Wild Wolf
Page 50
“Stay with me, love.” Graham took her hot hand in his and caressed her limp fingers. “I can’t let you go.”
Graham had lost everyone in his life. His father and mother, his sister—Dougal’s mother—all dead in the wild. Graham and Dougal were the only ones left of the pack. And Rita had died, Graham’s one cub with her.
Alone, always alone. Graham had found more Shifters in his clan, then they’d been rounded up into Shiftertowns, practically living on top of one another, but it made no difference. A wolf without a pack was nothing.
But a wolf could start a pack. He needed a mate, and cubs. When Dougal mated as well, there would be many little ones running around.
The idea of being alone forever terrified the hell out of Graham. He’d never told anyone that.
“Stay with me, Misty.”
He leaned down and kissed her hair, squeezing her hand. Misty never opened her eyes, never acknowledged him. She was here next to him, but Graham was still alone.
No, not quite. Kyle and Matt pushed the door open, concern in their wolf-pup eyes. They preferred staying wolf these days, Graham noted, unless they wanted to chatter to Misty.
Now they put their paws on the bed, looking up at Graham’s high mattress. Graham lifted them both. After wagging tails and pushing noses into his palm, the two cubs lay down at Misty’s feet, one on either corner of the bed.
Guarding her, Graham thought. Guards who closed their eyes almost immediately, and started to snore.
• • •
Misty swam toward consciousness, but that way lay pain. She thought she heard her brother’s voice . . . Paul, I need to take care of him.
She was twelve again, and sick in bed with the flu, fever making her delirious. Her father was off pursuing one of his wild schemes, her mother was in Newport Beach in her new house with her new life. Only Misty was there to take care of Paul. I have to get up. I have to look after him.
But Graham was there too. She heard him rumbling something and relaxed. If anyone could take care of Paul, it was Graham.
She heard other voices, ones she didn’t know. A woman with low, almost velvety tones, a man with an Irish accent. What were they all doing here?
Present reality caught up to her. She’d been stabbed, with a wound that seared, and Graham had been hurt. Where was she? Was Graham all right? Were the cubs?
She started up to find a heavy hand pressing her back down. “Stay still,” Graham said.
Misty subsided. Graham sounded as strong as ever, though she heard the weakness in his voice. Faint, but there.
The pain returned. Pain had seeped through the darkness of her dreams, but it had been muffled, like sounds through a thick blanket. Now it raced over her, spreading through her body from one hot core.
“The cut isn’t too deep,” the woman’s voice said. “But deep enough. I can try.”
“What is that?” Graham’s voice held great suspicion.
“Something my father gave me. He thinks it will help.”
“Your Fae father.”
The Irishman spoke. “You knew that when you called us.”
Graham growled something wordless. “You’re a Guardian,” he said. “Why do you have to be in here? You make me nervous.”
“The sword helps,” the woman answered in soothing tones. “Sean and I do this together. If you want her to get better, you have to stand over there and be quiet.”
Misty wanted to laugh, but it hurt too much. Graham hated being told what to do, especially by a female.
The Irishman, who must be Sean, gave a low chuckle. “I’ll let no harm come to her. Andrea knows what she’s doing. Now I’m going to draw the sword, but I promise, I’m not stabbing anyone with it.”
A faint ting as metal touched metal. Then a touch on Misty’s side. She cried out, cringing away, as pain intensified.
“What are you doing?” Graham said immediately.
“Calm down.” Andrea’s voice again. “I can see the spells. They’re complex, a mesh. It will take a bit for me to untangle them.”
“Just do it,” Graham rumbled.
“She will,” the Irishman said. “Stop interrupting.”
Graham made another noise of impatience, but he subsided. He must be truly worried if he actually shut up.
Misty felt the cold of animal noses touching her arm. Little noses. Two of them. She wanted to smile, but couldn’t move.
And then more pain. Misty started to scream. She heard the sounds come out of her throat, hoarse and cracked. Another touch, this one Graham’s big, rough-skinned hand holding hers.
“Easy,” Graham said, so gently Misty was surprised it was he who spoke. “Easy, now.”
Misty tried to lie still, but the pain pulled her. She writhed, only to find Graham’s warm strength holding her down.
“Poor lady,” Sean said.
Andrea drew a breath. “Ready.”
“Aye, love.”
Did that mean they hadn’t started? Dear God, how much more could Misty take?
She forced her eyes open a crack. Sitting beside her bed was a dark-haired woman with gray eyes and a lovely face. She had one hand on Misty’s side, the other wrapped around the blade of a sword that looked much like Oison’s. Misty saw the runes on the silver metal, which began to glow.
The sword’s hilt was held by a man with black hair and very blue eyes. He had his arm around Andrea, his free hand resting over hers on Misty.
Andrea closed her eyes and tilted her head back, drawing in another breath. Sean kept his hand steady on Andrea’s.
Graham lay half on top of Misty, his short hair tickling her chin. His hard hands held her arms in place. The wolf cubs were beside Misty’s head, peering worriedly into her face.
It’s all right, Misty wanted to reassure them. But she wasn’t certain it would be.
Another wave of pain, white-hot. She thought she was being sliced in half. The screams came again. Graham tightened his grip on her, and one of the cubs whimpered and licked her cheek.
Andrea’s head went farther back, her eyes moving as though she watched something behind her lids. “Now, Sean,” she whispered.
Sean removed his hand from Andrea’s. He reached for something out of Misty’s line of sight, then clamped what felt like a poultice to Misty’s side, Andrea at the last minute moving her hand to rest it now on top of Sean’s.
Misty thought she was dying. The agony reached a peak, beyond which there was no feeling. After a very long time, she heard Graham again, his voice harsh. “It’s not working.”
