Morgan could only pray to God that it worked.
Using her blood-tracking ability to determine Ashe’s whereabouts, making sure he wasn’t within the bomb’s blast radius, she took a deep breath. Then she drew back her arm and lifted the “sparkler” high in the air, ready to slam it to the ground just like Ashe had instructed her to do. None of the vampires noticed, their focus on Kierland as he roared at Micah that if he had any balls, he’d stop hiding behind the Carringtons and fight him one-on-one. Micah shouted back, pacing from one side of the clearing to the other, and just as the Deschanel turned in Morgan’s direction, he caught sight of her from the corner of his eye, his wild gaze zeroing in on the small vial she held in her hand. He might have been out of his mind, but he recognized the weapon. Just as the vampire turned to run, chaos erupted in the clearing, the Carringtons losing their patience and attacking Kierland, who looked like a thundering god as he took on all of them at once, his powerful body twisting and turning with a sinuous, predatory grace that would have been beautiful to watch, if she hadn’t been so petrified for his safety.
Praying that the weapon would work the way it was meant to, Morgan threw the “sparkler” against the ground with all her strength. The glass vial shattered as it smashed against the forest floor, its sudden blast of heat hurling her through the air. She landed with a hard thud on her side, slamming her hip on a tangle of tree roots, her breath momentarily knocked from her lungs. Before she could pull herself back to her feet, Kierland was grabbing her up into his arms, his breathing shallow and rough as he locked her against his chest and tried to run. But he slowed after no more than a dozen yards, the strangest look carved into his rugged features as he staggered against a nearby tree, his hold on her loosening as his arms began to tremble.
“What’s wrong?” she croaked, her hands clutching the front of his jacket as her feet slid to the ground. “Are you okay? Did they bite you?”
“No bites,” he forced out through his clenched teeth, his irises glowing an unearthly green as he stared into her worried eyes. “Just got the wind knocked outta me. Go…go find Granger. Get to the cabin. I’ll catch up when I’ve caught my breath.”
Fear coiled through her insides as she registered how pale he was. “Are you crazy?” she cried, her heartbeat roaring in her ears. “I’m not going anywhere without you! Damn it, Kierland, tell me what’s happened!”
“Don’t argue with me!” he snarled, shoving her away from him. She stumbled back, falling to the ground as she tripped over another gnarled tree root. Fear solidified into paralyzing terror as she watched the color drain from his face, as if someone had pulled a plug and his blood was simply leaking out of his body. She tried to say his name, but nothing would come out, her throat choked, voice locked tight in her pounding chest. The flurries of snow that fell on her face and trembling lips were almost hot compared to the cold iciness of her skin.
“Morgan.” The scratchy, whispery syllables fell from his stiff lips, and then he swayed, staggering forward onto his knees. She screamed, scrambling toward him, reaching him just in time to catch his heavy weight as he fell into her arms.
“What’s happened? What’d they do to you?” she cried, but if he heard her, he gave no indication, his lashes fluttering as his eyes rolled back in his head.
“Ashe!” she screamed, gritting her teeth as she struggled with Kierland’s muscled weight, trying to be gentle as she lowered him to the ground. “Ashe! Damn it, where are you?”
The Deschanel appeared out of nowhere, his clothes and face splattered with blood, his expression creased with deep lines of worry as he crouched down beside her. “Where are you hurt?” he growled, his terrified gaze moving swiftly over her kneeling body.
“I’m f-fine,” Morgan stammered, her eyes flooding with the hot, salty burn of tears. “It’s Kier. He’s the one who needs help.”
Ashe slid his gaze toward Kierland, his eyes widening with surprise at the sight of the Lycan sprawled on the ground. Two deep notches settled between the vampire’s brows as he reached out, caught hold of Kierland’s jacket and peeled back the dark fabric, revealing the shredded, blood-soaked sweater beneath.
