North Wolf

by M. A. Everaux

  She absorbed the information, trying to get a handle on everything. But it didn’t feel right. Monsters were things that only destroyed and killed, with no thought to the pain they caused others. She’d been alone with Christian, joked with him, laughed with him, and he’d never tried to hurt her. He hadn’t even made a pass at her, and liked all women, short, tall, thin, thick. He loved women.

  And he was lying out there in the freezing cold, bleeding and hurt. Possibly dying.

  Jerkily, with fresh tears running down her face, Gwen stood up. Call Connor, he’d said. She could do that.

  But when she got to the phone, there was no dial tone. Her attacker hadn’t been lying about cutting the line.

  With that avenue taken from her, she went to the door. If she helped him, she’d have to get him inside. He couldn’t stay in the cold while hurt so badly.

  Knowing what she was going to do, she put on her boots and pushed the door open. Christian was exactly where she’d left him, covered with a light dusting of snow.

  He didn’t move as she stepped close to him. Carefully, she kneeled next to him and with a shaking hand, reached out and laid it on his thick neck where his pulse would be if he were human.

  He groaned. Scared, she jerked her hand back and stared down at him. His eyes slitted open, revealing his canine eyes.

  “Go,” he groaned roughly.

  Her breathing was too fast and froze in the frigid air, looking like little clouds. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to do it. But somewhere, she found the strength. “I can’t lift you,” she shivered. “You need to stand and hold onto me to get inside.”

  His claws scraped at the frozen snow as he realized what she was saying.

  “Can you do that?” she asked, her voice quavering.

  His muzzle moved in the dark. “Yes.”

  She reached out, but stopped just shy of touching him. His body was covered in a thick pelt of pale, blond-colored fur. It got shorter on his stomach and around his cock, which was embarrassingly visible. His body was heavily muscled, but it wasn’t human muscle, just as his altered bone structure was also foreign and had similarities to wild canines.

  Taking a deep breath, she abruptly set her hands on his chest and moved them up to where his front legs/arms met at his shoulders. She tugged and brought him up to a half-reclining position. “Come on,” she urged, grunting with strain.

  He snarled at her, but she held on, and together, they managed until he was sitting, with his awkwardly bent legs in front of him and his clawed hands wrapped around hers for support.

  “Okay,” she huffed. “I’m going to pull, and you have to stand. On the count of three.”

  He howled with pain when she got him up. His weight immediately crashed down on her, and she nearly fell over with it. He had a thick gash across one of his legs, and it bled freshly as he put weight on it. Gwen also got a look at the wound on his side.

  It was a bloody mess—the muscle across his ribs and stomach was torn, and strings of tissue hung loosely, dripping blood into his thick fur. The wounds bled sluggishly, but what shocked Gwen was how some of the flesh was already knitting together at the top. Astonished, she realized he was already healing.

  “Move!”

  She forgot about his wound and concentrated on their most immediate threat, which was the cold. Gwen walked awkwardly with his huge frame pressing down on her like a ton of bricks. He groaned and whined with nearly every step, clearly pained from his wounds.

  They made it to the house finally. She had to reach for the door with one hand while she kept the other around Christian’s furred middle. Once the door was open, they limped inside.

  They walked through the foyer and headed for the living room. Once there, Christian released his grip and fell to the floor. Gwen stared down at him in a daze, noting the blood covering his side and muzzle. In the dark, he could easily have been the creature that caused the crash.

  Her legs gave out on her and she slid to the floor, leaning against the couch. Her eyes went over the creatures form, looking for any sign of Christian. In the end, it was his eyes that reassured her, and she held that thought tight, repeating it again and again in her head.

  Chapter Six

  She woke up suddenly, her body screaming in pain. For some reason, her head felt like it was three times the normal size and filled with bricks. Large bricks.

  “You look terrible.”

  She squinted in the dark and saw Christian, lying on his stomach and slightly curled inward. In a flash, the night’s events tumbled through her mind and she groaned.

