Wolf's Oath (After the Crash 3.25) (11 page)

“Yeah,” said Katie. “You were upset, I could tell.”

Kathy nodded.

Connie told them everything Faron had said. “Des offered to take care of us and see to it we weren’t forced into marriage, as long as I married him.”

Katie’s eyes popped wide and then her brows dove down in a fierce scowl. “He blackmailed you?”

A small laugh escaped. “He didn’t have to. It was a good deal.” She trailed off, biting her lip. “And I already had feelings for him. I liked him. I like him even more now.”

“Do you love him?”

Kathy’s quiet question made Connie think. “This morning I would have said no. I liked him, I admired him, I respected him, but not loved him. Now, I don’t know. The thought of losing him hurts so much.” That was exactly what Sherry said this morning. Now Connie knew what she meant. “I’m worried.”

“Maybe it’s just that you’re worried about us, about what will happen to us without Des to protect us?” Katie suggested.

“Maybe.” But Connie knew that wasn’t it. She sniffed militantly. “I better get moving. Worrying isn’t helping anything.”

“That’s right,” Kathy said comfortingly. “Feeling better?”

Connie nodded. If it wasn’t spoken out loud, it wasn’t a lie, right? “Thank you.”

Kathy gave her a motherly hug. “Come on downstairs. You need to keep yourself busy now.”

Katie watched the older woman leave before touching Connie’s shoulder lightly. “It’ll be okay. Des and the others from Taye’s place are good fighters, so there’s nothing to worry about. Des and the others will be here soon with good news. We need to have places for them to sleep when they get here. I could use your help with the room assignments. Some of the girls are being bratty.”

Connie stood up. “You’re good at this. You weren’t a counselor back home, were you?”

“Hell, no,” Katie said with a snorting giggle. “I was a team lead, adjudicating claims at an insurance company. I was in charge of mostly women. You have to develop a knack for handling them. Come on, back me up on the room assignments.”

Connie went, forcing her fear for Des to the back of her mind. She went through the motions of participating in the discussions about housing, but let Katie make the decisions. She ate supper, but tasted little. It was a no-brainer to approve Renee’s request to be excused from daily chores so she could work in the kitchen. Good thing it was a no-brainer, Connie reflected with dark humor, because she had no brain to spare for anything but thinking about what was happening at the den.

After supper, she sat in the big room in front of a stove while the women chatted or worked on crafts. When Sammie and others pelted her with questions about her wedding, she dutifully answered, but was glad to let Marissa do most of the talking. She glanced repeatedly at the large clock on the wall, wondering how long before Des came. As soon as women began trickling upstairs to get ready for bed, she escaped with Renee into the kitchen. Marissa joined them in a minute, red-eyed.

They sat at the worktable lit by a single oil lamp, staring morosely into their tea mugs. “How long has it been?” Marissa asked.

Connie counted hours in her mind. “Around six hours.”

“It would take Hawk less than twenty minutes to get there if he let his wolf out,” Renee said. “So they’ve been there for over five hours. How long does a fight last?”

Marissa twisted her fingers hard around her tea mug’s handle. “The gunfight at the OK Corral lasted only thirty seconds.”

Connie nodded. “But the Battle of the Alamo took two weeks,” she countered.

“Two weeks?” Marissa wailed. “I can’t wait that long!”

Connie knew she couldn’t wait that long either. “If we haven’t heard something by breakfast, we’ll ask Faron Paulson to find out for us.”

Renee stood up. “Breakfast. It’s only nine hours away. I should get the oatmeal started.”

“I can help,” Marissa offered. “What do you need me to do?”

Connie was glad to see the focused expression on Renee’s face. It meant she was thinking about cooking, not the fighting at the den. “Nothing.” She waved her hand at Marissa. “Thanks. All I have to do is add the oats and water to the kettle and let it soak overnight.”

Marissa sat back down. “A few months ago, the oatmeal I ate came out of a packet that I poured into a bowl and added boiling water to. Everything here is so much more work. Back home I would goof off on the Internet while I did a load of laundry. Now, it takes hours to wash clothes—not that I have very many!—and it’s hard work.” Her voice sank to a trembling whisper. “But I don’t care about that, if only I have Red Wing and Faron.”

