Wolver's Rescue (11 page)

“
What about Gantnor?” he
asked because he needed to know what Dr. Asshole’s motives were and
how much the bastard knew.

“
He was a friend of my
parents. He was the guy my overprotective mother called if I
sneezed twice in a row. He was the guy my father consulted about my
aggressive behavior when I kicked the shit out of Kevin Costello
when I was in first grade.”

Picturing a tinier version of her in pigtails
and ankle socks, her little fists bunched and ready for a fight,
Bull couldn’t hold it back. He laughed. “Puny little fella, was
he?”

Indignance replaced the anger and pain in her
voice. “He was not puny. He was big and heavy and he was in third
grade. He used his size to bully other kids on the playground. He
pushed Suzie to the ground and she was a member of the Peanut
Butter and Jelly Club. I had to defend her. I gathered the other
PB&Js and they helped me knock him down. I took it from there,”
she declared proudly, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. “The
principal called us a gang.”

“
Did you have little leather
jackets with metal chains and studs and tiny sandwiches emblazoned
on the back?”

She laughed and Bull was surprised by how
good that laughter made him feel.

“
No,” she told him, “No
jackets, but we did have tattoos. We drew them on our wrists with
magic markers and we had to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
for lunch every day. I liked PB and J.”

She didn’t know what she was, but she was
forming her own little pack when she was six years old and already
understood the Primal Law of Pack comes first. He wondered what she
might have become if she’d known she was a wolver and had a pack to
guide her. He had a feeling she would have become what she already
was at six, a leader of the pack.

She yawned and stretched and closed her eyes
tight before she opened them again and Bull felt a twinge of guilt
for ignoring how tired she must be. He needed to know more about
Dr. Gantnor, but his questions could wait. Her rest would be more
refreshing if she went to it smiling.

“
Come on, spitfire. You need
sleep and so do I.”

Her eyes shifted to the door instead of the
bed as they should have. Bull almost laughed aloud at her lack of
cunning, a trait that was much admired among wolvers. He’d have to
teach her that that those big brown eyes of hers would...

Resting his elbows on his knees, he shaded
his eyes with his hands. He wouldn’t be teaching her anything, not
one damn thing. A touch, light as wisp of moonlight, swept over his
bent shoulder.

“
I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“You’ve been awake much longer than I have and worked much harder.
I wouldn’t have given you such a hard time if I’d known what you
were doing.”

If it hadn’t been for that glance at the
door, Bull might have believed her. She sounded so sincere.

“
I should have seen how
tired you were. I should have let you rest.”

“
In the bed and under the
covers, Thomas.” He pointed to the far side of the bed.

“
Tommie, with an i-e,” she
said, “And you should really take the bed. It’s your room, after
all, and I’m used to sleeping on the floor.”

“
All the more reason for you
to sleep in the bed,” he said and took his time sliding the chain
into place on the door so she wouldn’t see the guilt written on his
face. She’d soon be spending time enough sleeping on the floor, the
cold forest floor. She’d have a month, maybe two, before the winter
claimed her.

He pulled his shirt over his head and removed
his boots. He felt her eyes on his back as he unbuttoned his jeans
and slipped them down, leaving his shorts in place. When he turned
toward the bed, her eyes were squeezed shut. He laughed.

“
I think we’ve both seen
pretty much all there is to see, spitfire, but no worries. I told
you before, I’m a perfect gentleman.” He slipped in beside her and
snapped the handcuff on her wrist.

Her eyes snapped open and she glared at him.
“Gentlemen don’t handcuff unwilling women.”

“
They do if they want to get
any sleep. Sorry, spitfire.” He fitted the other end to his own
wrist.

“
The name is
Tommie.”

“
Yeah, I know. Thomas
Mortimer Bane. Goodnight, spitfire.”

