There would be no time to run for help. He could not hope to carry her back to Val Cache quickly enough, and she needed more attention than he could give.
And he could not bear to leave her. He knew the risk of concussion was great, Joey might slip away from him and never waken unless he used every ounce of his will to keep her.
Luke closed his eyes and brushed his lips over Joey's, pressing his cheek against her forehead "Joelle. Listen to me, Joelle. You must wake up."
He waited an agonized, endless moment for her to stir, to respond to the insistence in his voice. Then he shifted so that her head fell back onto his thigh and gathered her face in his hands. "Joey. Wake up." Every instinct screamed denial as he shook her, lightly at first, and then with growing urgency. "Joey!"
She was silent. He knew she was slipping away, torn from him by that deadly rival who lured her with promises of peace and rest. His breath caught, and a sound escaped him that penetrated his fear. A sound that had never passed beyond the place deep in his heart, buried and savagely guarded, since childhood. When he felt the moisture gathering in his eyes spill over and the first drop fell, to tremble like a living crystal on Joey's cheek, something within him broke.
"Joey." He forced the words out past the raw pain that made them crack and waver. "Joelle, don't leave me." He tasted the strangeness of his own tears on her face as he kissed and caressed her. Her skin was cold and lifeless, the pulse in her throat so distant that he could feel her retreating with every beat.
With sudden fury the desperate helplessness that paralyzed Luke shattered and reformed within his heart, his muscles tensed with the need to change, but he did not submit to it. Instead, he drew on the spirit of the wolf within, drew on the determination to survive. The weakness left him, and the cold rage that was neither entirely wolf nor man locked it out.
His voice was a deep growl as he gripped her face between his palms.
"Wake up, Joey. Now. I won't let you go."
He thought he heard the slightest change in the shallow cadence of her breathing, and it fed the savage determination.
"I won't let you leave me, Joey. You're mine." The words grated in his throat like ground glass.
"Understand this, Joelle, as long as we live, we are bound. And I'll do anything to keep you. Anything. Even if it means following you."
She trembled It was almost imperceptible, almost something he could have dismissed as imagination. But the bond between them was too strong, his need too great. He slapped her, no more than a love tap, it shocked him to use even that much force against her, but he did it again. And then again, as he spoke.
"Do you want that, Joelle? Because I'll come after you wherever you are. If you don't fight now and come back to me, we'll lose everything. Both of us. It's your choice, Joey. Your choice. " His last words were little more than a hoarse whisper—but they were enough.
This time the movement was unmistakable, her lips parted, her blue-veined lids fluttered so that dark lashes danced against the deep hollows beneath her eyes. She gasped in pain that he felt as if it were his own, so closely were they bound at that moment, he lifted her up and held her gently to his chest and rested his mouth on hers as if to breathe all the power of his double life into her.
Her body convulsed, and her eyes opened to fix unerringly on him. "Luke?" The sound was faint but gloriously lucid, Luke held primitive exultation in check as he warmed her with the heat of his body. "I did something stupid again, didn't I? I'm sorry."
Luke almost laughed, so great was his relief, but he nuzzled her ear and cheek to hide the emotions that warred inside him. "Joey. Joey."
No other words would come. He felt her lift her hand, stroke his hair lightly, her breath caught again in unmistakable distress.
"It hurts, Luke. I can't breathe—it hurts so bad." The childlike confusion in her voice pierced him so deeply that the rage returned and swept away the gratitude and joy, replacing it again with a feral and primitive purpose.
But he managed, somehow, to keep his voice gentle. "I know, Joey. But you must do two things—until we can take away the pain. You must breathe, and you must try very hard to stay awake." He gazed into her eyes and willed her to obey. "Do you understand, Joey? If you can keep breathing and stay awake, you'll be all right. I promise."