After a moment of silence, Renee murmured, “I know what you mean.”

So did Connie. “I guess I’ll head up to bed. Coming?”

Renee put the lid on the oatmeal kettle and hooked the ladle on the lip of the lid. “Yep.”

Using the light of the lamp to show them the stairs, the three of them went up to second floor. Connie held the lamp up so they could see to open the doors of their apartments and light the candles that waited inside. Then she went to her own frigid apartment, changed into her sleep clothes and curled herself tightly between the icy sheets she’d thought she’d be sharing with Des tonight. She wasn’t much for prayer, but she prayed now, begging God to keep Des safe.

Ice gleamed smooth and slick on the moonlit road and stung the pads of his paws, but Des, trailed by Hawk on his right, and Red Wing his left, didn’t stop running. Dawn was only a few hours away, and they could have stayed at the den, but they all wanted their mates. Heartsick, weary, and wounded, Des needed Connie like a starving man needed food. He needed to burrow his face into the warmth of her neck and release his grief into her keeping. He needed the touch of her hands on his body, her lips on his brow. Not for sex, but to fill the hole grief had torn in his heart.

They stopped in front of the gate at the Plane Women’s House and changed back to their man shapes. It would have been quicker to leap over the fence, but the guards from Kearney might have been alarmed and shot them. So they waited, naked in the wind, for the guard to open the gate for them.

Once inside, the three of them nodded at each other, eyes dark with the weary pain of grief, and parted to seek the solace their mates could give them. Hawk and Red Wing didn’t know which room their mates were in, so they used their noses to search out their scents. Des remembered very well which door led to Connie’s apartment. He turned the knob and ghosted through the empty communal area to the door that opened to her private room.

She was a tightly curled ball under the layers of bedding, only a few disheveled locks of pale hair showing on the pillow. He stood above her and inhaled her precious scent. It was laden with the saltiness of tears and faintly soured by fear. His hand trembled when he reached to touch her hair.

“Connie,” he whispered, his voice the merest thread of sound, perhaps too low for human ears to hear, but she woke with a start.

“Des?”

He took her searching hand in the dark and lifted it to his cheek, and then his lips.

“Yes, love.”

“Oh, God, you’re back!” She struggled to uncurl from the bedclothes and sit up. “Are you okay? Is everyone else okay?”

The grief, lifted momentarily by the sweet scent of her concern, sank back into his heart like a stone thrown into a pond. It stole his voice.

“Des?” she said again. Her groping hand brushed over the bullet hole in his shoulder. He jerked in a ragged breath through his teeth. “Des! Are you hurt? Where’s that damned candle?”

He glanced around the room, dark to her human eyes but visible to him, and found a stub of a candle on the ledge beside the door. He left her long enough to light it and carry it back to the small bedside table.

Her face was calm while she examined him, but the worry in her scent spread balm over his pain. “You were shot?”

“It’s not bad. The bullet didn’t touch bone, and it’s out.”

She continued to look him over with careful eyes, taking the candle and lifting it high to help her see him better. “Where else are you hurt?”

“Nowhere. That’s all my injuries.”

His mate set the candle down to take his face in her hands. “Sit with me. Tell me what happened. Tell me everything.”

He sat, savoring the warmth of her hands on his face, the press of her knee to his thigh. But even those comforts couldn’t keep his head up. He bent his head and stared at his bruised knee as he spoke.

“When we got to the den, the fence was down.” He could still see it in his mind: the chain link fence twisted on the ground like a tattered silver ribbon, blotches of blood marking snow churned by horse’s hooves, men’s boots and wolf’s paws. He wanted to tell her how the sound of gunfire when they were still a mile from the den had made their blood run cold with terror and rage, but he had no words for it. “The fighting was mostly done by the time we got into the den.”

“Is everyone okay?” she prompted.

