Chapter Thirteen
“I hate the flu,” Bianca complained as Cage sat on the edge of the bed. He’d already fluffed the pillows behind her so she could sit up. The icy shower aside, seeing him had been the best thing all weekend. She was so pathetically happy to have him home. “Sorry you had to come back and find me like this.”
The weekend had been miserable. Thankfully, she’d managed to get most of her calls done, and the Rangoon relief effort begun. The last time she spoke to Tera—Sunday morning? Afternoon?—she assured Bianca they were well on their way. After that, Bianca managed to down some more antibiotics and found a local place that actually delivered cold meds—shocked the hell out of her, though the dial-a-med she’d called suggested she finish the antibiotics before they added anything new to her system.
Living on soup, coffee, and lots of water, she retreated to her room to sleep. Her hair was a nightmare, and her mouth tasted like something died in it. Despite the odoriferous breath, she found herself curled in his lap while he balanced a cup of soup to her lips. Poor Cage. It was the ship all over again. “This is so not sexy,” she whispered, her throat ragged.
“It doesn’t have to be sexy,” he murmured, tipping the cup so she could drink. The thick chicken corn cream soup tasted like manna from heaven. Normally, she’d complain about the salt, but she’d never experienced something so wonderful before. He set the mug down then dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a napkin.
God, it was humiliating.
Turning her face into his throat, she closed her eyes. The scent she’d imagined for days filled her burning nostrils. Fortunately, the meds seemed to be holding off the stuffed-up feeling. Cage was muskier, more male than before. His beard tickled her face. The temptation of his nearness couldn’t quite overcome just how crappy she felt. Still, it helped.
“How long have you been sick?” Cage asked. He’d carried a chair up from downstairs, and set her on it so he could strip off her bed. The man moved with economy of motion and purpose. Once he’d put fresh sheets into place, he’d tucked her in, before disappearing to take all the smelly ones down to be washed. If Cage hadn’t been there, she might have objected. The new sheets smelled like too much detergent and fabric softener and not enough like him. After all of that, he’d returned with the soup, and set her in his lap on the bed.
There were worse ways to spend her misery.
“A couple of days,” she managed around a tongue that felt thick. She wanted to go back to sleep, except she also wanted to talk to him. “It’s sucked, but I had work to do and I got it done.”
“Work?” Though she couldn’t see his face, the frown echoing in his tone was hard to miss.
“Don’t growl at me,” she snapped, wavering between sleep, more soup, and simply snuggling with him. “You were working.”
A beat of silence, then, “Yeah, I was. Sorry about that.”
“I don’t need you to apologize for doing your job.” She shuddered, trying to shove aside the fatigue and focus. Something brewed between them, and it was important enough she needed to address it with him.
“Bianca…”
“Shush,” she managed, then got herself to sit up. When she made to move onto the bed next to him, he shifted her weight for her. God, she was as helpless as a kitten here. “I’m trying to make a point.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Humor spiked in his tone.
“Don’t laugh at me.”
“I’m not,” he promised, but it was the solemn note in his tone, not his words, which convinced her.
“Yeah,” she muttered. “You were, but I’m kind of wretched at the moment, so I’ll give you a pass.”
Finally, sitting up under her own power, she leaned against the pillows and stared at him. He looked good. Scruffy, but good. Too out of it to really assess for injuries, she tried to look him over.
“You’re not feeling good,” he said, and the dark note of concern in his voice sobered her.
“No, I’m not. But I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.” Missing him so damn much for the last few days drove her dependence on him home. Peter may have dumped the sabbatical on her, but she’d begun to enjoy the challenge of updating the house.
In reality, it hadn’t been the house appealing to her so much as Cage. He’d fit so neatly into her life, folded in as if he’d belonged there the whole time. Kind of depressing to realize she’d put so much stock in his presence over her own independence.
“Not going to fight with you.” Twisting, he studied her with a too-calm gaze. The flecks of amber in his eyes seemed to glow.
Damn, have to love a fever. “You don’t have to fight with me, but don’t baby me. I have the flu—it sucks. I’ve been around a lot of plagues and illnesses; you don’t need to be so worried.” Because he was. From the moment he’d walked in and carried her into that hellish ice shower, his apprehension washed over her. While she couldn’t put her finger on it, she could taste how troubling he found her condition.
