by Terry Spear
But for the moment, she didn't care. And when he drew her down onto her back and pressed her legs apart with his knees, nothing mattered, but feeling him deep inside her. The tautness in his actions fed into hers, her hands reaching to touch his skin, to feel the muscles in his arms beneath her fingertips, tensing as he centered himself between her legs.
And then he thrust deeply with raw desire, no measured moves, no gradual accommodations. Too late for anything but primal fulfillment. She surrendered to his frenzied pace, drove herself to meet it, her pelvis angled to feel the urgency, to glory in the experience. For the first time in her life, she felt wanted, needed, loved, as crazy as it might sound.
She felt the exquisite peak of the sexual experience just beyond reach, and then as if he instinctively knew, he slowed his pace, slipped his fingers between her legs and touched her. Just that simple touch nearly pushed her over the edge. But she wanted more and pushed against his fingers, begging for fulfillment. And he obliged, rubbing and stroking and didn't let up until she moaned out with pleasure.
He watched the expression on her face, as if her orgasm was the most precious thing he could have ever done for her. Her lips curved up a bit, her skin flushed, her fingers instantly grappling for him to finish what he'd begun.
He didn't hesitate, diving into her again and again, his mouth on her lips, the nape of her neck, her breast. Then he groaned out loud, "Sweet love of…"
But he didn't say another word as he tackled her mouth one last time, thrusting again until he was done. Spent, and looked totally satiated, a small smile lifted his lips, his eyes saying she was the best thing in his life right now. Rolling over on his back, he pulled her tight against his heated body. "I don't… think… we needed the heat from the stove," he said, brushing her damp hair behind her ear. "God, you feel good."
"And you," she whispered, loving his sentiments, not wanting to break the spell. She hugged him tight, wondering where their relationship was headed, but despite feeling he wanted something more, she wasn't sure if it was still just a case of rebound—for both of them.
That's when she realized that in their enthusiasm, they had forgotten to use a condom this time. Faith slept half on top of Cameron snuggled in his double wide sleeping bag. He was torn between staying with her and enjoying her comforting heat, the sound of her steady heartbeat, and her subtle fragrance, the tantalizing smell of her arousal still lingering—and squelching the craving to ditch his clothes no matter how cold it was and run like one of the sled dogs.
The dogs were quiet and he planned to leave in another hour or so after they'd had some rest, concerned Kintail or his people might still catch up to them. Plus, he did worry about losing Charles's tracks if the winds grew. But he couldn't suppress the restlessness growing in his blood again.
Trying not to disturb Faith, Cameron slipped out from under her and ducked out of the tent.
He wanted to run in the worst way, to stretch his legs, and something new—claim the area while they stayed here as if he was a conqueror and wanted to leave his mark.
Giving in to the urge, he started pulling off his clothes as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. And at once, he had the eerie feeling he'd done this before. The cold chilled him instantly, the dogs all watching him with interest, expectant, their eyes alert, ears perked. Then heat sifted through every muscle, through every blood vessel, and Cameron stretched his arms out as if he were reaching for the moon, visible in the distant sky.
In the next instant, he was standing on all fours, his fur white, his body perfectly warm, his elongated snout sampling the crisp, cold air. His footpads felt fine against the snow, which made him look back at the dogs, all sitting up now.
Why would they need booties when he didn't?
When he started to leave the campsite, the dogs ran after him, but he growled at them to stay behind, to protect Faith. They stopped and stayed.
He swung around and raced off again. He didn't have to look to see their reaction. They were silent, standing there still, waiting, like he'd commanded them.
It didn't take long for him to cover about a mile. His toes digging into the snow, he lifted his nose and smelled the scents—a rabbit, fishy odor of the frozen lake they'd left behind, even the dog's food, and—Nikki's scent. What the—
He whisked around and she bowed her head slightly to him. She hadn't been with his team. Initially, yes. But now she was supposed to be with Charles.
