Silence of the Wolves (5 page)

It took only seconds until what was left…

…was a naked man lying on the cold forest floor.

His eyes had stayed locked on hers the whole time.

‘Tamriel,’ he choked out. ‘I’m so sorry…’

He carefully reached a hand out towards her, gingerly brushing a finger across her arm. She wanted to run, to shove his touch away, but she didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. She couldn’t do anything but stare at the man before her.

‘Wha…?’ She cleared her throat. ‘You…you were the wolf…’

Leyth lay on the floor of the woodland, naked as the day he was born. The twigs and dead leaves beneath him dug into his now very human skin, but that was nothing in comparison to the fear Tamriel was clearly experiencing. Hell, he hadn’t known what to do. Try as he might, he just couldn’t outrun her. She was too goddamn stubborn for her own good, and would not give up the chase. Eventually he’d seen no other way out, so he’d shifted back into human form.

He watched her carefully, his hand brushing her arm ever so lightly. Her wide green eyes tracked his every movement, her mouth hanging open.

‘What the hell?’ she struggled out, wild eyes darting from him to the surrounding trees. She almost looked as if she expected someone to jump out from the woodland and shout ‘April fools!’

‘Tamriel, I’m so sorry,’ he repeated, struggling for words. What the hell could he tell her? There was no other explanation for what she’d just witnessed, for what he was, other than the truth. ‘I’m a werewolf.’

She openly gaped at him, and it broke his damn heart. That moment they’d just shared, when she believed him to be just a wolf, was so special; it was an emotionally raw moment where he’d put all his trust in her and she in him. And that was something he’d never done before; as wolf or human, he’d never trusted a female enough to get close to her.

Now she had to trust him; she had to believe the words he had to tell her or it could kill her. But forcing them out of his mouth was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. This was going to destroy her life and everything she knew about herself. It could ruin her.

‘Tamriel, I’m a werewolf.’ He hurt for her as he said the words. ‘And so are you.’

For the longest of moments she just stood there, staring. It looked for all the world like she was processing everything that had just happened. Analysing it, trying to make sense of it.

Leyth drew in a breath, waiting. Waiting.

Tamriel spun on her heel and ran. Christ she was fast.

Leyth didn’t wait; a heartbeat later he was hightailing it after her, the trees of the woodland blurring past as he ran, desperately trying to keep up with her. His leg roared in pain; the damn limb had broken as he’d hit the ground and he hadn’t had enough time for it to heal properly. Wolves in general had exceptional healing abilities; a broken bone could heal in a matter of hours not weeks, but he hadn’t had time to rest. Nevertheless, he shoved the pain aside and struggled onwards, he was not losing her now.

For miles they ran, Leyth chasing her up the hills and down the other side, shouting after her all the time. She was relentless, never slowing to catch her breath, never pausing to check behind her. She ran like a true wolf; deadly focused on her destination.

‘Tamriel!’ Leyth roared, though his voice was now hoarse from shouting, his feet were cut and bloody from the woodland floor, and he was so damn cold he felt as though his toes were going to fall off. Being naked in the middle of the woods in December would do that to you.

Up ahead, Tamriel whipped around the edge of a tree, darting at a sharp angle in another attempt to lose him. He lost sight of her for just a moment, but that was all it took; as he rounded the corner, she was gone. He couldn’t see her anywhere. Crap. Scanning the surrounding trees, Leyth paused to catch his breath, listening intently. He could only hear the sounds of the woodland, but as he strained his ears, picking past the usual sounds of nature, he found what he was looking for. The crunch of twigs and dead leaves on the ground, a sound that was only made by heavy human feet.

The noise seemed to be coming from his left, and it didn’t take long for him to be roaring through the woodland once again in that direction. He rounded a corner, then another, before stopping dead as a scream rippled through the woodland. A scream that was deafening to his ears, and all but ripped his heart from his chest. A scream that came from Tamriel’s lips.

Leyth didn’t wait, didn’t give himself time to wonder, he just ran as hard and as fast as he could in the direction that terrifying noise came from.

‘Tamriel!’ he screamed, rushing past the trees, his eyes searching the area, desperately seeking any sign of her. The coppery scent of blood filled his senses as he ran, forcing panic to surge to the surface and his feet moved even faster, if that was possible. Through the woods he ran, following his nose, screaming her name.

