Stranded with a Cajun Werewolf (2 page)

Thank the gods she hadn’t been in it.

Another gust of wind battered the mountain, fanning the plume of black smoke into a grey fog.

His keen ears picked up the sound of a motor on the road below. Gin stood in the back and let out a low growl. If Kendall was right about someone following her, they’d have to do it on foot. But he wasn’t going to stick around to watch.

Chapter Two

Kendall’s shoulder burned like it was on fire. Her left temple throbbed and she willed sleep to reclaim her. A gentle rocking motion brought a tremor of nausea to her stomach.

Where was she? Almost afraid to open her eyes, she took a deep breath and winced at the pain in her ribs. She was wrapped up, warm, her cheek nestled against something soft and fuzzy. Whatever it was, it smelled like cologne and man and earth.

Breathing, she quickly found, hurt and she didn’t dare move, but she let herself, just for a moment, soak in the feeling of security. It felt so good she almost wept. She needed that glimpse of hope, however misguided, more than her next breath.

But weeping would expend energy she didn’t have. And it’d probably hurt like hell too.

She couldn’t afford to draw attention to herself. One thing she was absolutely sure of —

security didn’t last.

She chanced opening her eyes.
Damn
. Startling white filled her vision, making her temple throb all the more. She glimpsed the luxurious interior of a vehicle and the back of a man’s head before she squeezed her eyes shut. The aches and pains bombarding her body brought the last few hours rushing back and tears swam behind her eyelids. She bit her lips to keep from crying out.

Panic turned to helplessness. For the first time since she’d run out of her parents house a week ago, she wasn’t in control. How was she going to get out of this? How would she survive with her powers bound? How could—

Her breath caught on a sob and searing pain sliced through her. Exhausted and powerless, she didn’t even try to fight the darkness as it claimed her.

Burke parked the Land Rover in the cabin’s garage. The rustic beauty looked just as it had nine months ago. He surveyed the dim interior before pressing the button that closed the large door behind him. He hadn’t heard a peep from his new passenger, which suited him just fine. Once the howling wind and spiraling snow were locked outside two florescent lights flickered on overhead, struggling in the cold. Burke surveyed the shadowy space one more time before reaching for the door handle. Years of looking over his shoulder had taught him to be cautious.

Everyone had enemies, especially werewolves.

Gin rested his head on the rear seat, watching Kendall with steady brown eyes. She slept, oblivious to the turmoil outside. There was something so innocent about her. Burke knew he’d be better off if he didn’t pay attention to that innocence. His days of rescuing damsels in distress were over.

Burke let Gin out the rear door before gathering Kendall in his arms as carefully as he could, cradling her against his chest. As he started for the door her head settled against his shoulder and he resisted the overwhelming urge to stare down at her face.

The more he looked at her, the more he’d memorize her features. And he knew from past experience that once his mind had locked in her image, he’d see her everywhere, sleeping or awake. Already he felt a shift within himself, like his life had altered courses and he’d never get back to where he was going.

Her unique womanly scent mixed with that of her blood and wafted into his nostrils.

He would get her inside, get her settled, and try calling for help every fifteen minutes if he had to. And once he was done with his stent as a Good Samaritan, he’d be able to relax.

Climbing the stairs, he wondered with each step how his timing could be so rotten. Was the universe conspiring against him?

He huffed out a sigh at the idiotic thought.

Of course it was. The universe, fate, the devil himself had been conspiring against him for the better part of 250 years. He’d learned to keep his head down, his nose clean, and say no to distractions.

After wrestling the door open at the top of the stairs and juggling the pixie in his arms, a blast of warm air enveloped him. Thank goodness for small favors. His housekeeper had gotten here before the storm to turn the heat on. Who knew how long before the storm killed the power, but he’d certainly enjoy it right now.

Closing the door behind him, he stepped into the living room, sniffing the air. He glanced around, trying to hear over the howling wind outside. A single table lamp lit the space.

Nothing appeared out of place. Except for the woman in his arms.