Hell, Charles and his team had to be close by. Cameron opened his mouth to ask where Charles was, but as soon as he tried to speak, his words ended up sounding like a huffing noise, not quite a bark, more like a woof, a breathy cough. Nikki circled around in front of him as if she was trying to tell him something, but he wasn't sure what she was attempting to say. She gave a little bark and pranced around some more. He huffed back, wondering why his bark didn't come out the same. Then Nikki headed away from him and when he didn't follow, she returned, wagged her tail, and turned and headed in the same direction.
Follow her, that's what she was trying to tell him. But as soon as he ran up behind her, the dogs in his team began barking, warning of an intruder.
Faith. His heart in his throat, he raced back toward camp in hunting-to-kill mode.
It was only another dream, he reminded himself. A really vivid dream, but he couldn't help feeling Faith was in danger. And what about Nikki? How had she found Cameron? Was Charles in trouble?
More dogs barking. Hell, it was the other team from somewhere in the distance. Charles's team.
His heart wildly pounding, Cameron had another eighth of a mile to go when he spied Faith emerging from the tent. Four wolves were skulking toward her.
His blood on fire, Cameron would kill every one of them before they touched her. The dogs circled the wolves, barking and growling in a mad frenzy, protecting Faith, protecting their territory. Cameron bolted for the wolves.
Faith dove back into the tent, but the lightweight fabric designed for cold weather conditions wouldn't deter the wolves. She reemerged with the pepper spray and his gun, and he couldn't believe her tenacity. She was no match for a pack of feral wolves. Neither were the dogs. She had a chance against one of the wolves, maybe. But she couldn't fight this many.
Racing toward them as if his life depended on it, he vowed to reach her before any could hurt her.
One of the bigger wolves tried to cut Faith out of the pack. Cameron's heart pounded even harder. Hold on, Faith. Hold on.
She hesitated to shoot the predator with either weapon.
The wind is blowing the wrong way. Don't use the pepper spray!
And the gun. She couldn't aim with any accuracy without using both hands.
Faith.
The wolf separated her from the huskies, snarling and snapping his jaws, his nose puckered, his hackles raised, pelt bristling, creeping closer, ready to lunge.
Cameron did what he never thought possible, leapt nearly sixteen feet into the air at his prey, his own fur raised, his canines bared—ready to kill.
Chapter 11
WITH HER HEART IN HER THROAT AND NO SIGN OF CAMERON, Faith backed away from the Arctic wolf targeting her. Her chances of survival were slim at best. The way his narrowed amber eyes pinned her with promise— glowing menacingly in the moonlight—she'd be dead within seconds.
But she had to save herself, the dogs, and find Cameron.
The wolf crept toward her, separating her from the dogs that were charging and growling at the other wolves. Like a predator singling out the weakest link, the wolf bared his dagger like teeth, snarling, crowding her. Her heartbeat spastic, her hands trembled as she tightened her grip on the can of pepper spray in one hand and the gun in the other.
The damned wind was blowing in the wrong direction. She couldn't chance choking herself or the dogs with the spray. If she could work her way around to have the wind at her back… but dogs and wolves blocked her path, and the tent was hindering her in the other direction. Plus,
she was unable to fire the gun accurately without using both hands. She shoved the pepper spray in her pocket and wrapped her hands around the gun. Having had weapons training in her line of business, she knew how to shoot, but practicing at targets was one thing. Killing a live animal or a person…
The aggressor wolf paused, his expression changing. No longer growling, he smiled—if a wolf could smile. Her finger on the trigger, she hesitated to fire the weapon. Since he'd quit pursuing her, she hoped she could scare him away—although she figured it was a futile exercise—but giving it a try, she stomped her foot, yelling, "Ha!"
He crouched in response. An icy shiver stole down her spine. Readying to leap, he behaved just like her standard poodle would when he was a puppy, crouching before the pounce.
But more than that, she envisioned the wolf that had lunged at Cameron, then bit him in the arm.
She aimed the weapon again, took another step back ward, and stumbled on a pile of snow. Her heart nearly seized. Falling on her butt, she dropped the gun.