Joey shook her head, her eyes blurring and drifting away from his. "I feel so strange, Luke I had dreams—" Her voice faded, and he gripped her chin again so that she could look only at him. She smiled, though her gaze was distant and soft, lost in some inner vision. "You would think it was funny, Luke. I saw a wolf change into you." Her breathy laugh ended in a crack of pain. "My dreams just keep getting stranger and stranger.
There was no time for this. No time to explain to Joey the nature of her "dream"—or of what he was. "Joelle, you must listen to me. You have been injured, and we'll have to get help for you as soon as we can." He shifted her in his arms, and the movement seemed to grab her attention.
"You won't leave me? Luke, don't leave me!" Suddenly there was such focused anxiety in her voice that he knew she had grasped at least some of his words. Taking great care not to put pressure on her damaged ribs, he held her as close as he dared, feeling the grip of her fingers sliding on his skin as she sought to hold him. Even in her weakness, determination vibrated through her. Joy swelled in his heart, he put it away in a place of safety like the rare and fragile thing it was.
"I won't leave you, Joey. Never." He murmured to her until she quieted and lay once again passive in his arms. The ragged gasps of her breathing slowed again. "I need to do one thing, to bring help for you. I need you to be strong for me, not to give in and to keep fighting. Can you do that?"
Joey searched his eyes, her own dark in the dim filtered light of the cave, almost black with pain and fear. "I'll try, Luke. I don't want to—to go."
Fighting back the vulnerability that had no place in what he must do, Luke kissed her brows "I'll hold you to that, Joey. Keep fighting. Don't give in. If you do"—he drew a deep breath and stared into her eyes—"I'll go with you."
For a moment her face drew into a frown, as if she were trying to make sense of his final words, then she almost smiled, in spite of the pain he knew tormented her with every breath. "I never was one to go down without a fight." She closed her eyes and Luke let her rest, knowing he had done all that he could. Only one thing remained.
He lowered her slowly, with infinite care, down to the thick bed of dried leaves and needles he had made for her, wrapping her in his parka and the spare blanket so that no cold could penetrate. She opened her eyes once, but they were no longer fearful, there was utter trust in them, complete faith in his protection. In him.
That thought galvanized him with more determination than he had ever felt in his life—except for one time long ago, and that old resolve blended with the new until they were inseparable. Luke kissed her one last time, urged her softly to be strong, and left the cave.
He padded through the snow, ankle-deep in it, unheeding of the frigid bite on his bare feet. When he stepped into the center of the little clearing, the prints he left behind obscured the marks of battle, brushed over the scrambling footfalls of his other self; he noticed them no more than the wind that assaulted his furless, naked body on every side.
Closing his eyes, he willed the change. It hurt so terribly that he clenched his teeth, but he endured the agony of shifting through his muscles screamed in protest and every instinct told him that his body was not ready. The wounds he had taken from the grizzly tore and bled anew, resources exhausted by battle and need struggled to give up their last remaining shreds of energy.
It was just enough. He opened his mouth in a soundless cry that became a low growl of effort. His paws did not feel the cold under them, the heavy fur turned the wind away as he shook himself. The world was altered through his wolf's eyes, but his senses grew painfully sharp in that instant after the change. He could smell Joey—on himself, on the ground where she had lain,
within the cave where she waited, trusting, for him to save her.
The thin veneer of humanity remained unbroken even while his instincts raged at him to run, to find the others and bring them back, to do anything rather than wait in helpless impotency. But he settled back onto his haunches and pricked his ears to catch the messages borne on the autumn air. He closed his eyes, lifted his head, and howled.
He howled until it seemed that his soul had been torn out with the desperation of it. He keened his demand and his need at the hard sky until he heard an echo the achingly distant answer of his brethren.
He answered them and heard their acknowledgment. His feet gave out from under him, and he collapsed to lie in the cold, his pants of exhaustion coalesced into white plumes that danced and shredded apart on the wind. In spite of himself, his tail thumped in the snow.
