Wolfen (36 page)

 
He'd protected her from the other horrible things.

 
Shoving the truck into park resolutely, she leapt out and ran to him. He was breathing, but he was bloody all over, his flesh torn and ragged, chunks of flesh ripped from his shoulder and even his torso. If she had been in any state to really think, she thought she might have passed out or thrown up.

 
Dropping her pistol to the dirt beside him, she lifted his head carefully, sniffing and sobbing as she stared at his horribly deformed face. “Dakota? I got them. I brought them back to help."

 
His eyes flickered open. He stared up at her blankly for a moment before recognition dawned. “Fuck! Will get you your ass out of here, gods damn it, woman!"

 
The anger jolted her, but it made her heart leap with hopefulness, too. He couldn't be as bad off as she'd thought if he could still yell and cuss at her, could he? “I can't leave you like this!"

 
He tried to heave himself upright and fell back again. “Leave!” he growled. “I'll be alright."

 
Her chin wobbled. He wasn't going to be alright. He was going to bleed to death. “If you could just get up, I can help you to the truck and take you to a hospital. Please? We have to hurry before the others see us and come back."

 
She'd no sooner uttered the warning when she heard a roar of rage that dragged her attention from Dakota to the others. A huge black furred beast man was bearing down on her and Dakota. Sucking in a quick breath of terror, she grabbed up the pistol she'd dropped to the ground when she bent down to see about Dakota and aimed it at the oncoming beast.

 
Two things happened almost instantaneously. Dakota knocked the pistol out of her hand and the horrible black beast bellowed at her. “If you shoot me with that gods damn thing, Dani, I'm going to beat your ass black and blue when I come to!"

 
"Balin?” Danika asked weakly when the thing swooped down on her, hooked an arm around her waist, and hauled her unceremoniously toward the truck she'd abandoned.

 
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Chapter Fifteen

Danika stared in complete confusion at the ceiling above her head when she opened her eyes. The memories that had flooded her mind the moment she surfaced toward consciousness were the stuff of nightmares and, for just a moment, she thought that was what it was—a nightmare—and she'd just awoken in her bed.

 
She
was
in her bed. She'd been living in the cabin long enough that it was almost as familiar to her as her own home, but the comforting sense that she'd just awakened vanished. It wasn't a nightmare—well, it was, but also real—she thought—memories of things she'd seen, things that had happened, not figments of her imagination.

 
Unless her mind had snapped and she was delusional?

 
It was almost more comforting to think she might have had a psychotic break than the alternative. At least then, if she ever got her mind back, she'd know she wasn't living in a world where such things actually existed.

 
Her mind leapt abruptly to Dakota, hovered momentarily on his transition from handsome man to horrible beast, and then leapt forward again to the way he'd looked when she'd last seen him. She pushed herself upright in sudden, renewed panic.

 
Balin—looking like the Balin she knew—moved toward the bed, but stopped while he was still a good distance from her when she swung her head in his direction and sucked in a sharp breath.

 
She stared at him, trying to reconcile in her mind the creature he'd been before with the devastatingly handsome man he was now—the one she'd pined over, wished secret thoughts about that she had barely even acknowledged to herself. “Dakota?” she finally managed to ask, bracing herself for bad news.

 
Something flickered in his eyes. “They brought him back to the cabin."

 
Her chin wobbled. “Is he...? Is he...?"

 
He frowned. “He's alright, Dani,” he said gruffly.

 
She searched his face, wondering if he was just telling her that to calm her down. “How could he be alright? He was hurt so bad!"

 
He held her gaze. “He's wolfen, Dani.” He hesitated. “We all are."

 
She couldn't decide whether she felt more ill or faint. “Con and...?"

 
"Jared and Xavier,” he confirmed.

 
She digested that for a moment, or tried. She really couldn't assimilate it. “What's wolfen?” she asked finally.

 
A flicker of humor entered his eyes. He dropped to a crouch. It startled her, but then she realized he'd done it to keep from towering over her. She relaxed fractionally, coloring faintly when she saw the knowing look in his eyes. “You saw,” he said finally, the humor missing from his voice, all emotion missing. His tone was cool, without inflection.

 
She chewed her lip indecisively for a moment. “Like ... kind of like...?"

 
His lips tightened. “Movie monsters?"

 
She swallowed. “Werewolves?"

 
His expression hardened. “Those are an abomination, the results of infection of a human. I was born as I am—the others, too. We are wolfen. You could say half wolf half human, but that's not actually what we are."

 
"Wolfen."

 
He nodded.

 
"And Dakota's going to be alright?"

 
"They didn't manage to take his head off,” he said wryly. “Short of that, we can recover from pretty much anything fairly quickly. The same rapid cell manipulation that allows us to morph from this form to the form you saw, or into the form of a wolf, also allows us to heal quickly—even from what appears to be grievous injury in your eyes."

 
The comment resurrected the memory of the way he'd been when she'd last seen him—covered in blood, his own and that of the others, horrible wounds slashing across his arms and torso and chest. There was little sign of those now, though, nothing but angry red marks where she'd seen gaping wounds before.