Everything seemed to freeze in time. The dogs and wolves quit growling and barking, their mouths snapped closed, their attention diverted to something behind her. The one ready to leap on her, straightened, his ears perked, his gaze focused to her left.
She didn't have time to turn to see what was coming, when a huge wolf sailed past her shoulder, nearly hitting her. She jerked away from the great white beast and rolled over the mound of snow.
The new wolf, bigger than any of them, pounced half on the wolf's shoulder, his hind feet landing firmly on the ground. He knocked the other down. The pinned wolf tried frantically to get to his pads, before the newcomer seized his throat.
Not wanting to see any of the animals fighting or injuring each other, she feared the outcome should either win.
The other wolves and the huskies all observed the pair as if the newcomer was attempting to become the pack leader of a mixed bunch of wolves and huskies, and they wanted to see who came out on top.
Faith scrambled to her feet and shoved her gloved hands into the piles of snow until she located the gun. She shook the snow off her gloves and aimed the weapon at the fighting wolves. Their incisors bared, snarling, lunging, and biting, the ferocious sound chilled her blood.
Patches of blood covered both wolves' fur and stained the snow in places.
Desperately, she wanted them to give up fighting and run off. But the two continued to circle each other. Then the biggest wolf attacked the other, tore his ear. When the wolf yelped and jumped back, the biggest one went for his throat like an animal possessed by the devil. The newcomer seized the other's throat and the wolf went down.
The victor's head swiveled around to look at her. Immediately, she raised the gun and pointed it at him. But she couldn't pull the trigger. If they were all Kintail's wolves—which she believed to be so—why did the biggest one kill one of the others?
For an instant, the animals were silent. Then the other three wolves began to growl low. So, they didn't accept the newcomer as the pack leader. But at the same time, the dogs began to bark at the wolves, growling and lunging. The big wolf's chest heaved for a few minutes while he stood still, turning his attention toward the rest of the animals.
Although he had helped her and the dogs, she worried he still might turn on them.
The dogs pounced on one of the wolves, while the other two wolves shied back, then ran off. They'd tell Kintail. That's what she figured. They'd alert him to where they were, leading them back here like blood hounds on a prey's trail. Then she and Cameron would be in bigger trouble.
Bleeding at the shoulder, the big wolf crouched low, targeting the last of the aggressors. The beast continued to show his aggression, his ears straight up, his tail stiff behind him, snarling at the dogs. The huskies ran at him, snapping their jaws. He lunged in retaliation. They darted out of his path.
The victor wolf growled threateningly low. The sound made the hair on the nape of Faith's neck stand at attention, even under her parka hood.
The final aggressor had been fierce and full of bravado when facing the dogs, but she swore he looked like he was about to die now. His tail suddenly lowered, his ears flattening as he turned to face the real threat—their wolf savior.
The big wolf crouched. His tail was slightly raised, the tip twitching to one side, his ears and fur erect. As soon as he made his move, he would kill the other. The smaller one had to be a male also, aggressive and single-minded in his urge to fight. Because of his size, the larger wolf had to win.
Without further warning, the victor lunged. The two slammed into each other. Their front legs lifted off the ground, their teeth clanking as they bit each other's mouths. They landed on their pads, but the victor didn't hesitate to attack again. He grabbed the aggressor's throat and killed him. The animal dropped to the ground with a thud.
Everything was whisper soft with the breeze blowing against the tent, and the animals now standing silent. The victor quietly watched Faith. He stood still, panting, his white muzzle tinged with blood, his eyes amber, the wildness in them softening. Her heart was beating hard and she felt panicked, unsure what to do, but she didn't want to kill him. Not after he'd saved them from two of the wolves. And not while he didn't act threatening toward the huskies or her.