“I think I get to decide whether or not to be concerned,” he told her, his tone steady but unyielding. “Like I said earlier, I’m not going to fight with you. You don’t want me to hover. I get it. I don’t want to see you suffering or struggling when I can help.”
When he deflated the argument from beneath her, she felt a little like the bad guy. “Sorry.”
“Babe, you don’t have to apologize. You feel crappy, and I wish I could make it better for you.” He trailed his fingers down her arm to the bite mark on her wrist. The light contact zinged through her system, like an electrical shock. Dammit, she’d forgotten to cover it with a bandage.
Grimacing, she tried to tug her wrist away. She couldn’t break his grip, though he held her wrist between this thumb and forefinger, seemingly exerting no pressure. “That’s really not pretty.”
Lifting her wrist, he studied the bite mark with an unreadable expression. She wanted to roll over, hide it away. It was hideous, the skin thick, raised, and red. The puckered area was hotter to the touch than her fevered brow, and the only gratitude she had was that it didn’t ooze or weep some kind of nastiness.
“Do you remember when this happened?” The tranquility in his voice didn’t translate for her. Despite his calm demeanor, he was far more upset than he let on. Confusion rumbled around inside of her, a kind of restlessness that demanded she act, but she didn’t know what she needed to do.
“Yes—and no.” Not trying to be intentionally vague, she rubbed her eyes with her free hand. The shower, the soup, and the aspirin seemed to be helping to arrest her bewilderment. If only it would do something for the pressure vising around her head.
“Will you tell me?” Coaxing pitch or not, the simplicity of his question beckoned her to answer.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy.” Regardless of the heat rising off her, she didn’t retreat from contact with him.
“No, I swear to you, the last thing I’ll think is you’re crazy.” The depth of earnestness caused her to pause.
“You know something, don’t you?” How she could pinpoint that, she didn’t know and refused to examine too closely. His faint jerk at the question told her everything she needed. “You do.”
“Yes, but one step at a time.” At least he didn’t try to lie to her. “Tell me what you remember.”
Swallowing, she grimaced at the tightness in her throat. If it wasn’t the pressure squeezing her brain, it was the burn when she swallowed, or the throbbing in her joints. Sometimes, her body just didn’t feel like her own. Picking up her cell phone, she verified she hadn’t missed any calls then turned her attention to the memories that kept playing out in her dreams.
“It was Costa Rica,” she said slowly. “I’d interfered with the guerillas taking Collin.” She paused to glance at him, waiting for his nod of acknowledgment before continuing. “They took us deep into the jungle. I was wearing the stupidest outfit to be kidnapped in…a white bathing suit, a sarong, and a pair of flip-flops. Everything hurt, but I didn’t care. I was there for Collin.”
He might not want to hear the whole story, but he continued to trace the mark with his finger. The action soothed her on some primitive level. “Keep going, or do you need a drink?”
“I’m fine,” she said, and surprisingly. That was true. The contact, and the meds all seemed to work together. It settled her system. Thank God, she was so tired of being sick. “Anyway, we were deep in the jungle when they got to those huts. They dragged me away from Collin and handed me a shovel to dig my own grave.”
His growl vibrated the bed and blanketed her in the deepest sense of security she’d ever experienced.
It was her turn to pet him, to cover his hand on her wrist with her free hand. The contact stilled the sound coming from him and bolstered her confidence. “Fortunately, I was tired and terrible at digging in the hard soil. You know, jungles and rainforests get a lot of humidity—you’d think the dirt would be easier. But no dice.”
Her weak attempt at humor didn’t amuse him. Oh well.
“Another guy came along, argued with the one threatening me—finally they threw me in with Collin. So I guess I had a reprieve. We were in that hut for two days? I think. Time kind of lost all meaning, and they mostly left us alone. Until the night of the rescue.”
This was the part where her memory grew foggy.
