the timing right?”
Amusement twisted through her. Satisfying her craving with a long drink of coffee, she leaned against the counter, then nearly grimaced at the aged taste of her java. “I’m just great, sitting here eating bon bons and waiting for my soap operas to start. Did you lose track of the date?”
“Your birthday’s not for another few months.” Six years her senior, Peter had been her mentor, partner, and coworker on so many projects, she’d lost count. Occasionally, they’d been drinking and poker buddies. They’d shared a lot over the years, including one very awkward and somewhat painful kiss, which they never repeated nor let spoil their friendship.
“No, but someone told me not to call or write for at least six months. It’s only been a week.” A week. A fresh ache wrapped around her heart. One week with Cage, and she was hurting after only a few hours of his absence. What the hell would his going back on duty full time feel like? Or if she did? They were never going to see each other. A fling was great, but this felt like so much more than a fling, and she couldn’t let either of them invest too deeply. It would hurt too much.
“That someone meant well,” he chuckled, and the wind dragging away his words slowed. The motor humming beneath his words, silenced. “How are you doing?”
“Drinking coffee at…” She searched the kitchen for the clock, then gaped for the space of several heartbeats before adding, “…near eleven in the morning. I’m fantastic.” It hadn’t been that late when she got up and showered. Another swallow of coffee reminded her it sat on the burner long past when she’d brewed it.
“How hard would it be to persuade you to come back sooner rather than later?”
Confusion swamped her. The toast was harder than stone, so she dropped it into the trash and added two fresh pieces to cook. “Depends. I’m still mending.” A small lie. Most of her aches and pains were doing much better.
Deep breaths were possible. Her wrist barely hurt. The fever might be a problem, but she still had another forty-eight to seventy-two hours of antibiotics left. She’d be fine. ’Course, by then Cage might be back, too.
“Damn, that’s what I figured…”
“Peter.” She went for patience, because the man meant well. “You ordered me on a six-month sabbatical. As I recall, your exact words were, ‘Don’t call me; you need rest.’ It’s been one week—so why the change of heart?”
“Disaster in Rangoon.” A door closed behind him. Where was he this week? She’d forgotten what relief effort he was currently participating in. “They had massive flooding. It’s been raining for days, and a series of mudslides have devastated the region. I need someone to wrangle the volunteers arriving, equipment deployment, and work with the various organizations sending assistance.”
He needed another him. “That’s a lot of work.” Taking a bite of toast, she closed her eyes. The heat rising in her cheeks left her head feeling like it was on fire. “Not sure I’m up for the flight at the moment…” Which was only a small fabrication. She really did have a fever, and she wasn’t sure she felt well enough to fly. The thought of leaving ahead of Cage’s return also left a sour sensation in her gut.
“You’re right. You went through hell, and I haven’t even asked how you are really doing—”
“You did,” she said, cutting him off. It had been the first question he asked her. “The point is, I don’t think I’d be good boots on the ground, but I can still help.” No matter how bad she felt. “I can start coordinating the relief organizations. Email me what you have, and who is already onsite.”
“Are you sure?” Peter asked, waited a beat, then added, “You’re a lifesaver. I’ll get the files moving now. Everything I have is on the mainframe. I’ll add you to the permissions; there’s a checklist there to follow. World Relief Federation has point, talk to Candy or Tera. They’re in the New York office and they can put you in touch with their people in the field.”
“I got it. I’ll get to work on it today. Take care of yourself, Peter, okay?”
“I will. Chat soon.” After he hung up, she pressed her face against the cold counter. The fever needed to go away now. Straightening, she forced herself to finish eating her toast as she went in search of her laptop. The devices were standard issue for field operations. It was heavy, thick, and designed to take a beating.
The next several hours were spent alternating between coffee and water while she nibbled on toast to keep her stomach settled. The aspirin didn’t do a damn thing for her fever. Even though antibiotics were in her system, she had to give them time. Though she started in the kitchen, she switched to her sofa and finally retreated upstairs.
In the bedroom, she took refuge in Cage’s scent while she made her calls. Tera turned out to be the point person for the project, and over a series of calls they got the steam flowing into the locomotive that would become relief efforts flowing into Rangoon. First and foremost, was the need for first aid for the victims, medical supplies for the physicians, and clean water for everyone, including those flying in to help.