“Oh, holy God,” she sobbed, staring down at the bloodied mess of Kierland’s torso. He’d been cut open across his stomach, the pour of blood from the gruesome wound already soaking into the ground beneath them, and as she lifted her hands to her mouth, she smelled the blood covering her skin. She must have been in shock, not to scent it before, because it was all over her skin, her clothes, and she realized why Ashe had thought she was the one who’d been injured when he’d first seen her.
She was covered in Kierland’s blood. Drenched in it.
“What the hell happened?”
The snarl of Ashe’s voice made her flinch, and she shook her head, trying to focus. But it was nearly impossible when her heart was shattering into tiny, fractured pieces inside her chest.
“Morgan! Damn it, talk to me. What happened?”
She wet her lips, forcing the hoarse words past her frozen lips. “There were so many vampires, and I…I started to panic. Kierland noticed, and he just turned his back on them in the middle of the fight, trying to reach me. They caught him, dragged him away. I…I ran after him, found them, but there were so many, and Kierland was trying to fight them all. So I used the ‘sparkler’ to get rid of them, but I must have been too late. They must have cut him open before the blast killed them.”
“He has to shift,” Ashe told her, deep brackets carved into the sides of his mouth. “It’s the only chance his body has of repairing the damage.”
She blinked, shaking so hard her teeth were chattering. “Will he b-be able to?”
With his elbow braced on his bent knee, Ashe blew out a rough breath and scrubbed his blood-spattered hand over his mouth. “Hell if I know,” he grunted, “but we should get him to the cabin first. If he can make the shift, he’s going to be down for the count for at least twelve hours or so.”
Tears poured down Morgan’s cheeks as she helped Ashe carry Kierland through the woods, the snow falling harder as they finally reached the cabin. He groaned when they laid him down on the rug before a rock fireplace, his lashes lifting, his pain-filled gaze struggling to focus on her face in the flickering candlelight.
“Don’t…don’t let Granger touch you,” he moaned, his lips pulling back over his teeth as he hissed with pain. “Don’t want him anywhere near you.”
Kneeling beside him, Morgan pushed his hair back from his brow with a tender touch, her voice urgent as she leaned close to his face and said, “Kier, listen to me. I know it won’t be easy, but I need you to shift.”
“No,” he groaned, his lashes fluttering. His lips turned gray, and a choked sob worked past the knot in her throat, her fingers trembling as she touched his cold cheek.
“Yes, sweetheart. You have to. You’ve been hurt,” she whispered in a broken voice. “This is the only way you’ll be able to heal.”
He groaned again, closing his eyes, and she could feel him slipping away from her. Gripping his shoulders, she shook him a little, shouting, “Damn it, Kier. Shift! You have to!”
“Can’t.”
“He’s fading,” Ashe told her, his long fingers pressed to the side of Kierland’s throat, monitoring his pulse.
“Like hell he is,” she snapped, fury scorching through her system with such stunning force, she flinched from the burn. Pulling back her hand, Morgan focused on Kierland’s beautiful, pain-ravaged face through the blur of tears, then slapped him as hard as she could, the blow striking against his pale cheek. He gave a low grunt, but nothing more, and so she slapped him again, harder, putting all her strength behind the blow. “Damn it, you’re going to do it!” she growled, choking on her sobs.
“Morgan, honey, what are you doing?” Ashe’s deep voice was thick with concern, and she clenched her teeth, knowing she must look like a mad woman.
“I’m going to piss him off,” she gasped, slapping Kier aga
in…and again, while her chest heaved with the choppy force of her breaths. “If he gets angry enough, he might be able to do it. To make the change.”
“Jesus, Morgan.” Ashe reached over Kierland’s bleeding body and grabbed onto her wrists, holding her hostage in his grip as he gave her a thunderous scowl. “And he might hurt you by accident, if he’s out of his mind with pain. Did you think of that? If he shifts out of anger, he’s liable to kill you!”
“I don’t care!” she shouted, tugging on her wrists. “I’m not going to lose him. Not now. Not like this!”
