Tamed by the She-Wolf

by Kristal Hollis

  Bloody and dirty, Lincoln hauled her against him, his hands gliding over her nude body as if to make sure she spoke the truth. Seemingly satisfied, he let out a long breath.

  “Do you think Damien made it out?” she whispered.

  “No. He didn’t want to make it out.” Lincoln buried his face in the curve of Angeline’s neck.

  Even though the danger had passed, Angeline realized she was shaking. Lincoln, however, was rock-steady and smiling against her bare shoulder.

  His secret thoughts whispered through Angeline’s mind. In that moment she knew. Damien hadn’t lied to her.

  But Lincoln had.

  Chapter 29

  Lincoln’s plane to Munich was flying over the Atlantic and, instead of seeing blue skies and even bluer water, he stared up at the ceiling lights in the emergency bay at Maico General Hospital.

  “Okay,” Doc Habersham said. “That’s the last stitch.”

  “Thanks.” Lincoln sat up on the gurney and glanced at the new patchwork on his body. Then, he fingered the gauze covering some nasty gashes on the side of his neck that would definitely leave obvious scars when healed.

  “You get used to them,” Brice said. And he should know, having a similar reminder of when someone had tried to rip his throat out, too. He pushed up from the chair in the corner and handed Lincoln some clothes and shoes. “You look about my size, so I hope it all fits.”

  Lincoln was grateful for the hand-me-downs since his clothes were in the duffel bag in the passenger seat of the truck that had been destroyed in the explosion. Along with everything else he owned—which was very little.

  Shoving his right foot into the pant leg, he had to roll to the left to pull the jeans over his hip, then roll to the right after putting his stump in the other pant leg. He appreciated that Brice didn’t offer to help. Dressing wasn’t the easiest task but it was one Lincoln could do independently, even covered in stitches.

  Once he put on the long-sleeved shirt, sock and shoe, Lincoln felt somewhat normal again, except for the missing prosthetic. HQ would not be happy that his bionic limb had been destroyed.

  Hell, they probably wouldn’t even issue a wooden replacement now. Crutches might be his only available means of ambulation for a while.

  “I’m going to need a new place to stay,” he said quietly. “Without my prosthetic, three flights of stairs will be problematic.”

  And that wasn’t his only worry. Through the mate-bond, he felt Angeline distancing herself from him and he sensed the real possibility that she would reject a mateship with him.

  “Have you decided not to return to Somalia?”

  “I missed the last flight that would put me at HQ in time to take the physical readiness exam and join the team before they leave.”

  “After what you just went through to save Angeline, no one at HQ will doubt your readiness.”

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I don’t see how I could make it to Munich before the team leaves.”

  “I happen to know that Councilman Bartolomew is leaving Atlanta for Munich on a private jet tonight,” Brice said. “There’s a seat reserved for you, as well.”

  “A member of the Woelfesenat just happens to be going to Munich. Tonight?”

  “I believe he said there was some paperwork at HQ regarding the transfer of a minor wolfling that required his personal attention.”

  Lincoln rubbed his temple. “Exactly how many favors does the Woelfesenat owe you?”

  Brice smiled but said nothing.

  A nurse came in with a pair of crutches for Lincoln. “Doc said he put through your discharge papers. You’re all set to go, but he wants to see you in ten days to check your stitches.”

  Though he politely nodded his agreement, Lincoln expected to be gone a lot longer than ten days if he could wrangle HQ into giving him a new prosthetic in time to rendezvous with the team going to Somalia. “How’s Angeline?”

  “A little dehydrated. Doc has her on IV fluids. She should be ready to go home soon.” The nurse handed him some paperwork and left the room.

  Using the crutches, Lincoln got up from the bed. “I want to see her before I leave.”

  “I’ll wait for you in the lobby,” Brice said.

  Lincoln carefully maneuvered down the hallway, his instinct leading him to Angeline’s room. She looked so fragile sleeping in the hospital bed that he couldn’t believe she was the same woman who’d stood up to a deranged Dogman, freed herself from captivity and escaped a deadly bomb.

  It was difficult to be quiet, easing into her room on clumsy crutches.

  Opening her eyes, she smiled at him, but it was brittle and stiff.

  “Hey, baby.” He leaned down, giving her a soft kiss. “The nurse said you can go home soon.”

  “What about you?”

  “They’ve already kicked me out.” He curled his hands around her fingers resting on the bed. “I don’t have much time, Angel. Brice arranged for me to hitch a ride to Munich with Councilman Bartolomew.”

  Her body went rigid. “Damien said your medical retirement was rescinded and you’re back on active duty. You’re not just signing paperwork, you’re going into a war zone. How could you lie to me?”

  “You’ve been lying to your family for years because you’re afraid of telling them the truth.” As soon as the words finished spilling from his mouth, Lincoln regretted them.

  “How dare you!” She jabbed her finger in the direction of the door. “Get out!”

  “Angeline, I’m leaving and I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. The last words you say to me will be the ones written in my heart when I go into Somalia.”

  Tears glistened in her eyes. “Just go,” she whispered.