He couldn’t help but glance down then. Her pale skin and threadbare clothes fired his protective nature again. He had no idea what he should do with her but found himself not wanting to let her out of his sight.
Which was crazy.
The most ridiculous idea he'd had since...in a long time. He should just put her in her own room and call for help and be done with it.Right. That's what he'd do.

Her eyelashes fluttered for a moment and he held his breath, scrutinizing every tiny movement. Then those aqua eyes pegged him again and his breath came whooshing out.

She looked totally out of it. Tired, sleepy, traumatized. But she didn’t panic in his arms.

Perhaps she didn’t—

“Are you an angel?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Her question startled a laugh from him. Damn, it felt good to laugh. For a man who prided himself on his easy-going nature, he'd been far too tense these last few months.

“I’ve been called many things, but never an angel.”
I was the guy cursing at you as you
almost ran me off the road. I'm the idiot who can’t stop wondering who you are and what
you're running away from. And I’m the man who can’t stop looking at your lips, wondering
what they’ll taste like.

A hint of a smile curved her lips and she laid a hand over his heart. “A fallen angel?” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I read a book about fallen angels once,” she murmured, her voice husky. “They're supposed to be incredibly hand—some.” During that pause she opened her eyes and snatched her hand back as if she'd suddenly realized what she was saying.

“Is that right?” he murmured, lost in the moment. “As far as I know, I'm no fallen angel.”

“Mmm hmm.” Then, as if her brief outburst was all the energy she could spare, she went limp in his arms again, her eyelashes brushing her cheeks.

The lamp flickered. He watched it, willing the bulb to remain on. Burke had roughed it in much worse situations. The question was, had Kendall?

Standing in the middle of the living room he glanced from the rustic log stairs to the master bedroom door. Take her upstairs, he told himself.

Her breath fanned against his neck again. Practicality won out over his need for sanctuary. At least, that’s what he was telling himself as he headed for his bedroom. Why heat the whole house when he could heat one room?

As he laid her on the big bed and tucked his jacket around her, he glanced at the ring finger on her left hand and found it bare. Did she not wear a wedding ring or was she not married?

Her marital status doesn’t matter, Deveraux.

Gin stood at the patio door and gave an impatient bark. Burke took three steps across the room and let the big dog outside. Gin paused on the covered terrace looking out at the thick blanket of snow. He glanced back at Burke and then darted off, a singular black dot in a blizzard of white.

Burke pulled his cell phone from his pocket and checked the reception. Still nothing.

A moan drew his attention back to the beauty sleeping in his bed. Her eyes fluttered behind closed lids. Everything about her called to him. Cried out for his protection and warmth. Begged him to wrap his arms around her and sooth away her fears.

But he’d fallen for that before. He’d allowed himself to be tempted by a damsel.

He couldn’t allow himself to succumb to another woman who would leave him and take his heart with her. Who would look at him like the freak of nature that he was. A man’s pride could only take so much. And his had been far too bruised for too many years.

He could tend her. He
would
tend her. But that’s where it’d stop. He wouldn’t look at her pretty eyes or cute nose. He’d ignore her long silky hair. He wouldn’t notice her eyebrows, the creaminess of her cheeks or her thighs. He would remain impartial, like a doctor tending his patient.

Clenching and unclenching his fists, he stepped to the edge of the bed. He brushed her hair aside and noticed a purple bruise forming below the smear of blood at her hairline. Was that from her accident or God forbid, something… someone else?

He reached for the land line and punched number five. On the fourth ring Doctor Elijah Cooper gave a brisk hello. Burke made it a point to know a healer in every region he traveled to. Elijah was a big black wolf with a hearty laugh and a medical degree from Johns Hopkins among other places.

“Dr. Cooper, Burke Deveraux here. I hate to call so late in the day but I’ve got a bit of a problem.”

A human problem.

After he explained about Kendall’s accident he asked for advice. Between the blizzard and the tree there was no way Elijah or anyone else was coming to Kendall’s aid.

Which left him.

“Keep her warm. Resting. Inspect her for injuries and clean them the best you can.