He came to a halt in a small clearing and what lay on the ground in front of him was enough to make him want to scream. Tamriel lay face down on the ground, covered in blood, a hefty fallen branch of a dead tree sticking out of her back.

Leyth bolted forward, trying to assess the damage. Crap. Her foot was caught in some wire mesh, designed to trap foxes and rabbits. She’d obviously fallen hard after getting her foot caught in that trap, her ankle was twisted and broken and, by the looks of it, she’d fallen on a broken tree branch. The thing had pierced straight through her stomach and had come out the other side.

‘Tamriel!’ he whispered, crouching next to her. She couldn’t have died. She just couldn’t. Not now. He carefully brushed aside her beautiful black hair, and felt the smooth skin on her neck for a pulse.

For a few painstaking moments, he found nothing. But when the small beat touched his fingertips, his heart leapt. She was alive, just.

Scanning his surroundings, Leyth tried desperately to work out what to do. Her fragile figure was broken and bleeding, the blood pulsing out and forming a shimmering pool on the floor.

He couldn’t leave her here, and he couldn’t call an ambulance. How would it look; him being naked next to an injured woman? And what would they think when she woke up screaming that a wolf who had turned into a man was chasing her? Shit.

He wished with all his might that he had his jacket on him, then he could radio through to the mansion and call for help. He looked up at the sky; by his estimate it was about 7 p.m., the two of them had been darting through the woods all day, and now the sun was finally beginning to sink beneath the horizon. He didn’t really have much of a choice.

Gritting his teeth, Leyth slowly bent down to assess Tamriel’s wound. It was bad. Really bad.

He moved over to her ankle, releasing it from the wire trap and bending the metal beyond repair. Maker knew he hated those cruel things.

He gently scooped Tamriel into his arms. The branch came with her, refusing to slide out of her stomach and, frankly, that was possibly the best thing. If he took it out, she might bleed out.

With urgency heating his veins, Leyth carefully turned her body over, cradling her against his chest like a child. Her skin was so damn pale; she was losing blood fast. Once he was sure she was still breathing and he had a good grip on her, he used his fingers to feel for the all-too-familiar tension of the shadows; he would need as much darkness as he could get to try and take them to somewhere safe unnoticed. He was, after all, a fully naked man carrying a bleeding, unconscious woman with a goddamn tree sticking out of her gut.

Tugging the darkness of the early evening around him, he bolted out of the woodland as far and as fast as he damn well could. His leg roared in agony, his feet felt as though they had been skinned alive, but he didn’t care. He needed to get Tamriel to safety, and at this moment nothing else mattered.

Finally, after what felt like hours of running, Leyth broke free of the woodland and bolted through the fields at its edge, launching himself over the fence at the bottom in one hit. The cool pavement that lined the streets was a godsend for his feet, but he didn’t slow down, just kept going.

He shot past a group of teens that were leaning against the wall lining one side of the street. That earned him a few confused curses but, hell, he ran fast. By the time they’d realised he was there, he was gone again, and thankfully the winter evening darkness hid him, mostly. The shadows cloaking him in a layer of darkness would on a normal night make him nigh invisible, but now? Injured, with Tamriel in his arms? It just made him harder to spot.

He considered taking her to the mansion; the clinic would surely be the best place for her to be treated, but he couldn’t risk it. Hell, she was bleeding out; his chest and arms were covered in her blood, her skin growing ever colder. Shit. No, he didn’t have time.

So he went for his next best option, bolting through the streets of Folkestone until he came to her building. He didn’t bother trying to find her keys as he reached it, just slammed a shoulder into the door of the building and roared up the stairs to her flat. Shoving her door open with all his might, he thundered into her small living room, sweat dripping from his brow, his heart thumping. He carefully carried her to her overstuffed sofa and gingerly lay her on her side. Even more blood welled out of the wound, rapidly soaking the couch with red. Shit.

Panic practically overwhelmed him as he darted over to the broken door and slammed the now-rickety wood shut. He grabbed her house phone, hating the fact that her blood had covered his hands and that, as a result, everything he touched was left with smeared fingerprints.

Dialling Dax, the line connected almost instantly.

‘White Wolves Inc.,’ the guy drawled.

‘Dax, it’s Leyth. Get Doc down to Tamriel’s apartment ASAP. It’s registered on the pack’s database. She’s badly injured.’

‘What happened?’

‘No time, get him here.
Now, Dax
,’ Leyth barked.

‘He’s on his way. ETA, ten minutes.’