  Lincoln had hoped that Angeline would put her faith in him. But on the heels of everything that had happened, she simply didn’t have the courage to do it.

  Leaning over her, Lincoln kissed her sweetly on the mouth. “In case these are the last words you hear from me, I want you to know that I love you and I believe in you.”

  * * *

  In silent agony, Angeline had watched Lincoln leave. After his profession of love, a vacuum had opened in her chest, crushing her heart and stealing her breath.

  She’d gone through this with Tanner. He had loved her, too. But not enough to choose her over the Program.

  What a fool she’d been to fantasize about a mateship with another Dogman and motherhood. Now her heart was doubly broken. And the only thing Angeline could tell herself was that she should’ve known better.

  “Angeline?” Her father stood in the doorway, holding a bag of her clothes and personal items to wear home after discharge. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m okay,” she said, noticing the worry lines creasing his forehead. “Doc said I can go home once I’ve finished the IV fluids.”

  The strain on her father’s face didn’t ease as he sat in the bedside chair and reached for her hand. His gaze swept her head to toe and back again before the stiffness in his posture faded. “Coming in, I met Lincoln leaving. He said a curious thing.”

  I bet he did.

  Her emotions raw and ragged from allowing herself to end up in the same devastating position she knew she needed to avoid, Angeline didn’t want to deal with the impending inquiry. Especially because Lincoln was right. She had been hiding the truth from her father for most of her adult life because she was afraid of his ridicule and rejection.

  “What is this whole other side of you that he mentioned I should get to know?”

  Continuing to keep the truth from her father would only prolong the inevitable. The time had come to face the music.

  Figuring the beginning was the best place to start, Angeline told him all about pursuing music instead of a business degree. About falling in love with Tanner and how much his rejection had hurt when he’d chosen
being a Dogman instead of her, and how she’d channeled those difficult emotions into writing award-winning songs.

  When she finished unfolding the details of her secret life, Angeline waited for her father’s response.

  And waited. And waited.

  “Are you going to say something?” she finally asked.

  “Why did you wait so long to tell me?” Her father’s disappointed gaze searched her face.

  Angeline folded her hands in her lap. “You never approved of my musical interest. Instead, I had to take karate classes to make me tough. How could I tell you that I’m earning a living writing songs about getting my heart broken?”

  “Don’t you think I understand heartache? Your mother was everything to me. Those first few months, even a year or two after she died, I was so lost that I didn’t know what to do.” Her father swiped his hand across his jaw. “I regret giving away her things, but at the time I couldn’t tolerate the reminders.”

  “Is that why you cut off my hair? I’ve always thought it was because I looked like mom.”

  “I was a single father with three young kids and no time to primp and curl a little girl’s hair.”

  “What about the music lessons? Aunt Miriam paid for them because you wouldn’t.”

  “I thought you were going through a phase and I didn’t want to waste money.” His sigh sounded sad and tired. “Until now, you’ve never explained to me how much music meant to you.”

  “Would it have mattered?”

  “I wouldn’t have been happy to learn that you wanted to write songs for a living. A career like that is a risk. I would rather know that my children have a solid foundation for their future.”

  “Is that why you’re always badgering me during Sunday dinners to join the family business?”

  “I thought you were floundering. You don’t have a mate and I’d hoped you would eventually have higher aspirations than being a part-time server at your aunt and uncle’s restaurant.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with waiting tables for a living.”

  “No, there isn’t. But I was right. You did want more for yourself. I just wished you hadn’t kept your talent a secret. Songwriting isn’t a job I would pick for you, but I’m proud of you, no matter what you do for a living.”

  “One of my songs is nominated for an Academy of Country Music Award. The event will be televised live from Las Vegas in April. Maybe we can get everyone together to watch.”

  “How about we go there instead?” her dad said in earnest.

  The heaviness in Angeline’s chest gave way to an effervescent joy. “I’d love it!”

  Her father stood, then leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Lincoln should join us, too.”

  Some of Angeline’s happiness dimmed. “He’s a Dogman, Dad. He isn’t coming back.”

  “That’s not what Lincoln told me.” Her father squeezed her hand. “What’s this about a new grandson?”

  Angeline’s heart paused while her brain processed her father’s words, then it kicked into overdrive as a jumble of emotions fought for dominance. “What did he say exactly?”

  “He’s going to get his boy and they’re both coming home to Walker’s Run, if you’ll have them.”

  “I need your phone!”

  Clasping the device her father handed to her, Angeline dialed Lincoln’s number. Her heart, which seemed to have climbed into her throat, tumbled into her stomach when the recording announced incoming calls were no longer accepted.

  All she could do was pour all of her love and support into the mate-bond and trust that her intentions were getting through because she did not want her last words to Lincoln to haunt him the way they did her.

  Chapter 30

  Gunfire echoed in every direction, though no one on the rescue team had fired a single shot. Still, they took advantage of the confusion and advanced on the insurgents’ compound.

  Waiting for the team leader’s next signal, Lincoln sensed a gentle feminine essence graze his spirit. Always nonintrusive, Angeline had reached out to him through their mate-bond on a daily basis for the three and a half weeks he’d been on active duty.