  He was no longer covered in fur, but back to his normal form. A deep gash was still evident on his side, but it looked like it was days old, already covered in scabs and healing skin.

  He was nude, but didn’t seem to be the least bit embarrassed. His eyes were open, and they were plain chocolate brown, just as she remembered.

  “Eben’s going to have my head when he comes back and sees you like this,” he remarked tiredly. “Why the fuck didn’t you call them?”

  “Phone’s out.” She tried to sit up and cried out from the pain. For some reason, it felt like someone had taken a whip to her back. “Is that man,” she choked over it for a second, “dead?”

  “Yes.” There was no apology in his eyes.

  “Do I really look that bad?” she whispered, lifting her hands to her face. They were bruised, scratched and shaking violently, so she shoved them down into her lap.

  “You do. Plus, you’re bleeding. I can smell it.”

  She flinched, thinking about that strange ability, which in turn made her think about what he was. Hastily, she reached behind and pulled a blanket off the couch. She spread it across her body and huddled beneath it.

  “Yeah,” Christian drawled, “that’ll make a difference. They’ll never notice now.”

  “Shut up,” she breathed.

  They both fell silent, waiting. Connor had said they’d be back late, and by Gwen’s calculation, it was way past late.

  The time crawled by, both of them tense and hurting, anxious for Connor’s return. The clock struck 4:00. Minutes after, Christian stiffened, and then Gwen too heard the sound of the front door opening. Her head lolled against the couch cushion and her eyes closed. It was a relief to know help was coming.

  “They’re like you, aren’t they?” she asked on a whisper.

  “Yes,” Christian replied, just as quietly.

  It was a thought that should have frightened. It did frighten her, especially Eben, but it also explained so many things.

  There was no sound of running feet, but suddenly they were both there. Connor took one look and kneeled next to Christian with a quiet, controlled, “Damn him to hell.” Gwen couldn’t tell who he was damning and wasn’t in the mood to ask.

  “Who?” Eben asked, standing over them. His voice was soft and detached, but his eyes were filled with blazing fire.

  “It was Tom,” Christian said, his eyes closed and grimacing as he shifted slightly to allow Connor better access to his wounds. “Don’t worry, I got him. He’s behind the house.”

  “Is that a bullet in your back?” Connor asked, frowning at the hole in his skin.

  “He shot me first.” Christian groaned, shuddering as Connor pressed his fingers to the area.

  Eben stood over them, breathing far too slowly. He stared into Gwen’s eyes as his changed, turning to that of a creature, a werewolf.

  “We need to get the bullet out,” Connor was saying, worry creasing his face.

  “Don’t worry about me right now. You need to check on Gwennie. She’s bleeding.”

  Connor’s eyes flew to her. “I thought that was you, Christian.”

  Christian winced and met Eben’s eyes. “I failed you, Alpha. I was out for a little while after the bullet got me. He was trying to rape her.”

  “Was he?” Eben walked around the room, his pale, werewolf eyes moving from his brother to the small, huddled form of Gwen.

 
Christian smiled in memory. “She kicked him in the balls. He was rolling around screaming when I got him.”

  “You saved me, Christian,” she argued weakly, trying to sit up against the sofa. “He would have gotten me if not for you.” And that was something she’d always be grateful for.

  Connor moved to her side, his face creased with worry. “I’m going to lift you onto the sofa, and then I need to remove your clothes, okay?”

  She was already shaking her head. “He didn’t do—” She sighed and tried again. “He didn’t finish. I just need help getting up and then I’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t know.” Connor looked at her worriedly.

  “Really,” she insisted in a whisper. “I’ll be okay as long as I can get to a shower.”

  Sensing that Connor was going to argue with her, Gwen pushed herself up, hissing from the pain. Places she hadn’t realized were hurt suddenly stood up and shouted with pain. Especially her ribs, which she couldn’t figure out at all.

  She took another deep breath and pushed until she was on her feet. She wobbled a bit before stabilizing herself with a firm hand on the couch.