With a resigned sigh, Ashe released his hold on her and leaned back on his heels. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Morgan pulled back her hand and smacked it against the side of Kierland’s face again. Finally, his eyes fluttered open, glowing an even brighter shade of green, his lip curling as he glared up at her. He cursed something ugly and raw, demanding to know what she was doing in a slurry, pain-filled scrape of words, and she hit him again, even harder. Another hit, and his head shot back, his body jerking with a hard jolt at the same time his fangs began to descend beneath the firm curve of his upper lip.
“It’s working,” Ashe said in a low, gritty voice. “Keep going. But do it with your claws. You’re running out of time.”
Refusing to look any lower than Kierland’s chest, knowing the sight of his blood-soaked body would only make her hysterical, Morgan released her short claws, held her breath, then raked them across the now flushed skin of his cheek, drawing crimson slashes of blood. A thick, guttural snarl ripped from his chest, and Ashe grabbed onto Kierland’s wrists, pinning them against the floor as she choked back the bile in her throat and clawed him again.
Straining against Ashe’s hold, Kierland’s gaze locked with hers, the glowing green filled with pain and confusion and a primal, savage fury.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face as she clawed at his other cheek, her fingers slick with his blood. “I’m so sorry.”
“We want him pissed,” Ashe grunted. “Stop apologizing and do something else. Quickly, or it’s going to be too bloody late, Morgan.”
Kierland’s eyes darkened with rage, his body trembling, the change in him so close Morgan could feel the power of the wolf pulsing from him in sharp, visceral waves that were blisteringly hot against her chilled skin. His furious gaze cut to Ashe, then back to her, and she suddenly knew what to do. How to push him over the edge.
Feeling like the cruelest bitch alive, she drew in another shuddering breath and leaned forward, putting her mouth at his ear as she said, “If you leave me, Kier, I’m going to run off with Ashe. I’ll…I’ll marry him. Be his mate. Have his children.”
“It’s working,” Ashe rasped, struggling to hold down Kierland’s wrists as deadly claws began surging through the tips of the Lycan’s fingers, a rumbling snarl working its way up from his chest. “Keep going.”
“I’ll go to bed with him,” she choked out, pressing her hands to his shoulders as she tried to help Ashe keep him restrained. Staring at the strong tendons in his throat, unable to face the look in his eyes, she hardened her voice and said, “I’ll let him use me, however he wants. In any way that he wants. I’ll let him take my blood when he’s buried deep inside me, and I’ll scream for him. I’ll come for him. As many times as he wants me to. I’ll—”
“Get back!” Ashe suddenly roared, shoving her so forcefully that she skidded on her side halfway across the room. Sitting up, she pushed her tangled hair out of her face, her eyes widening as Kierland’s body began to shake with vicious, violent spasms, arching nearly a foot off the floor, his claw-tipped arms flung wide at his sides. He let out a stark, guttural cry, and his bones began to crack and pop and expand, clothes shredding as his skin darkened to a rich rosewood and thick, wine-dark fur spread over his shifting, healing physique, the change fully upon him now.
“For God’s sake, be careful,” Ashe muttered, and from the corner of her eye, Morgan could see the vampire backing slowly toward the door, while he kept a wary eye on Kierland’s changing body.
“Where are you going?” she asked, using the back of her sleeve to wipe the tears from her cheeks.
“Considering what it took to get the results you wanted,” Ashe offered in a wry drawl, “I think this is my cue to leave. I’ll be keeping an eye on things outside, making sure nothing bothers us.” He slid her a tight, crooked smile, adding, “You just make sure he doesn’t come looking for me, angel.”
And with those teasing words, the door to the cabin closed…and she was left alone with Kierland. The raspy, gritty sound of her name being whispered had her looking in his direction, and she blinked with wonder at the sight of his massive, wolf-shaped head turned toward her, his huge body trembling as he tried to push himself up on his arms.
“Don’t try to move,” she whispered, crawling toward him on her hands and knees. She was so shaky, she didn’t trust her legs not to crumple beneath her. “You were injured, and we had…we had to get you to shift. You just need to rest now. Your body will do the rest.”
He looked from her, to the rug, then back to her again, and cocked his head to the side, asking for what he wanted with drowsy, luminous green eyes.