Graham had lost everyone in his life. His father and mother, his sister—Dougal’s mother—all dead in the wild. Graham and Dougal were the only ones left of the pack. And Rita had died, Graham’s one cub with her.
Alone, always alone. Graham had found more Shifters in his clan, then they’d been rounded up into Shiftertowns, practically living on top of one another, but it made no difference. A wolf without a pack was nothing.
But a wolf could start a pack. He needed a mate, and cubs. When Dougal mated as well, there would be many little ones running around.
The idea of being alone forever terrified the hell out of Graham. He’d never told anyone that.
“Stay with me, Misty.”
He leaned down and kissed her hair, squeezing her hand. Misty never opened her eyes, never acknowledged him. She was here next to him, but Graham was still alone.
No, not quite. Kyle and Matt pushed the door open, concern in their wolf-pup eyes. They preferred staying wolf these days, Graham noted, unless they wanted to chatter to Misty.
Now they put their paws on the bed, looking up at Graham’s high mattress. Graham lifted them both. After wagging tails and pushing noses into his palm, the two cubs lay down at Misty’s feet, one on either corner of the bed.
Guarding her, Graham thought. Guards who closed their eyes almost immediately, and started to snore.
• • •
Misty swam toward consciousness, but that way lay pain. She thought she heard her brother’s voice . . . Paul, I need to take care of him.
She was twelve again, and sick in bed with the flu, fever making her delirious. Her father was off pursuing one of his wild schemes, her mother was in Newport Beach in her new house with her new life. Only Misty was there to take care of Paul. I have to get up. I have to look after him.
But Graham was there too. She heard him rumbling something and relaxed. If anyone could take care of Paul, it was Graham.
She heard other voices, ones she didn’t know. A woman with low, almost velvety tones, a man with an Irish accent. What were they all doing here?
Present reality caught up to her. She’d been stabbed, with a wound that seared, and Graham had been hurt. Where was she? Was Graham all right? Were the cubs?
She started up to find a heavy hand pressing her back down. “Stay still,” Graham said.
Misty subsided. Graham sounded as strong as ever, though she heard the weakness in his voice. Faint, but there.
The pain returned. Pain had seeped through the darkness of her dreams, but it had been muffled, like sounds through a thick blanket. Now it raced over her, spreading through her body from one hot core.
“The cut isn’t too deep,” the woman’s voice said. “But deep enough. I can try.”
“What is that?” Graham’s voice held great suspicion.
“Something my father gave me. He thinks it will help.”
“Your Fae father.”
The Irishman spoke. “You knew that when you called us.”
Graham growled something wordless. “You’re a Guardian,” he said. “Why do you have to be in here? You make me nervous.”
“The sword helps,” the woman answered in soothing tones. “Sean and I do this together. If you want her to get better, you have to stand over there and be quiet.”
Misty wanted to laugh, but it hurt too much. Graham hated being told what to do, especially by a female.
The Irishman, who must be Sean, gave a low chuckle. “I’ll let no harm come to her. Andrea knows what she’s doing. Now I’m going to draw the sword, but I promise, I’m not stabbing anyone with it.”
A faint ting as metal touched metal. Then a touch on Misty’s side. She cried out, cringing away, as pain intensified.
“What are you doing?” Graham said immediately.
“Calm down.” Andrea’s voice again. “I can see the spells. They’re complex, a mesh. It will take a bit for me to untangle them.”
“Just do it,” Graham rumbled.
“She will,” the Irishman said. “Stop interrupting.”
Graham made another noise of impatience, but he subsided. He must be truly worried if he actually shut up.
Misty felt the cold of animal noses touching her arm. Little noses. Two of them. She wanted to smile, but couldn’t move.
And then more pain. Misty started to scream. She heard the sounds come out of her throat, hoarse and cracked. Another touch, this one Graham’s big, rough-skinned hand holding hers.
“Easy,” Graham said, so gently Misty was surprised it was he who spoke. “Easy, now.”
Misty tried to lie still, but the pain pulled her. She writhed, only to find Graham’s warm strength holding her down.
“Poor lady,” Sean said.
Andrea drew a breath. “Ready.”
“Aye, love.”
Did that mean they hadn’t started? Dear God, how much more could Misty take?
She forced her eyes open a crack. Sitting beside her bed was a dark-haired woman with gray eyes and a lovely face. She had one hand on Misty’s side, the other wrapped around the blade of a sword that looked much like Oison’s. Misty saw the runes on the silver metal, which began to glow.
The sword’s hilt was held by a man with black hair and very blue eyes. He had his arm around Andrea, his free hand resting over hers on Misty.
Andrea closed her eyes and tilted her head back, drawing in another breath. Sean kept his hand steady on Andrea’s.
Graham lay half on top of Misty, his short hair tickling her chin. His hard hands held her arms in place. The wolf cubs were beside Misty’s head, peering worriedly into her face.
It’s all right, Misty wanted to reassure them. But she wasn’t certain it would be.
Another wave of pain, white-hot. She thought she was being sliced in half. The screams came again. Graham tightened his grip on her, and one of the cubs whimpered and licked her cheek.
Andrea’s head went farther back, her eyes moving as though she watched something behind her lids. “Now, Sean,” she whispered.
Sean removed his hand from Andrea’s. He reached for something out of Misty’s line of sight, then clamped what felt like a poultice to Misty’s side, Andrea at the last minute moving her hand to rest it now on top of Sean’s.
Misty thought she was dying. The agony reached a peak, beyond which there was no feeling. After a very long time, she heard Graham again, his voice harsh. “It’s not working.”