  “I want you to take a sedative before you take a shower,” Connor ordered, standing and taking her arm, leading her from the room. “Then you’ll sleep, and hopefully escape without any nightmares.”

  She nodded and let him help her from the room. At the doorway, she turned and looked down at Christian. “Thank you.”

  He smiled at her weakly. “My pleasure, princess. Now, let Connor take care of you before he has a conniption fit.”

  Christian waited until they were gone before questioning Eben. “How many challenged you?”

  “Three.”

  “Deaths?”

  His eyes slid to his brother. “Two.”

  He’d been injured. Christian could see the cuts from claws across Eben’s cheek, and he could smell the fresh blood on him, even though he’d showered. It didn’t matter. He’d be healed in two days anyway, the wounds no more than a memory.

  “What happened to Eben?” Gwen asked, as Connor helped her sit on the toilet in the bathroom. “How’d he get those wounds on his face?”

  He turned the shower on and adjusted the temperature. “As you’ve figured out, we’re not exactly human. Eben has taken my place as Lead Alpha of the pack, and he had challengers.”

  Challengers. Gwen knew he wasn’t talking about chess. “Did he win?”

  “Sweetheart, Eben doesn’t know how to lose.” He pulled the curtain closed and turned to her, his face lined with worry. “Do you need help?”

  She shook her head. The last thing she wanted was someone taking her clothes away. “I’m fine.”

  “Just shout if you need anything. I’ll hear you.”

  He closed the door on his way out, and she was finally alone.

  The water burned when she first got in. After she got used to it, she scrubbed her body furiously, so hard she was red when she got out, but she needed to clean that man’s touch from her body.

  After slipping on a heavy set of pajamas, a gift from Connor, she slid into bed, feeling the effects of the sedative he’d insisted on. Her eyes drooped and she let sleep take over.

  Chapter Seven

  Gwen woke up early, feeling groggy from the pills and achy all over. She took another shower and examined her body in detail. Every inch seemed to be covered in a bruise or scrape of some kind, and each one hurt. Her face was a disaster, but her back gave her the most problem. It burned every time she moved her arms.

  “I think there’s something wrong with my back,” she told Connor after finding him in the kitchen. He looked worn and tired, and ten years older than usual.

  He nodded and set his coffee cup aside. “You’ll need to remove your shirt,” he said carefully.

  Her heart thumped noisily in her chest. Turning, she hesitantly pulled her shirt off and held it against her chest. With her ribs and back hurt, she hadn’t bothered with a bra.

  She didn’t hear Connor step close, but suddenly he was touching her, his fingers gentle as he felt the tender areas. Even so, it was agonizing, especially when he pulled at the edges of the wound.

  “That son of a bitch,” he murmured finally, stepping away from her.

  “Well?” she asked, turning to him.

  “You saw him change, didn’t you?” He stood back and stared at the pale expanse of skin revealed to him, crisscrossed with multiple furrows from sharp claws.

  Gwen nodded. “When Christian knocked him down, he changed.”

  “Child,” Connor said softly, “he was already partially changed when he was hurting you. He ripped your back up pretty well with his claws.”

  She paled and gulped. Her voice came out wavering and weak. “Am I going to be like you now?”

  He suddenly looked offended. “It’s not a communicable disease, Gwen. We’re a different species, not a virus. There’s nothing that could happen that would change you and make you Were.”

  “Not even if I was bitten by one of you?”

  He snorted. “Of course not. But,” he held up a finger, “the wounds need to be cleaned and disinfected. And you could probably use some stitches.”

  Her breath whooshed out in relief. “I don’t care. Do whatever.” She smiled and wilted against the kitchen counter, feeling as though a weight had been removed from her shoulders. Thank God!

  Connor patted her on the head and went to get his supplies.

  Twenty minutes later, Gwen was thankful for the local he’d given her and definitely not smiling. She’d had stitches once before when she was ten. A new bike from her father resulted in a deep cut on her chin along with her mother’s never-ending wailing and complaining about scars. Gwen did have the scar, but that emergency room visit, where her father had held her on his lap the entire time, was one of her fondest memories. He’d made her laugh even when the doctor came near with the needle.