Joey's scent came to him on a curl of the breeze. With a grunt he heaved himself up. He willed the change once again, he fought with it and pleaded with it.
It would not come. Snarling in frustration, he turned about on himself and smelled his own blood, the slashes that had weakened him beyond returning. He needed time to heal, time to renew his energy and the hot force of life that was the source of his double self. There was no other choice.
He turned back for the cave, recrossing the tracks left by human feet. There was fear, fear of the woman who lay within the cave, whose labored breathing and smell of pain struck him like a blow as he paused in the entrance .He sighed and forced his feet to carry him to her side.
She was awake. Her eyes were half-closed in exhaustion, but she saw him at once as he stood over her.
If she had screamed, or gasped in fear, or flung out her hands to ward him off, something deep in his heart would have died, though he would not leave her when she needed him. But her eyes locked on his and, for an instant, were clear as she murmured his name "Luke."
Then the rich depths of her eyes clouded and glazed over, her hand reaching out even as her head rolled back among the leaves. "Stay with me, Luke." Her fingers clenched in his fur. "Stay with me."
As her hand slid back he went with it, easing down beside her until the length of his body stretched out along the blankets. With infinite care he rested his head on her shoulder, her hand stroked over him once more as she sighed and turned into his warmth. He shivered from nose to tail at her touch.
There was nothing but waiting after that. Joey rested fitfully, falling into brief periods of sleep from which he woke her when they seemed deep enough to be dangerous. He took great care not to do more than nudge her gently, but she never seemed afraid, even in those few times when her eyes focused on his. It was as if she saw only his eyes and knew him with the instinctive understanding that linked them on a level beyond mere human senses.
The sound of human voices woke him from a light doze He lifted his head from Joey's shoulder and called out, a bark in place of words. They heard and answered. With a shuddering sigh, he gathered his strength for the long run home.
Chapter Fourteen
Joey felt the passing time like a string of beads, little hard fragments of painful consciousness linked by long spans of oblivion. Her body wanted the oblivion, but something in her mind refused it, she had vague memories of a familiar voice pleading and raging, commanding her to stay. Obedience came in spite of the lure of the void.
Even so, there was a price. Each breath was a torment, with bands of fire forcing her lungs to contract away from the pain. If it hadn't been for the voice, and the eyes, she might have given up breathing entirely.
And there were the strange visions. Visions that swirled in and out of dreams and awareness without regard to the dictates of reason. The one thing that linked all of them was Luke. Luke, and the wolf. There were times when she could separate the things that had really happened—the attack of the bear, her rescue by the wolf—and the things that made no sense. And there were other times when the two flowed together indistinguishably, so that they seemed equally real. If not for the more demanding reality of pain, Joey might have questioned her own sanity.
As it was, it took all of her concentration to lock the agony away when the men came for her, lifted her onto the stretcher between them, and bore her away from the safe place. When she was aware, she could see the perfect black serenity of the night sky overhead, and sometimes the face she knew to the core of her soul would block out the glitter of stars, the green-gold eyes would capture hers, and she would hear the voice soothing and demanding and saying her name. Over and over, so she could not forget it.
She heard things that made less sense: the howling of wolves, the musical lilt of a language familiar but incomprehensible, the soft words that spoke of a bond more powerful than death itself.
A time came when the jarring torment ended, and she felt herself cradled against hard warmth, felt a soothing whisper of touch along her cheek as her body came to rest on luxuriant softness. There were more voices then, buzzing like flies, out of all of them, only one mattered. His voice was a constant, and even when the protective contact of his hand dropped away, she knew he was still there. She hugged that one certainty to herself through all the hurt that followed.
Turning on his heel for the hundredth time, Luke swung about and charged back across the small room. The others had left long before—even his grandmother, whom he had chased off with a warning she had the good sense not to challenge. He had not needed to explain himself to any of them. They understood already and knew well enough not to test him now.