Leyth slammed the receiver down and darted back to Tamriel. Her skin was so pale she looked like a ghost, and blood was still flowing from her gut, albeit more slowly. He checked her pulse again, praying it was still steady. It was weak. Too weak. He launched himself into her bedroom, pulling apart her wardrobe and drawers until he found the pile of blankets he was looking for, and rushed back into the living room to press one of the blankets against her gaping wound and cover her cold body with the other.

He was such a damn idiot. This was his fault. This was all his fault.

Tamriel awoke with a start. What the hell had happened to her? She was in so much pain. It felt as though she’d been ripped apart. Inhaling as deeply as she could, and with immense difficulty, she picked through the scents surrounding her. She was definitely in her apartment; it smelt so familiar, yet amongst the usual scents of her living room she found the scent of man. Dark and musky. The scent she recognised right through to her core. It was the very same scent of that wolf.

He must be here.

The mad man who had chased her through the woods was in her apartment.

And she was injured. Shit.

I’m a werewolf. And so are you.
The words thundered through her mind once again and her entire body began to tremble with the need to run, as far and as fast as she could. There was a madman in her house who had changed from a genuine wolf into a man before her very eyes. He was in her house and she couldn’t move. Panic thrashed its way through her, making her shake uncontrollably; her breath was coming out short and sharp. The images of that wolf, then that man were filling her mind, but she shoved them away.

Stop it, Tamriel!
she told herself.
It can’t have been real. It just can’t be. And if you’re going to get out of this situation alive, you need to get a goddamn grip and work out what’s going on and how you’re going to escape.

With fear wrapping its way around her, and her commonsense battling to keep control, she just kept telling herself over and over,
It can’t be real
. But somewhere, deep down in her heart, those words rang true; she’d always been different after all. But first she needed to work out what the hell was happening to her, and how on earth she was going to get out of this godforsaken situation.

Slowly opening an eyelid, she scanned the room. It was indeed her own living room; she was lying on her own sofa, covered in blankets. At the foot of the sofa, with his head down and his eyes shut was that man, the one with the black hair. He was stunning.

Tam could barely hold in a gasp as she took him in. He had one of her towels wrapped around his hips, and shoulders that took up half the sofa he was leaning against. His chest and stomach were broad and heavily muscled, a light dusting of black hair ran down his chest and disappeared into the towel.

Even as he slept, his features twisted into an expression that looked particularly wolfish.

She must be going mad. This sort of thing just didn’t happen in real life. Hell, she’d seen stories at the paper on murders, rapes, the works. Her colleagues had worked on so many cases that resonated fear and destruction, but watching a wolf turn into a man was absolutely mad, it was something out of stories and bad television programmes, not reality. Taking a deep breath, and trying to process everything that had happened to her, Tam carefully scanned the rest of the room. It was completely empty. Nothing and no one else there. What the hell had happened?

She glanced back at the undeniably gorgeous man and panic swept through her anew. She needed to get the hell out of here. She needed to put as much distance between her and this insanity as she physically could. Her heart thundered violently in her throat, her hands trembling as she attempted to formulate a plan of escape.

Trying to be as quiet as she physically could, Tamriel moved her arms, attempting to shift the blankets piled on top of her. The movement had her flinching as pain ricocheted through her; what the hell? Carefully she shuffled the blankets down to expose her chest. Thankfully she had been covered with a sheet that was wrapped around her torso, but her top half was very bare underneath. There was one hell of a bandage wrapped around her stomach; it was dark red in places. Every movement, every breath, brought tears to her eyes.

As she eyed the wound, memories flooded back to her. She was running away from that mad man, terrified of what she’d witnessed, of what he’d said. Terrified of him. More than that, she was terrified of the fact that the words he’d spoken echoed the thoughts she’d had all her life. Words that she had questioned since she was old enough to realise that she was different, that she had stronger senses than anyone she knew. She was absolutely terrified of the fact that as he’d changed from wolf to man, it seemed to her like the most natural motion in the world. It had called to her instincts and made her hunger to do the same, to become wolf. And that, beyond all else, was absolutely crazy. Hell, werewolves were a myth, a thing of fiction not reality. And what she had seen, the transformation, should have made her question her sanity, look for hidden cameras or magic tricks. The reporter in her wanted to do just that; wanted to find the facts hidden beneath one of the most unexplainable things she’d ever witnessed but, in her heart, she knew there was something more to this. And she knew that she was something more than human.