For a minute, no one made a move. Then the dogs barked in excitement. Jumping at each other, they licked him in the face in greeting. He continued to watch Faith's reaction, his tail now pointed down. She barely breathed and wanted to get the huskies away from him before their over exuberant attentions irritated him, and he attacked them. The dogs treated him as if he was a war hero and they were cheering the wounded veteran. He didn't seem bothered by them, but eerily kept his attention on her.
But then a husky nuzzled its face against the wolf's ear. Recognizing the husky, Faith's mouth dropped open. "Nikki?"
Nikki. What had happened to Charles and the rest of the team? And Cameron? Faith's gaze searched for any signs of him and saw Cameron's parka and the rest of his clothes piled up on top of the sled.
"What the…?"
The wolf lifted his nose and sniffed the air, then turned his head south. With the dogs still yipping, he tore off. Nikki followed him, along with two of the other dogs.
Dashing to the others to grab their collars and make them stay with her, Faith hollered at the rest to come back. But the wolf's influence overrode hers and the dogs ran with him until they disappeared from sight. She prayed they'd come back and that Charles and his team were all right. That the wolf wasn't leading the dogs into an ambush like the one did in one of Jack London's wolf tales.
But what of Cameron? She had to locate his tracks in the snow. Something surely had gone wrong with Charles and his team, too. She glanced at the dead wolves, their blood coloring the snow red. What if the blood attracted predators? She shoved her outer gloves back on and hurried to the sled to search for a shovel.
In the distance, an eerie howl sounded.
After he killed the first of the wolves, Cameron reluctantly concluded he wasn't living a dream or a nightmare. The taste of blood and fur was too real. The smell of dogs and wolves. The way he recognized their fear, anger, and jubilation in every action—the raised tails and the drooped ones, the ears forward, or back, or flattened, the narrowed eyes, or widened. Every action signaled a defensive, or aggressive, or excited posture. The way he understood their barks, growls, and yips. The feel of the cold breeze whipping across his face and the burning in his shoulder from the new wolf bite. The iron smell of blood—of his and the ones he'd killed. All were very real and too unreal to ponder more closely.
Still in shock over the whole changing-into-a-beast scenario—had to have been twice now—he couldn't figure out what the hell had happened to him. Except it probably had something to do with Charles's comments about magical wolves coming down from the aurora borealis. But he didn't want to think about his bizarre situation beyond that for now. All he knew was he had to locate Charles pron
to, make sure he was safe, and find out more concerning the magical wolves.
He was a white Arctic wolf, just like the one that had bitten him, and the ones he'd killed.
But right now, more than anything, Cameron hoped the older man was all right and the dogs were, too.
Nikki ran with Cameron, then turned west. He followed her along with the other dogs and heard Charles's team barking in the distance again. The sound was in greeting, not warning of danger. Which gave him a small sense of relief.
Then it occurred to him that the other two wolves had taken off before he could kill them—the one howling their whereabouts. What if they circled back around to the camp and Faith? Hell, if only he could be in two places at once. He had to hurry, not wanting to leave Faith on her own for long.
When he neared the camp, his original husky team raced to greet him, but there was no sign of Charles, just his sled, tent, and the bed of straw he'd made for his dogs. Cameron loped toward the erected tent, the door flap blowing in the wind. He poked his head inside and saw Charles lying in his sleeping bag, deathly quiet. After walking inside, Cameron nuzzled Charles's face with his nose and pawed at his chest, but Charles didn't wake. Cameron concentrated on the man's breathing, his heartbeat. And he smelled blood. But Charles was alive, thank god. Although he needed help and Cameron couldn't give it to him—not like this.
Then a blood-curdling scream shrieked across the snowy woods from the direction of Cameron's campsite. The dogs began barking. His heart thundering, Cameron raced out of the tent. Faith. Kintail's other wolves. Or maybe Kintail and his men had arrived.
Hell, what next? He had to take care of Faith, and then Charles, but how could he take care of anyone while he was in the form of a magical wolf?
Cursing his situation, he tore off across the snow again, heading straight back to Faith. A couple of the dogs had followed him from the other team, and so did his own, making him truly feel like the alpha leader of the pack.