His lip curled in a snarl. He knew he was behaving like a wild beast, without the dignity his wolf-spirit demanded. It made no difference. He had threatened Collier—his old friend—with bodily harm, with violence if the doctor did not see to it that Joey came through alive and well. It said much for the man that he had stood up to Luke and had nearly managed to shame him with his calm assurances.
But Luke knew he was very close to the end of his rope. If Collier didn't come out of that room very soon and tell him that Joey was going to be fine...
The door swung open before he could finish the thought. He leaped across the room and slid to a stop as Collier closed the door behind him.
"Tell me."
The doctor did not flinch at the grating harshness of the words, or at the proximity of Luke's rigid body and glaring eyes. But he had the very good sense not to take the risk of keeping Luke in suspense. "She'll be fine, Luke. With a little vigilance and care she'll be good as new."
Only force of habit kept Luke on his feet. He drew a deep breath to steady himself. Collier made use of the slight withdrawal and continued, "It was very fortunate that I was here on my monthly visit, you did well in caring for her, but she needed more treatment than you or the village could provide." He paused to frown at Luke, his expression deeply thoughtful. "She's a strong girl. She hung on, and a lot of the credit goes to her. What I don't understand is how this happened, how you let her..."
Luke surged forward, twisting in midmotion to avoid slamming the doctor out of the way as he reached for the door. Collier stopped him, catching his arm before he could open it, Luke turned on the older man, holding himself in check, fighting back the almost nauseating waves of violent anger. His muscles vibrated with it, and Collier's eyes flickered uncertainly to the rigid muscles of Lukes forearm under his hand. But he held firm, and Luke willed the blinding fury away, the part of him neither wolf nor man that longed to hurl his old friend aside like so much chaff. Instead, he waited until he could make coherent sounds again before he spoke.
"I have to go to her," he said, hearing his voice almost even, almost reasonable. "Let me go, Allan."
He felt Collier register the warning, but the doctor met his eyes and stood his ground. At another time Luke would have admired, as he often had in the past, the older man's fearlessness. Now he was an obstacle that Luke was not in the mood to deal with. He prepared to wrench his arm away and shove Collier aside, but again the doctor forestalled him.
"
She needs rest, Luke." The calm concern that had made his friend's reputation for an effective bedside manner caught Luke's unwilling attention "She's been through a great deal—as you well know—and I've only just now allowed her to sleep. As it is, she'll have to be awakened every hour or two, because of the concussion; she needs all the rest she can get in between." Luke read the firm compassion in Collier's mild blue eyes and looked away, setting his jaw against a desire to ignore the doctor's gentle rebuke and common sense. After a long, tense moment he let his fingers slip from the door handle, pulling out of Collier's grip and retreating several paces across the room. His body demanded immediate, violent action, but he held himself still until the doctor relaxed and moved away from the door. They stared at each other, at last Collier sighed and settled himself on one of the carved stools by the stove, rubbing his forehead wearily.
"You did well, Luke, in taking care of her until we found you. She could have lost a dangerous amount of blood from the scalp laceration; as it was, the real danger came with the concussion. Thank God you handled that correctly and kept her breathing." Collier looked up, and Luke watched him steadily, focusing on the words that declared Joey safe. "The cracked ribs are exceedingly painful, but I was able to give her a direct injection of anesthetic. That'll help her to breathe until the danger of concussion is past, and we can move her to oral painkillers. In the meantime she'll need some careful watching, but she'll be all right."
Turning away, Luke stared out the cabin's single window, careful that the doctor couldn't see the effect of his words. The soft blanket of snow had created a fairy-tale village that might have been populated by heroic woodcutters or wicked witches. As it was...
"What I don't understand, Luke—how could this happen?" Collier's voice cut into his thoughts like a knife and twisted the blade. "I'd never have believed you'd have allowed her to be exposed to that kind of danger. Even if there was nothing else between you—I can't believe you'd be capable of such carelessness."
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