“I heard shouts…gunfire. I’m assuming this is when you attacked their camp. Screams climbed, then the door jerked open, and the guy was there—yelling at us in Spanish. He grabbed Collin, and I couldn’t let him take him.” Then she’d attacked the man, no hesitation on her part. She had to protect that boy. “I hit him, he hit me back, and I wouldn’t let him get away from me. I yelled for Collin to run, and he did…then it was just me and this guy, and I thought he was going to kill me.”
She stared into the distance, all she could see were those fragments, shards of memory jaggedly sewn together. Screams. Gunfire. Howls. Cage gave her hand a gentle squeeze, grounding her, reminding her he was there.
“There was a wolf. I know it sounds crazy, but suddenly there was this huge animal between me and the guy. I felt its teeth graze me before the man was ripped away—the guy was dead and I was running.” It sounded so ridiculous. “Somehow…I found Collin and we were going to run—then you were just there.”
Blowing out a breath, she forced her gaze to meet Cage’s. To her surprise, he stared at her steadily with no sign of shock or surprise. Not even a hint of doubt.
“You can tell me I’m crazy, but that’s the only thing I can think of to explain it—I had this bite at the hospital. I’ve had this bite all week, and it refuses to get better. I think it’s infected, that’s why I’m on the antibiotics and probably why I’m sick.” Maybe she should see a local doctor. “Everything else felt great, just not this…wolves aren’t really in the jungle. Maybe it was the wood from the bed we were pulling apart. You know jagged, got stabbed or something. It could look like a bite.”
“Shh,” Cage said, then pressed a finger to her lips. “You don’t have to try and justify it or make excuses. I know what you saw…”
“You do?” She jerked her gaze to his eyes again.
“I do.” Then sorrow twisted his expression. “Because it was me.”
Blinking slowly, she frowned then shook her head before a strained laugh escaped her. “Okay, if you wanted to tease me and make me smile, you did it. I know I was dehydrated and likely hallucinating…”
“Bianca, no, I’m not teasing you or making fun of you.” His solemn statement arrested her humor. Veracity strung between the words. “It was me. I was—I am the wolf.”
Was he serious? “What the hell are you talking about?” Confusion giving way to irritation, Bianca glared at Cage. “This isn’t funny.”
“No,” he agreed with her. “It’s not. I was hoping we would have this conversation in a far different way. I was there to save you. And I’d really hoped you hadn’t been caught between me and the jefe I took out.”
Her stomach bottomed out. “Cage…”
“I’m the wolf you saw, Bianca. I’m a wolf.” He repeated the phrase, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t seem to make the logical fallacy connect in her brain. “I’m—I was there to rescue you. I should never have let my teeth get anywhere near you.”
Staggered, she continued to stare at him. Cage’s need to take care of everything for her, his overprotectiveness—it was one thing. Assuming a part in her fevered hallucination. No, that was insane. Refusing to humor this line of discussion any further, she pulled her hand from his.
“That’s enough. You’re not funny. Stop playing whatever this game is.”
“Dammit, Bianca…” He stood, then dragged his shirt off.
“Watch it,” she snarled, sitting forward. It was hard to stand up for herself when she was a wet rag against the bed, but she would do her best. “Stop this. I don’t want to play this game.”
“Neither do I.” Then he stripped out of his clothes and one moment he was still—the next his body began to ripple. A series of snaps, cracks, and breaks echoed through the room and her anger turned to horror as Cage’s body remade itself.
The man melted into the animal, then he stood there—easily three and half feet tall, broad shouldered, huge head, and amber eyes.
“Oh. My. God.”
Cage was a wolf.
…
Telling Bianca the truth proved damn near impossible. She wouldn’t listen to him, and she was so damn sick. He needed her to believe him, because he needed to confess more than just what he was, but what he’d done. Haggard and pale, she stared until her pupils dilated. The shift rippled over him so swiftly he recognized his wolf’s eagerness to have her attention.
Shaking her head slowly, Bianca scrubbed a hand over her face then stared at him again. Aware of just how large he was, Cage concentrated on holding his position. He didn’t dare frighten her by moving too swiftly or leaping onto the bed and setting his head in her lap—even if that was exactly what he wished to do. He wanted to be with her, to hold her, and then he wanted to feel her petting him.