A shaky smile touched her mouth, and she said, “Hold on a sec. I just need to get a fire started.”
Morgan could feel him watching her as she fumbled with the matches, trying to light the kindling that had been left beneath the sturdy stack of logs in the hearth. As the flames began to smolder and spit, she turned toward him, her arms wrapped over her chest, and knelt at the edge of the rug, unable to stop staring. Despite having known Kierland for so many years, she’d never seen him in full “were” form before, and it was a mesmerizing sight. He was breathtakingly beautiful. Massive. Bigger than an actual wolf, with fur and fangs and a muzzled face, but a body that still retained shades of the man in the powerful arms and legs. He could have torn her apart with a single swipe of his terrifying claws, but she wasn’t afraid. She knew he would never harm her. Not physically. Even when she’d slashed him with her claws, he hadn’t attacked her. Would have probably let her kill him before raising his hand to her. She didn’t understand, but she was too tired to figure it out. All she knew was that she wanted to be close to him, to watch over him.
Grabbing up the bloodied, shredded remnants of his clothes, she tossed them into the flames, then crawled to his side and stretched her body out along his. A low, satisfied sound broke from his throat as he rolled to his side, curving his long body around hers, and she stiffened with surprise as a startling truth occurred to her.
She was still in love with him.
She was still in love with Kierland Scott.
The strange, terrifying thought burned its way into her brain as she nuzzled her face against the warmth of his broad chest, her eyes squeezing tight as the hot rush of her tears soaked into his thick, silky fur. A part of her was terrified of what the future would bring, but as his strong arms wrapped around her in a tight, possessive hold, she couldn’t help but be thankful for the miracle she’d been given that night. She hadn’t lost him. It’d been so close, but he’d survived. He’d stayed with her…and God, that had to mean something, didn’t it?
With a trembling smile on her lips, Morgan shoved her worries and fears aside, holding on to that fragile burst of hope with everything that she had, determined not to let it go…and snuggled down to sleep with her wolf.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Thursday afternoon
KIERLAND OPENED HIS EYES TO the flickering embers of a crackling fire, surprised by how good he felt, while one nearly incomprehensible thought kept working its way through his mind, mesmerizing him with its meaning.
Morgan had come for him. Rescued him. And saved his life.
She was no longer lying in his arms, but he could scent that she was near…and that the vampire was not.
“Where’s Granger?” The question came out as little more than a graveled croak, his throat as
dry and scratchy as something that’d been worked over hard with sandpaper.
“He’s running patrol around the cabin,” she murmured in a soft voice, and he looked over his shoulder to find her kneeling behind him on the floor, a glass of water held in her hands. Pressing the glass to his parched lips as he rolled to his back, she gave him a tentative smile, then said, “I kept watch for a few hours in the middle of the night so that Ashe could sleep, and then we switched again.”
“What time is it?” he asked, when he’d drained the glass, only just realizing that he wasn’t in human form.
“Late afternoon,” she told him, and he noticed that she was wearing clean clothes, instead of the ones that’d been stained with his blood. “You’ve slept for a long time.”
Kierland watched her carefully through the wolf’s eyes, and despite the fact that she’d slept in his arms, he couldn’t help but be shocked that she looked so completely at ease with him in his “were” form. Although she had to know that he would never harm her, the fact remained that he was a predator, and Morgan was vulnerable enough to be seen as prey. “You’re not…scared?”
A mysterious female smile touched her mouth, her voice soft as she reached down and stroked the side of his face with her fingertips. “No, Kier. I’m not afraid of you.”
He could hear the wolf’s voice in his head, guttural and raw as it made its demands. Take her… Touch her… Claim her.
Closing his eyes, he tried to block out the provocative temptation of her smile, that soft, warm look in her eyes, but all he could think about was how she’d saved his life. How she’d faced her fears to come after him, even when her panic had been crashing down on her. And then there was the visceral ache of hunger rushing through his veins, his mind consumed with exquisite memories of how perfect it felt when he was inside her. How wet and plush and deliciously tight it felt when she held him clasped within her body.
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