  She winced and sucked in a breath, returning to the present when she felt Connor jab the needle through her skin and pull the threads. “Ow.”

  “Sorry, dear. Just another few—I’m actually quite good at this, you know. Between the two boys, I’ve had quite a lot of practice.”

  “What, you guys don’t like hospitals? There all sorts of funny stuff in your blood that would raise the proverbial red flag?” She shifted slightly in the chair, and felt the tug of the thread again. Ick.

  Connor’s fingers moved nimbly against her back. “We don’t exactly have a local emergency room around here. We’re a bit far out for that. And since we do keep our existence unknown among the humans, obviously it’s quite a bit easier to do without putting evidence in the hands of those who would most like to know. Scientists, doctors. That type. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Why do you do that?” she asked curiously. “The hiding thing, I mean?”

  “There was a time, just several hundred years ago in fact, when our kind was unfairly persecuted. Along with others, I might add. Our numbers decreased substantially. It’s safer for us this way. We blend well with humans.”

  He snipped the last of the thread and set the needle aside. “You’ll need to be careful not to pull it,” he ordered, taking out a stack of gauze pads and tape and covering the worst of the wounds. “We can remove the stitches in a week and a half or so, and then you should heal as good as new.”

  Gwen nodded. She slipped off the stool, her shirt still held over her chest, and turned to question him about showers. Instead, she saw Eben standing in the doorway, and her questions died in her throat, forgotten. She immediately flushed and turned her back to him. “Do you mind?” She jerked her shirt over her head and shoved her arms through, trying to hide as much as she could manage.

  Connor lifted his head from his medicine supply bag, but said nothing. Eben left the doorway and walked into the kitchen, his body relaxed and flowing with the movement. “I told you to stay in the house.”

  With all her parts covered, she turned around and glared, not
even bothering to hide her irritation. “If I hadn’t, Christian could very easily have died.”

  “I gave you an order, Gwen.” he said softly, leaning down so she couldn’t avoid him. “And you agreed to follow it.”

  “I’m not your responsibility.” She folded her arms over her chest and moved her eyes to the refrigerator. It was pale, beige maybe, and it wasn’t towering over her angrily, so it was a big improvement over Eben. “And I’m not a child.” She looked over at Conner, who was standing helplessly, a slightly worried expression on his face. “Tell him.”

  But Conner only shrugged. “He is Alpha, Gwen. By that alone, you are his responsibility.”

  “Traitor,” she muttered.

  He smiled and left the kitchen, his supplies in hand.

  Eben moved in front of her, and again filled her line of vision. He was so still and silent it was alarming. He leaned in, his mouth so close to her ear she felt the warmth of his breath. “You’re wrong,” he whispered.

  His response only served to increase her ire. “I’m twenty-two years old,” she spat at him, glaring because she shouldn’t have to deal with him. “I’m smart and capable, and I don’t need anyone else telling me what to do! I’m sick of that shit.”

  He straightened and backed up until he was leaning almost lazily against the counter, with his arms crossed over his chest and his head lowered slightly, staring at her from under his brow.

  “You don’t know what you’re doing, little girl.”

  Feeling mutinous, Gwen tossed her hair over her shoulder and flipped up her middle finger. “Kiss my ass. I’m out of here.”

  She was all prepared to stomp off from her first honest-to-God fight, with Eben, no less, gloriously triumphant. And she would have, if he hadn’t grabbed her and dragged her back, anchoring her back gently against his chest.

  “What are you doing?” She pulled away, or tried to, and didn’t budge an inch. He growled. She stilled her struggles the moment the animal sound came from his chest. She’d almost forgotten, and wanted to kick herself for it. She had to remember they weren’t human, weren’t even close. They were werewolves, monsters, known to kill and destroy without a thought, even if none of them had hurt her.