Bull settled back against his pillow and
closed his eyes, but tired as he was, he couldn’t sleep. His wolf
was prowling, refusing to settle, too aware of the woman and
she-wolf sleeping beside them. Bull knew why his wolf was attracted
to the woman. There was a feral wolf inside her, and to his wolf,
she was the ideal mate.

After all these years, the beast still longed
for the wild days of their youth. His wolf had no memory of the
freezing nights, the sleet and snow, or the hunger that gnawed
constantly at their stomach when game was scarce. He didn’t
remember the loneliness of running packless day after day. He only
remembered the wind in the trees, the sky over head, and the moon,
the constantly calling moon.

But Bull remembered it all and he knew what
he was condemning the woman beside him to. Tommie and her wolf had
never run wild. He wondered if they’d ever seen a forest. They sure
as hell had never howled at the moon. Tommie thought her three
months in the cage was the tragedy, but the truth was much more
horrifying for a wolver. She’d been living in a cage for her entire
life.

And he was every bit as bad as her jailers.
No, he was worse. They, at least, saw that she was fed and had
shelter. He would see that she had nothing but death.

Bull forced his body to relax. He slowed and
deepened his breathing to quell the rage that was churning inside
him. His wolf snarled.

Tommie, whose breath had settled into the
steady rhythm of sleep, turned into him and settled her head on the
right side of his chest. Her hand traced across it until it reached
his shoulder, where she patted it as softly as she’d touched it
before, as if she sensed the turmoil within him and was either
seeking or offering comfort.

By the nature of their beasts, wolvers were a
tactile species who constantly touched each other. It was how they
showed their love and loyalty to the members of the pack,
particularly when they were worried or upset.

Bull crossed his free arm over hers and
stroked her hair.

“
Shhh, little wolver,
everything will be all right,” he whispered, and hoped to God it
wasn’t a lie. “It’s your wolf who’s gone feral, not you. You’re
just a little cub with very sharp teeth. That thing inside you
frightens you. You don’t know what it is, what you are and you have
a right to know. But can you accept it, tame it, live with
it?”

What if, like all the others he’d tracked
over the years, she couldn’t? The thought scared the living hell
out of him.

“
You’re a wolver, spitfire,
and your wolf is always with you. Always. It was born the day you
were, and you always knew it was there. It was your friend, your
confidant, and sometimes it was the devil on your shoulder, urging
you to do wicked things. It was your wolf who kept you from ever
being lost. It was your wolf who healed you faster and kept you
from disease. As you aged, so did your wolf. How old were you when
it first spoke? Fourteen? Fifteen?

“
It speaks to you in a
language no one understands except you and you think that you’re
alone. But you’re not, little wolver, not any more. I understand
the language, because I have a wolf inside me, too, and he speaks
to me as yours does to you.

“
Sometimes it’s quiet for
weeks, but when the full moon rises, it always stirs. You become
restless, too. You want. You need. The moon is calling you to go
over. It calls to me, too, but the call is easier on a male. We can
answer and now I can answer at will.

“
It must have been hard for
you with no females around you to support you, to explain what was
happening to you, to warn you not to let your wolf rule your heart
and body when the moon is full. It must have been hardest in the
fall when all females run at the Hunter’s Moon. It’s no wonder you
thought you were crazy. You couldn’t run. You couldn’t set your
wolf free. You had no Alpha to show you how to go over the
moon.

“
You should have had that.
You should have known what it was like to share your life with a
pack, to run like the wind, with the stars overhead and the moon
filling you with its beauty and power. That should have been yours
from the time your wolf first spoke.

“
I’m sorry, little wolver,”
Bull whispered as the tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and
ran onto the pillow. “I should have found you sooner, but guys like
me only show up when it’s already too late.”

Her breath was soft and warm against his
chest and though her breathing didn’t change, he heard her say his
name.

“
Bull,” she breathed on an
outward breath, and the way she said it reminded him of softer,
gentler times before his life turned harsh and
merciless.