All of that would have to wait. First, he needed her to recognize him for what he was and to accept it. Then he could tell her the rest of the uncomfortable truth.
“You’re a wolf,” she whispered, disbelief shivering in every syllable.
With great care, he bobbed his head slowly. Ears flicked forward, he fought to keep from quivering. Her scent was a riot of emotions—fear, upset, wonder, and…something he couldn’t quite read.
“You’re a wolf.” The refrain didn’t bode well for him. Nor did the way she withdrew on the bed, to sit on her knees and pull a pillow in front of her—as though shielding herself.
A whine escaped his throat, and he lowered himself by inches to lie on the carpet. The wolf understood what she needed. The need for the action grated on the man; he would never hurt her. She didn’t trust the wolf—the wolf was too new. They had to make themselves small and alleviate her very primitive and basic response to a wild animal in her bedroom.
Power coiled in his tense muscles, but the wolf continued to force him to relax until his head tucked against the carpet. The angle made reading her expression impossible, but he could still taste her discomfort in her scent. Cage wanted to rise, to go to her, but the wolf held him absolutely still.
Trust.
A request and order rolled into one single syllable. Black peppercorn topped her scent—anger and upset. Beneath it he detected night jasmine and orchids. The scent wasn’t hers… Trust. Below the strangeness were base notes of lemon and roses. That quieted him. The wolf had been right to take a knee, as it were, and hold still to let her adjust. Dark woods on fur—hints of the jungle, and the orchids grew sweeter, becoming vanilla swirled in her scent, but the vanilla grew stronger with each passing moment. In his wolf form, he could scent every nuance of her. If he’d done this sooner…he would have known.
His wolf ignored the mental castigation. The animal didn’t care about might-have-beens. It only cared about now.
Ears flicked forward, he waited for her to move. After too long a moment, she finally released a shaky breath and her pulse slowed. The next minute ticked by while he waited, overly aware of the seconds clicking by on the analog clock sitting on her nightstand. The old-style wind-up amused him the first time he’d seen it. Then she pointed out that she’d traveled with the clock for years.
Too many of the places she’d traveled had limited, if any, access to power. The wind-up clock kept her on time even when there was no running water or power to cook. The passage of the second hand marked time for him, and as irritating as he thought it should be—the sound soothed him.
Patience.
The wolf’s confidence ballooned beneath his own. Bracing him. Movement on the mattress alerted him to Bianca’s easing forward. He tracked her motion, but the wolf didn’t respond beyond shifting his ears to keep focused on her.
She reached the edge of the bed and stared down at him. Her glassy eyes seemed to reflect all the light in the room. Sweat beaded along her brow, and her hair clung to her damp cheeks. A tear slid down her cheek, crushing his heart.
Wait.
No matter how desperate he was to comfort her, the wolf refused to release him from the position they held. With agonizing slowness, she eased off the bed and finally sat on the carpet in front of him. The labored nature of her breathing disturbed him on a visceral level. Sitting with her legs crisscross, she leaned back against the bed and stared at him.
“Wolf.” Disbelief held the syllable suspended and his heart sank. In his eagerness to show her, had he gone too far? The impulse to share his wolf side had been shared by his animal half. The bite was his—and she was sick. It was one of the first symptoms of the turn taking root in her system.
She needed the truth before she shifted. She deserved it.
Scrubbing a hand over her face, she closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Her breathing grew steadier. Displaying incredible discipline, her heart rate grew more regular and her breathing calmed fully. Opening her eyes, she looked at him.
“Cage?”
The wolf released the stranglehold on him, so he lifted his head and nodded.
“You’re really a wolf. I’m not hallucinating this.”
Going better than he could have hoped. He nodded again.
“You were a wolf in the jungle that day…” Not really a question, but he answered it with another head bob. Biting her lower lip, she glanced at her wrist then held the bite mark for him to see. It was still angry looking, and then she traced her fingers over it. “You got me by accident, didn’t you?”
Another nod.
“Okay. So I saw a wolf. You’re a wolf. I’m—” Shock lapped at the edges of her scent. “I’m sleeping with a wolf.”