The tightness in her voice told him she knew the answer already. The memory of the scent of blood and the reek of fear and pain made his nose wrinkle in a silent snarl. “None of the women was injured, except the Lupa has a bruised elbow. But six of the Pack are badly wounded. Another twenty of us are hurt, but we’ll recover in a few days.” His voice deserted him. He had to clear his throat to get the words out. “Three died.”

Sadness filled her face. “Oh, Des, I’m so sorry. Who? Not Taye? Not Red Wing or Hawk?”

“No.” The Clan didn’t often speak the names of their dead. “I doubt you knew them.”

“But you did.”

The soft, gentle note in his mate’s voice made grief bloom fresh. He’d trained those wolves to fight and to hunt. They had told him their dreams of having a mate one day. He’d eaten with them, played with them, scolded them, and praised them. “Yes. I knew them.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said again, embracing him.

He allowed her arms to draw his face to her shoulder. After caring for the injured and cleaning the den, the men had withdrawn to the lodge behind the stables to begin the mourning process. But his tears weren’t gone. Pressing his face into the warm skin of his mate’s neck, he wept.

Connie held Des close, so glad he was safe that she never wanted to let him go. The weight of his head on her shoulder was precious. She hadn’t known if she’d ever hold him again. He could have died. The candle didn’t give enough light to see the bullet hole in his shoulder well, but she knew the bullet could have gone through his heart. A mere eight inches made the difference between life and death. He was a strong man, so of course he said he was okay, but it had to hurt.

His tears were hot against her neck. It was hard to see a strong man cry, but she was humbled that he shared himself so openly with her. Would he let her see his tears if he didn’t love her and trust her? He had lost friends; he had the right to grieve. She held him while he shook, careful to avoid his injury and hoping her embrace gave him some small measure of comfort. When he lifted his head she curved her lips into a smile. It wavered, but it was real. He was safe, and he was here with her.

“I was so worried about you, Des.” She smoothed one hand over his cheek and clenched the other over one of his braids. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you alive again.”

He curled one hand over hers on his braid. “I’m here.”

“Thank God.” And she really meant that. She’d prayed for his safety, and God had answered. “Des, I love you. When I thought you might be gone forever, I knew what I felt was more than just liking you or being grateful to you. I
love
you.”

The candle sputtered, flicking waves of light and dark over his face and obscuring his expression. He was silent for so long she began to squirm. “Des,” she began, but his arms tightened on her so forcefully the air squeaked out of her lungs. “Be careful! Your shoulder!”

“Doesn’t hurt.” He kissed her, forcefulness dissolving into tenderness. “Say it again,” he commanded, then added, “Please.”

Her chuckle cracked with tears and she had to swallow to speak. “I love you, Des.”

“You’re shivering! Lie down under the blanket.”

It wasn’t just the cold that made her tremble. Relief and love shuddered though her. “You lie down too. You must be exhausted.” Then she glanced at the bed hardly wider than a twin. “Unless your shoulder hurts too much to sleep here. Is the bed too narrow?”

“No. We’ll build a new one soon, but I like being close to you.”

He
pinched
out the candle and lifted the quilts to slide into bed with her. The darkness made it somehow even more intimate. She tried to shift away so she wouldn’t brush against his injury, but he pulled her close.

“It’s the other shoulder,” he murmured.

“Are you really okay? Really? Did Doc Whitten look at you?”

“No. I’m a wolf. We heal quick.”

“No one heals from a gunshot in an hour,” she protested.

He turned his head on the pillow and she felt his lips in her hair. “It will be a few days before I’m back to normal, but it’s good. Being here with you is good.”

They were quiet for a few minutes. Connie wondered if he was silently counting his blessings, like she was. She wasn’t sure if she should ask, but she wanted to know.

“Did you win? What happened to the men who attacked? Was it Dick Dickinson?”

She felt the tension in him. “Yeah, we won, and yeah, it was Dickinson. He’s dead, and every man who was with him is dead too.”

But at what cost?
she wondered. A third of the people at the den were hurt or killed. “I’m glad you won. I’m glad you’re safe.”

He kissed her. It was a gentle kiss, not a sexual one. “Sleep. We both need our rest.”