  More than once he’d been tempted to respond, but encouraging the connection was a Program violation and could distract him at an inopportune time and devastate her if something terrible happened. Though touched by her expressions of support, especially after the way they had parted, Lincoln closed her out of his thoughts and senses.

  Redirecting his focus to the rebels who kidnapped children and forced them to become soldiers in their militia, he watched two adult males with rifles slung over their shoulders walk within a few feet of his hiding spot. The urge to rip them to pieces for their parts in the atrocity grew as they passed him on their rounds. But the task to take out the foot patrols fell to someone else.

  Lincoln was on point for first contact with the kids. When the time came, he would have to maneuver through the enemy compound to the building the reconnaissance scouts had identified as the children’s barracks. Nearly midnight, all should be asleep in the common quarters, making it easier for Lincoln to get them in one swoop.

  He glanced around the compound, his wolfan vision unhindered by the suffocating darkness. The cloak of ominous clouds provided an additional layer of coverage to the team, already dressed head to toe in black clothing and wearing camouflage paint on their faces. Lincoln hoped his appearance didn’t frighten the children. He needed their trust to get them out alive.

  The gunfire ceased one minute and twelve seconds after it started, just like the last five times. Too patterned to be actual gunplay, he suspected the rebels were brainwashing the children into believing their captors were protecting them. Depending on how long the ploy had been in use, the children could be affected by Stockholm syndrome. Whatever their condition, Lincoln prayed that Dayax would recognize that he was not the enemy.

  “All clear.” The CO’s voice whispered through Lincoln’s earpiece. “Go, go, go!”

  Immediately, Lincoln sprang forward and ran. His temporary prosthetic didn’t have the versatility the previous one had, but it fit comfortably and provided solid, steady support.

  With his heart practically in his throat, he reached one of the trucks the rebels used to gather and transport children after a raid. Hunkered down, he glanced around to ensure he’d not been seen. Then, he slipped a tactical knife from the sheath fastened around his good leg and jabbed it into the back tire. Jerking the weapon free, he heard the hiss of escaping air.

  Carefully, he eased along the driver’s side, the body of the vehicle shielding him from the view of any foot patrols. After puncturing the front tire, Lincoln broke radio silence.

  “The mongoose is in the pocket.”

  “The mongoose is in the first pocket. Hawks stay frosty.” The CO’s whispered instruction went out to the entire team.

  One obstacle down, five more to go.

  Random foot patrols slowed the team’s progress and their standing orders were not to engage unless discovered. In that event, hand-to-hand combat was preferred. No one wanted to alert the rebels of their presence. The likelihood of successfully escaping with all twelve children unharmed dropped dramatically if all hell broke loose.

  Still, every team member had been equipped with an M16A4, just in case.

  Finally reaching the barracks, Lincoln dispatched the unsuspecting lone guard, then pressed his ear against the door. Not hearing any suspicious movement, he carefully entered the single-room building. Thirteen children were sleeping on small mats strewn on the floor.

  Damn!

  The recon team had only counted twelve.

  Lincoln broke radio silence. “The mongoose is in the ring with a baker’s dozen. Repeat, baker’s dozen.”

  In the ensuing radio silence, he scanned the room, his gaze settling on Dayax’s small form. Lincoln’s heart nearl
y leaped from his chest. After nearly thirteen weeks of separation and worry, he’d found his wolfling.

  Lincoln swallowed the gasps of joy and relief rising in his chest. Danger surrounded them, and he had a lot to do before allowing himself to celebrate.

  The team had five escorts—three of whom were Lincoln’s former teammates—assigned to whisk two children at a time to safety, with Lincoln providing cover as they retreated. Either someone would have a trio to wrangle through the woods and protect, or he would have to keep number thirteen with him.

  The CO made the call for the latter.

  Quietly, Lincoln woke up Dayax first.

  The boy’s dark eyes widened. “Lincoln!” He threw his thin arms around Lincoln’s neck. “I knew you’d come.”

  Lincoln’s throat closed around a sharp, ragged breath that he had to clear before he could speak. “Shh. We must be quiet.” He held the boy tightly, his heart pounding so hard, he thought his ribs might break. Since the wolfling had gone missing, Lincoln had hoped and prayed for a moment just like this one.

  But they weren’t out of danger, not yet.

  Lincoln gently pulled back, gritting his teeth against the painful resistance of every muscle. “I need you to help me explain to the others. We’re taking them home.” Although Lincoln could speak Somali, he knew the children were more likely to trust one of their own than a stranger.

  With Dayax’s help, they quickly and quietly woke up the remaining twelve. Lincoln paired up the six oldest children with the younger ones, leaving Dayax as the solitary spare.

  Lincoln checked the perimeter and radioed the CO.

  Once he received instruction to begin the evacuation, he sent them two by two to the first spotter stationed less than thirty feet from the building, who then sent them to the second spotter, and so on and so forth until each had two children they would escort through the woods to the rendezvous point. Once the final pair made it safely to the last spotter, Lincoln knelt in front of Dayax.

  “Do exactly what I say when I say it. Don’t think, just do it. Okay?”