Most countries in the world had a relief or religious organization waiting and ready to help. Some took longer than others to get moving, but they were all dedicated to the same mission—saving lives. She’d wrapped up her fifteenth call with Tera when it hit Bianca how dark it was outside. The whole day had breezed by while she’d hunched over a laptop and kept her cell phone plugged in lest it lose its charge.
Abandoning her post in the bed, she ventured downstairs. Fixings were still in the fridge, and she loaded up two huge sandwiches. She was starved. Shockingly, even with her fever, she couldn’t get past the need to eat. Stranger, the sandwiches didn’t do much to curb the edge of her hunger.
Even pacing out her next couple of sandwiches, she was still hungry and brewing yet another pot of coffee. Her phone, thankfully, remained quiet while she stuffed her face. Outside on her deck, she cradled her fresh java and stared at the quiet night.
It had been a long, exhausting day and she still felt kind of like crap, but she also felt accomplished. Doctors, engineers, and rescue workers were on their way to Rangoon, and she’d made it happen. Hopefully, wherever Cage was, he was safe and sound—and without her miserable cold or whatever she had.
Tomorrow I’ll feel better…
…
Three. Impossibly. Long. Days.
Three.
Four, if he counted the day he’d spent in transit to the team and then deploying with them into the mountains. They’d divided the work, four on four legs, four on two. Those on two carried the gear for the wolves running on four. Cage took the opportunity to take point. Tracking was grueling work. The act of sorting through a thousand different scents kept his mind and body occupied as they hunted for the Al Fakir, the butcher of Kadiz.
At 0400 ZULU, thirty-three hours after they dropped into the mountains, Cage stood over the body of the fallen warlord. He maintained his position as Norton worked his way through the bodies, photographing, finger printing, and bagging any items found on the corpses. Death clung to everything, but Cage, Kurt, Silver, and Butler maintained their vigilance. Patterson had overwatch, but Jax was boots in the mud with Norton and Jeremiah.
The camp they’d raided would be thoroughly searched and documented. After, they’d burn the bodies and send up a flare. An air strike would eliminate any biological evidence of their presence.
It took an hour of meticulous work before Jax arrived at Cage’s position. Kneeling, he lifted the man’s head. Cage had been careful not to damage the guy’s features. After snapping a photo, then scanning his fingerprints, he hit send.
A moment later, Kat’s soft voice echoed over the captain’s earwig earpiece. “Identity confirmed. Your streak of success remains unbroken.”
Jax chuckled. Though his mate’s tone had been all business, an undercurrent of affection threaded the words. Wistfulness struck Cage like a freight train. The pair had struggled against falling for each other, and even more, Jax had fought against alerting Kat to their true natures. Pack law dictated secrecy above all else. For only the shroud of silence concealed the vulnerable among them from hatred, exploitation, and danger.
“You’re clear,” Jax informed him, and Cage abandoned his post over the fallen chieftain with no small measure of glee. “We’ll finish here. You and Silver do another sweep.”
Better to be certain they left no survivors, no witnesses who could betray their presence. Bravo Team WOLF had already faced a couple of traps courtesy of the agency in the last few months. Someone in the upper echelons of the government or the military, more likely both, had begun to suspect they were more than they appeared.
One trap involved luring the team into a rescue op in Africa. A CIA agent was among the so-called hostages, though he’d actually made his move on the team by working with the rebels. If not for Kat, the agent might have shot the captain. They could survive a lot of injuries—except a direct bullet to the brain. And, apparently, getting tasered until we drool.
His mouth opened as humor erupted within. Bianca’s swift act of self-protection still impressed him. It also increased his sense of confidence in her safety. Austin was a far better location for her until he returned than one of her third-world shithole rescue ops. Admiring her resourcefulness did not alleviate his concern for the danger she faced saving others.
Silver snapped at him. The other Marine’s wolf was a deep silver color with black tips edging his fur. He was the perfect contrast to Cage’s chestnut brown fur.
As a boy, he’d complained to his abuela that he was the most unremarkable of colors, to which the older woman had thumped him on the nose, then said enigmatically, “Only those who need the flash require more exotic colors, my darling. You are as steady as the land we call home, as strong as the mountains upon whose backs grow the strong tree—your fur reflects your strength. Now stop complaining.”