Wake her up a couple of times and check for –“

Burke headed to the kitchen for a notepad. So much for his quiet, uneventful vacation.

He scribbled more notes and thanked the doctor, secretly praying that Kendall’s injuries were superficial.

When he pressed number one on the speed dial, expecting to hear his brother’s voice, the line was dead. So much for touching base.

He strode into the bathroom for a warm washcloth and the first aid kit he’d seen in the linen closet when he’d first moved in six years ago.

With great care he dabbed at the blood on her forehead and checked her hairline for any more serious damage.

As he pulled his jacket away from her, he tried to ignore the way the material molded to the generous swell of her breasts. The sweet scent of her blood swirled around him. He grit his teeth and averted his gaze for a moment, struggling to detach himself from the situation.

Blood soaked the right shoulder and collar of her sweatshirt. He took a steadying breath and reached for the scissors in the kit. Check her for injuries, Cooper had said.

Easier said than done.

His finger and thumb hardly fit through the hole and for a moment he considered letting his claws grow just enough to slice the fabric away. But he couldn’t risk her waking up and seeing his mutant hands, half werewolf, half human.

He’d made his ‘no humans’ rule for a very good reason. He didn’t date humans. Didn’t kiss humans. Didn’t sleep with humans and certainly didn’t let himself feel anything for them.

He couldn’t afford to.

Managing as best he could, he cut the gray material and then ripped it apart with his hands. The sound brought back memories of the occasional tryst and overwhelming passion that he’d succumbed to in the past.

Not this time. This time the beautiful woman in his bed was a patient. A human patient. And nothing more.

As gently as he could, he checked her for other injuries. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop noticing delicate little details about her. The shape of her collar bone, the dewy softness of her skin, the scalloped edge of her pale blue bra. How did doctors remain impartial? She wasn’t a bunch of body parts.

She was a lovely flesh and blood woman. Right now the red smear on her shoulder gave him cause for concern. A cut of some sort?

Slowly, he rolled her over to investigate the blood on her shoulder.

Damn.

Burke knew a gunshot wound when he saw one. He’d lost track of how many times he’d been shot, but he knew how much it hurt.

Maybe there’d be something in the kit to help with the pain. He studied the contents: gauze, tweezers, little packets of something, and tape. As he retrieved the supplies he tried to remember how he’d seen doctors in the field treat the wounds. Clean, extract the bullet, bandage. Was it really that simple?

After he let Gin back inside, he washed his hands and then began cleaning Kendall’s wound. What had she done to get herself shot? Surely, it had to be related to the man she’d said was after her.

Burke checked her pulse. Finding a steady rhythm, he reached for the tweezers and the lights went out.

“Knew that was gonna happen,” he mumbled and reached into the nightstand for a flashlight.

Kendall felt safe and warm for the first time in months. With
him
to protect her she
had nothing to fear. She was certain of it. As certain as she was that there was no way she
could let herself be mated to that creep Carl Stienhurst. But she wouldn't think of that now.

Now she wanted to concentrate on the stranger who calmed her soul. Though it was
dark and she couldn't read his face, she knew he was looking at her. She could feel his eyes
on her, as real as any caress. His quiet movements and gentle touch reassured her. The soft
words he whispered made her crave his protection.

“Don't leave me,” she begged, pride gone. When had her voice gotten so husky?

“I won't,” he replied. He was close. “You're safe.”
Somewhere behind her a dog barked loud and furiously, startling her from her
serenity. “It's okay, he won't hurt you.”

Something about his voice soothed her. The steady timber, the utter calm. His
promise to stay with her loosened the strangle hold of fear.

“I’ll be right back.” He moved away, she heard his footsteps on the floor and then the
flick of a match. The freezing ground numbed her shoulders, her back.

“So cold,” she whispered.

She heard a shuffling sound and then a small pop. A tiny flame flickered to life,
dancing as it lapped at the wood. Her savior stood over the fire. He held a long stick in his
hands, watching, waiting. Then, as if satisfied with the fire’s progress, he glanced at her.