Had his wolf been free, the world would have
heard its howl of anguish. That cry of despair made Bull think
again and hope against hope. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe this time he
could stop the inevitable. Maybe this time he wasn’t too late.

“
Wolver,” she whispered with
the next breath and even though her voice was so low as to be
barely heard, Bull caught the sound of wonder in it.

He’d forgotten that, too; the wonder of
hearing the call of the moon, of being able to shift with it, of
being part of a pack, a part of an extraordinary species, and
therefore something greater than you could ever be alone. He’d had
that once, so long ago it was hard to recall. Maybe, just maybe, in
helping this little wolver discover who and what she was, he could
rediscover it for himself.

Bull tightened his arm around the fragile
little woman who clung to him seeking and giving comfort. He slept,
not happy but content.

Tommie awakened to a night darkened room and
the sound of running water from the shower. The cuff at her wrist
was gone. She stretched, long and luxuriously, then snuggled back
down under the covers, shifting her shoulders until her head was on
Bull’s pillow. She felt lazy and warm and quiet.

She’d been dreaming, a blending of old and
new. In the old, she’d only had a sense of running in the dark,
alone and frightened by the wraithlike shadows of monsters with
sharp and threatening teeth and glaring golden eyes. In the new,
the darkness parted and she recognized the creature running beside
her not as monster, but as wolf, a great brown wolf, and the
powerful jaws and gleaming teeth weren’t frightening at all. The
golden eyes reflected the light of the full moon overhead and the
darker shadows surrounding them were only the trees rustling and
swaying to the music of the wind.

She was no longer human. She, too, was a
creature of the moon and wind and stars. She no longer ran from the
darkness, but with it, and her powerful legs danced to the beat of
the twinkling stars. She wanted to sing with the glory of it and
make her voice heard in the stillness of the night.

It was a wonderful dream, and the feelings it
brought her stayed with her after she opened her eyes. The voice in
her head was quiet and the thing in her chest was at peace.

That peace was broken when the thing inside
her leapt and spun at the sight of Bull coming from the bathroom.
He was wearing a towel around his hips that didn’t quite close at
the side and rubbing his wet head with another. He wasn’t as tall
as she first thought. It was the way he carried himself that made
him seem taller. There was an air of confidence and competence in
the way he moved.

He wasn’t flaunting his broad shoulders and
powerful chest. He wasn’t showing off his hard thighs or muscular
calves. He was completely at ease with his body, unlike many of the
men she’d met who were all too aware of the muscles they’d built in
the gym and wanted you to be aware of them, too. Bull’s body was
completely natural to him and born from hard use. That didn’t mean
he wasn’t conscious of the effect he had on women.

As if sensing her appraisal, he looked over
at her and grinned. “Like what you see?”

“
I was admiring your skirt.
Daddy would have had my hide if I’d worn one like that,” she
laughed.

Bull looked down at the towel and back up at
her, eyebrows raised. “And I wouldn’t have blamed him. I thought
you’d still be asleep.” He slung the towel in his hands around his
neck, and tossed her a bag.

Tommie was out of bed and moving to catch it.
“Where did this come from?”

“
Well it sure as hell wasn’t
this dump’s concierge service. I got tired of watching you sleep,
so I went shopping. I hope it fits,” he said, watching her pull the
clothing from the bag. “I think the sales girl was a little
insulted when I asked what size she’d be if she lost twenty
pounds.”

“
Does this mean you trust
me?” she asked as she pulled the clothing from the bag. She was
surprised by how much she wanted to hear him say that he
did.

“
It’s either that or drag
you around in handcuffs and that might be a little hard to
explain,” he joked, but then his face became serious. “If I’m
asking you to trust me, it has to work both ways.” He picked up his
own bundle of clothes. “Let me finish shaving, then the bathroom’s
all yours. Call me if you need any help.”

The offer was tempting, but there was nothing
in the bag she could use as an excuse to call him back. And she
wanted to call him back and the thing inside her wanted it, too.
The voice in her head whined when the bathroom door closed.