 
She shivered, abruptly cold, feeling a need for reassurance. That she was safe? She looked down at the cover across her lap, plucking at it, thinking. “Y'all protected me from the others—the rogues. Was it because you didn't want me to find out that you were wolfen?"

 
"That's part of why we were sent—to protect the wolfen nation from exposure that could make life—difficult for us."

 
She swallowed a little sickly. “And ... now that I know?"

 
"We hope you're a friend and wouldn't bring trouble to us without cause."

 
Tears filled her eyes as she looked up at him at last. “We're friends?"

 
He tilted his head thoughtfully. “At least that, yes?"

 
She nodded, unable to speak, lifting her arms out to him hopefully. He came to his feet without hesitation and surged toward her. Settling on the edge of the bed, he drew her into his arms. She snuggled gratefully against his warmth, soaking it in to dispel the cold that seemed to go bone deep, reassured by the heart beat beneath her ear.

 
He pulled away after a moment, but instead of leaving her, he lay down on the bed, pulled her down with him and covered them, snuggling her along his length. “I'm cold,” she murmured unnecessarily, shivering with it, her teeth chattering.

 
"Shock.” He hesitated. “I regret we couldn't spare you that."

 
They'd tried—maybe only to preserve their secret—but she couldn't deny that they'd done everything, short of telling her she was in danger and explaining why, to keep her safe—whatever their motives.

 
It occurred to her abruptly to wonder if that was why they'd gotten her drunk that night—to keep her from going into the woods. Maybe because they were running out of inventive ways to protect her? Because they'd tried sticking to her like glue to keep her from wandering off, bullying her, ordering her to stay away and she'd been stubbornly determined to finish her job?

 
She didn't actually have a job anymore, though, she realized. She'd been sent to study wolves, and there weren't any. She doubted there were even any wolfen left now—except for the ‘biker quints’ as she'd dubbed them. She'd finally managed to stumble upon the hideout of the rogue pack they'd been sent to dispatch and they'd taken care of it.

 
A shudder skated through her at the memory of the carnage, the savage battle she'd seen.

 
Balin stroked a gentling hand along her back. The movement of his hand soothed her, warmed her, and the tremors began to subside. Little by little, she relaxed against him, half drowsing with the mesmerizing stroke and the emotional exhaustion that crept up on her as the shock began to wear off. He shifted far enough away from her to study her face after a while. Sensing his focus, she opened her eyes to look back at him.

 
She hadn't really had the opportunity to study his face—any of them really. She'd felt particularly shy of Balin, though, unnerved by his aloofness. She supposed he would be considered classically handsome—not boyishly handsome, not ruggedly handsome—classic. His features were probably the most symmetrical and appealingly formed that she'd ever seen—in nature—more like the perfection artists aspired to.

 
Maybe that intimidated her even more than his aloofness? Certainly as much.

 
She should've felt so plain and unlovely by comparison as to want to hide her own imperfections but she saw appreciation in his eyes—she'd never seen anything else, she realized with a touch of surprise. He liked what he saw.

 
The hand that had been rhythmically stroking her from the back of her hair and down her back, settled on the back of her head. She felt a faint tremor in his hand, as if she'd transferred her own trembling to him when she'd soaked up his warmth. He eased closer slowly, as if fearful he'd startle her. She hesitated and then tilted her face to give him easier access. She heard him swallow and then his face was so close to hers she could feel the warmth of it, hear the raggedness of his breath, feel the currents against her skin, inhale his scent. Excitement threaded her veins even before she felt the light touch of his lips against hers.

 
He tasted her almost tentatively, plucking at her lips with his. Images flooded her mind—Balin the man, Balin the beast. She tensed unconsciously, but the moment she felt him hesitate, begin to withdraw, she knew acceptance. She wanted him, followed his retreat like a flower seeking the sun, exploring his lips as he'd explored hers. They were firm, hard like the rest of him, unyielding. He tasted ... heavenly.

 
He drew away, scanning her eyes when she opened them to him, searching her for acceptance of his touch. He found what he was looking for. “Dani,” he whispered raggedly, surging toward her again, pushing her to her back and opening his mouth to take hers in a hungry assault that sent a rush through her, spawning heat, at first in sinuous tendrils that snaked through her veins and nerves, and then quickened inside her, blossoming rapidly. Her mind floated free, enveloped in a sensual haze that seemed to lift her outside herself and yet she was more aware of her body than she'd ever been, aware of it as a vessel filled with the most delightful sensations imaginable.

 
She could feel the heat radiating off of him, the pleasurable pressure of his weight, the solidness of his form, the unyielding strength of hard muscle. Her mouth and hands alone were unfettered, free to feel everything—and they felt everything, the heat and taste of him on her tongue as he explored her mouth with impatient forays of his tongue, the cool silkiness of his hair beneath her fingertips, the heat of the flesh of his bare shoulders and back.