More than sleeping, but when he lifted his head and let his mouth open in a grin, she scowled at him. The wolf thumped his tail twice, but her scowl didn’t vanish. Ceasing the tail wag, he tilted his head.
“Don’t you try to cute your way out of this.”
Dominance punched up her tone, so Cage rose to a sitting position and met her gaze. They weren’t scaring her anymore, but they weren’t going to roll over to her power, either. No matter how sexy it was.
After she drew her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them. “Better, thank you.”
He nodded. The wolf wanted to inch forward, get her to pet him. Winning over her affection was the goal, but also her forgiveness. It was the man’s turn to restrain the wolf’s instincts. Women didn’t want to be pushed when they were angry. His mother and grandmother had not raised a fool. Latest actions notwithstanding.
The mental amendment had him opening his mouth again in another grin.
“I have a hundred questions, and I’m not sure which one to ask first.” It was a solid first step toward normalizing his revelation. “I’m also not sure how much you can answer in that form.”
Disappointment settled in the wolf’s gut. She was going to ask him to shift, and he would. Answering her was far more important than satisfying the craving he had for her contact. Rising, he backed away. The shift could be scary enough; he wanted to give her some distance.
As he and the wolf reached for each other, Bianca leaned forward. “Wait…”
Hesitating, he met the question in her gaze.
“Can…can I touch you?”
His wolf exulted.
Patience. Repeating the wolf’s earlier advice shouldn’t have been so damn satisfying. Frankly, stuck between a rock and a hard place, he did enjoy the effect. His wolf released another low whine, and it vibrated from his throat.
Cocking his ears forward, tail up, he took a measuring step toward her. His nose quivered, testing her scent with every step. At the first sign of fear, he would retreat. No sense in causing her any further problems.
Swiping a hand against her cheek, she whisked away the sign of her tears, much to his relief. She also lowered, and the defensiveness in her posture eased. Extending her hand, she held it toward him, palm up. Much like one would go to greet a dog. He tried not to examine the similarities too closely.
Not rushing, he eased close to her, then sat near enough for the heat of her to brush over his fur. The last few inches of distance would be hers to cross.
Leaning forward, she brushed her fingers against the underside of his muzzle. The gentle caress rocked him to his soul. Closing his eyes, he settled the weight of his head into her palm. She curled her fingers, her nails scratching just enough to soothe the abraded side of his confidence.
“It’s softer than I would have thought,” she murmured. It took him a minute to recognize she meant his fur was soft. “You’re dark all over…I thought wolves were gray or white…”
He snorted and she jumped, jerking her hand away. Hanging his head in apology, he studied her.
“Sorry, you startled me.” Real contrition resonated within her words.
Yeah, he got that.
“I’ll take the snort to mean that I also thought wolves didn’t turn into people—or people into wolves.” Frowning, she sat forward again and stretched a hand out toward him once more. Only when she hesitated, he leaned in and bumped her hand. A giggle escaped, then she coughed. Yet, she continued to pet him. “So were you a wolf first or a person?”
The wolf couldn’t shrug, not in a way she would understand. Flicking his ears toward her, he waited patiently.
“And you can’t answer me, got it. At least not now.” The gentle stroke of her hand reached his ruff and he eased forward, and settled to lie next to her. Another soft chuckle escaped, at least this one not cut off by a dry cough. “You’re huge.”
Yes, he was impressive. Tall and strong. His wolf was also very modest.
The animal ignored him.
“And you’re beautiful.” The admission sent a streak of pride to dispel his unease. She liked how he looked. The urge to puff out his chest and preen vied with the way her fingers sank into the fur at his ruff. She was touching them.
He loved it.
“I had no idea anything like you even existed.” The whisper should have warned him. “I thought werewolves only existed in books.”
He wasn’t a werewolf. Those were monsters created by man to scare their children about what they didn’t understand.
“Oh my God.” Dread turned her scent to ice. “Werewolves—they bite others and then those people become werewolves.”
Rising, he tried to cover her with a hug. He needed her to calm down. With a shove, she pushed at him and then scrambled to the bed and on it.
“Did you turn me into a werewolf?”
Crap.