Baring his teeth, he locked gazes with Silver. The other wolf stopped snarling, then darted away. The action drew Cage’s attention to a fresh scent trail, which was where Silver wanted his attention. Someone had moved through here recently. He released a low yet vocal yip. It caught the captain’s attention, then Cage tossed his head.
They could communicate any number of messages via body language. Jax straightened, flicked a look toward the direction Cage indicated, then nodded. Permission gained, Cage darted toward the trail Silver noticed and the pair ranged out on either side of it. They could track the scents without muddying it with their own. More, the act of moving parallel along opposite sides of the trail provided them with wider coverage and backup by masking the presence of their partner.
Less than a mile from the kill zone, blood soaked the air. The stale, coppery notes were cool and no longer flowing. With a woof, he ordered Silver to remain hidden before breaking cover to track the gore to its source. Two men piled together, twisted and dead. Nearing them, Cage detected no heartbeats, no sound of respiration. Their chests and extremities were soaked with blood, the wound pattern from bullets—not tooth or claw.
After inspecting them, he gave one low, sharp bark. Silver melted out of the flora around him. How a silver wolf managed to hide himself in an area rich with red rock, stone, and deep green never failed to impress. When Silver confirmed Cage’s conclusion, the wolf lifted his tail then darted a glance back at the way they’d come. The question clear.
Grab the team or no?
Cage nodded once. Silver vanished, moving full speed to get one of their two-legged team members. All the bodies needed to be in the kill zone, and all needed to be eliminated in the same fashion.
Fortunately for them, this particular sect hadn’t hidden behind women and children. They moved like the militarized unit they were, often relying on horses or trucks to make their way through the mountains. Moving like nomads, they’d rarely slept in the same location twice, making pinpointing them an arduous task.
Their Kat had done it, though. Yes, bagging Al Fakir was a job well done, but if Cage hazarded a guess—he’d give most of the credit to Kat. Currently, her presence, which had been originally used to trap them, now effectively shielded the team from men like Major Taggart in military intelligence. Taking down the warlord would be a coup for her, and a feather in her cap proving her mettle among the elite teams.
Bravo Team needed no such evidence. They valued Kat for Kat, but they were playing a long game—politically and strategically. There was nothing Cage and his teammates wouldn’t do to assure victory on those fronts.
It didn’t take long for Jeremiah and Norton to catch him up. Both men grimaced, but they each shouldered a body, then turned to jog back toward the kill zone. Cage used his paws to churn the earth, muddy the tracks, and give the area the look of a wild animal attack. Big cats lurked in these mountains, and it took some effort to rake his claws like a cat. Suddenly, the image of Bianca flooded his mind.
Easy, tiger.
Shaking his head, he abandoned the area once he was assured it would pass muster and returned to his team. The sooner they finished, the faster he could get back to her. Work and tracking had done an admirable job of keeping him preoccupied, but urgency curved through him.
His wolf wanted to be where she was—and Cage was man enough to admit, he ached for her, too. The only reason he’d had the opportunity to get to know her was biting her. Once he told her the truth? Yeah, chances were she’d kick his ass to the curb. Even if she didn’t—how the hell did he make it work while he served and she had to stay…where? With his pack?
He had at least another three years with the team—longer if he won the role of captain. Bianca wouldn’t be able to go back to her life, not when she had to learn how to be a wolf, to master her wild side, and learn how to be one of them. One bite would change her life. And his? Wasn’t his out here in the field with his guys?
The next hours proved onerous, but they left no stone unturned. Only when Jax concluded they’d gleaned all they could did they clear the zone. Cage and the others shifted then changed into their gear. Ten miles from the kill zone, they were boarding a Black Hawk when a plume of fire went up in the distance erasing all memory of Al Fakir and his group.
Another job finished. He and the guys caught sleep on the way back to the aircraft carrier. They’d hopscotch their way across the ocean back to the States. It could be another twenty-four hours before he reached Bianca, but maybe he could call her after debriefing.
When the Black Hawk touched down on the flight deck, Kat approached with a go bag in hand. The rest of the team disembarked, but Jax kept Cage aside with an upraised hand. Kat tossed him the bag, and Cage glanced from it to her then to his captain.