With Des warm and safe beside her, she fell asleep in a slow comfortable tumble. It seemed only a moment later that she woke with the warm weight of his hand cupping her breast under her shirt. She blinked, seeing that it must be morning by the light in the room.

“Good morning,” he murmured.

She flexed her shoulders against the bed. “Just hanging on to that to be sure it doesn’t get lost? Or is it your new
blankie
?”

“
Blankie
?” He stared, face showing confusion.

“You know, your security blanket? Maybe I need a
blankie
too.” She slipped her hand down his body to find his cock hard and long. “Well, I guess you’re feeling pretty secure this morning.”

He smiled and arched his back to thrust himself through the circle of her fingers. “Will you make love with me?”

She looked for the wound in his shoulder. It was already closed, although the skin around it was red. “Won’t it hurt you?”

His chuckle was almost soundless. ”No. Even if it did, I want to be with you too much to care.”

In answer, she wiggled out of her clothes. His weight settled solidly over her, as arousing as his tongue stroking over hers. She pulled her mouth away long enough to say, “Yes, I’ll make love with you.”

His fingers and mouth heated her arousal to red-hot need. When his cock finally slid inside her she let out a sigh that was more like a sob. “Oh, Des,” was the most intelligent thing her mind could put together to say.

He paused, cock deep inside her, braced on his arms above her to look into her eyes with a solemn face. “A few hours ago everything was dark,” he whispered. “There was blood in the den, bullets buried in the floor and the walls. My kin were bloodied and dead. My heart was empty, except for you. Knowing you were here, waiting for me, gave me the strength to go on.”

Connie reached to touch his face. “You’re a strong man, Des. You do what’s right. I admire that about you.”

He pulled his cock back and slid back in, gently. “You are my strength.” He pulled back and thrust back in, harder. “You.” Thrust. “My love.” Thrust. “My joy.” Thrust. “My mate.”

She met him thrust for thrust, strangely moved by his words. She opened her mouth to say something, but she was lost in a deluge of pleasure, teetering on the brink of orgasm. The pleasure wasn’t just sexual, she realized hazily. It was also emotional. Des was telling her how important she was to him, and it filled her with awe and delight to be so precious to him. As she plunged into orgasm she shrieked the words that millions of women said during sex. “I love you!”

Minutes later, when they had recovered their breath and lay looking into each other’s eyes, she said it again. “I love you, Des.”

His smile was small. It was quiet and humble. “I love you, Connie.” His eyes gleamed with tears. “A few days ago I’d only dreamed of having you for my mate. I never expected to be able to lie here next to you like this.”

She mentally reviewed the last few days. “It’s been a busy few days, hasn’t it?”

“It has,” he agreed. “And it will continue to be busy. I have to go back to the den today, love. There’s still clean up to do, and Taye is putting up another chain link fence right away. He plans for a stone fence in the spring.” He played with a lock of her hair, twisting it around his pinky finger. “But tomorrow or maybe the next day we need to go talk to Mayor Madison and arrange to buy this house from him. We’ll make it plain that he has no control of you or any of the women living in our house.”

She bit her lip. “We don’t have any money, Des.”

“The Pack does. And Madison won’t want to cause trouble for the Clan. We make good allies, but bad enemies.”

Dick Dickinson had found that out the hard way, she reflected. “It’s all working out.” Relief came out of her in a laugh. “It’s like a miracle. Just when I needed you, you came to visit. When I needed someone to rescue us, you were there for me.”

“I’ll always be here for you.”

She kissed him, then laughed again. “It all started with those two idiots who climbed the fence and propositioned Katie and Sammie. Maybe we should hunt them up and thank them.”

His face wasn’t laughing. “If they ever come near this house, I’ll kill them.”

“
Ooooh-kay
, let’s dial back the aggression. I think Stag put the fear of God into them. I doubt we’ll see them again.” She looked at the boarded up window, judging the amount of light seeping into the room. “I think we might have missed breakfast.”

Des threw back the covers and got out of bed. “We better hurry then.”

He started toward the door, a magnificent sight in his nakedness, and paused to look back at her when she coughed pointedly. He raised an eyebrow.