“Soon as they refuel, they’re going to get you over to the Triumph. From there, you’ll hop a COD to Spain. I’ve pulled some strings. There’s a flight from there that will get you straight to San Antonio.”
Cage had no idea what to say.
“Get it done,” Jax told him, then gripped his shoulder. “You did good, but you’re struggling with divided loyalties.”
The lack of heat in the reprimand didn’t remove the sting. He’d hoped the captain hadn’t noticed.
“We’ll be here when you get back.”
Kat grabbed his hand and Cage gripped it in a quick handshake.
“Good luck,” she told him, then Jax tugged her away and the Black Hawk crew handled their refuel. Leaning back in the seat, he tried to contain his impatience. His captain had done him a huge favor, more, he’d demonstrated trust because Cage wasn’t going to be at the debrief. They’d handle everything while they let him handle Bianca… Bianca.
His wolf’s agitation settled the moment the Black Hawk lifted off. They were still hours away, but they were heading in the right direction. He and his wolf had been in agreement; as long as the team needed them, they deserved all of their focus. Mission complete, they had one singular goal.
Get back to the woman they’d left in Austin. He’d missed her more than he would one of his own limbs. The next several hours passed in a series of hurry up and wait. When he was in Spain it was the middle of the night in Austin, so he didn’t call. Then he fought for some sleep on the flight to San Antonio.
A different airman met him at the plane, then took him to his truck. It was nearing lunchtime when he exited the base. He’d paused only long enough to strip off his MARPATs and replace them with jeans and a T-shirt. His jaw sported three days’ worth of growth, and his hair was beyond regulation, touching his ears and stretching toward his nape. Spending so much time in wolf form tended to make them all a bit hairier after.
His beard itched, but he’d shave it later, after he saw Bianca. The singular imperative kept him going, pushing him past the point of exhaustion. Leaving the highway behind for the sun-dappled, tree-lined streets had a thrill cascading through his system. Eagerness vibrated in his soul, and he could practically feel his wolf’s tail thumping.
Bianca. Bianca. Bianca.
Ridiculous excitement twined round his heart as he swung into her driveway. Her Prius sat in front of him, and he didn’t mind in the slightest the feeling of boxing her sweet little car in with his huge truck.
Stretching, he left his go bag in the truck and headed for the front door. Fortunately, he had a key—it was the only way he could convince her to keep it locked. She was probably working on painting one of the rooms or maybe having lunch on the deck. First he’d surprise her, then he’d seduce her. And after they celebrated their reunion properly, he’d check her wrist. If necessary, he’d confess to her what was happening.
He obsessed over seeing the actual bite. A part of him still didn’t want to accept he’d made such a cataclysmic mistake, but the rest of him—the rest of him wanted to see the mark. His mark on her. The thought tickled in the back of his mind as he got the door open—and the scent of sickness rushed out to greet him.
“Bianca,” he called, tossing his keys then shutting the door. Entering the alarm code, he shut it off before it could destroy his hearing. “Bianca?”
The French doors to the deck were closed, the downstairs dark, and the shades drawn on the windows.
“Bianca!” He took the stairs three at a time. A thump echoed from inside her bedroom, and he got the door open. The whiff of illness soured on the back of his tongue. Bianca lay in the middle of the bed, sweat slicking her skin, her eyes closed. Worry flooded him, and he crossed the room to her side.
Her flesh was scorching to the touch. Fever.
Bad fever.
Scooping her off the bed, he carried her into the shower. “Hey, baby, you there? Bianca?”
Her eyes opened briefly, then shut again on a groan. Turning on the cold water in the shower, he stepped right under the icy spray with her. She let out a hiss and a squeal, but he kept her under the water.
Was she sick or was it the turn? How the hell was he supposed to tell the difference? Another five minutes under the water, and her eyes were open all the way and a little more focused. Carrying her back out, he stripped her out of the tank top and panties, then dried her off. He needed to go down for some ice, but his gaze went to her unbandaged wrist—the bite mark, livid and angry.
His heart sank even as his wolf snarled.
They had unimpeachable confirmation. Her arm healed swiftly, her cheek had knitted closed, and even her knee scrape was half a memory. The bite remained hot and fierce. The bite had taken. Now, he and his wolf were going to have to fight to keep her with them.
Losing her was not an option.