The Alpha's Choice (9 page)

The man who was her new boss, the man that
owned that house and those cars, the gorgeous man who made her
insides turn to jelly, the man she almost dropped her drawers
was…"A W-w-w-werewolf?" she sputtered.

"No. A Wolver. There's a big difference and
we don't have time to go into it now. We've got to get Buddy home
or he'll die."

Charles knelt beside the white wolf and began
to feel along the leg held by the trap.

"Buddy?"

Kat stared at the mud covered animal, its
pale mouth and pink rimmed eyes evidence of its condition. Of
course. Albino man, albino wolf. What was she thinking? If Kat
could have found her voice, she would have given in to the hysteria
rising up through her throat and attempting to form a scream.
Fortunately, when she opened her mouth, nothing came out, because
she had the feeling once she started, she wouldn't stop.

"Katarina." Charles' voice was stern and
commanding. "You were willing to save the wolf. Come help me save
the man. Now!"

That gave her something other than the
bizarreness to focus on. Wolf or man, Buddy was a sweetheart and he
was going to die without help. She knelt beside Charles.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Hold his leg here and here." Charles showed
her where he needed her to steady the leg so he wouldn't do more
damage while he forced the iron jaws open. He looked around and
shook his head. "The ground was softened by the rain. He must have
pulled the spike loose and dragged it with him. Those two must have
found him here, struggling."

At the mention of the two tormentors, Kat
became alert and looked around for the one that didn't run off. His
body was sprawled a few feet away. "Did you…?"

"That was the plan, but I didn't have the
pleasure. His partner got him first. Shot through the heart."

He forced the trap open and Buddy screamed
and thrashed with the pain of blood rushing back through the
mangled limb. Without thinking, Kat threw her body over the wolf's
to keep him still. Buddy's head snapped around to lash out at her
with bared fangs, one of which scraped the back of her hand.

Before she could move, Charles' hand wrapped
around the wolf's throat and pinned its head to the ground. "No,"
he said and it was almost a growl. "She's mine."

Buddy the wolf whimpered and lay back.

"Yours?" Kat squeaked.

"Best to keep it simple," Charles said,
"Easier for Buddy to understand."

Chapter 9

Charles hoisted the giant wolf into his arms
and slowly straightened his legs. He started forward, staggered a
few steps and then readjusted the weight.

"Leave that," he ordered when Kat bent to
pick up the muddy umbrella. "We can't get any wetter than we
already are."

The rain had started again, a slow drizzle
that clung to their faces like cobwebs of mist, but Kat wasn't
thinking of protection from the rain.

"It's Mrs. Martin's umbrella. She's had it
for a long time and she'll want it back." It was a handy
weapon.

Kat tried to picture Mrs. Martin using her
purple umbrella to protect her little wolves from whatever it was
that frightened little wolves and saw nothing peculiar about the
vision. By taking the umbrella with her, Kat was protecting them,
too.

She shook off what mud she could and tucked
the furled umbrella under her arm. She turned to follow Charles and
her toe caught the edge of the steel trap, closed and harmless now
that its damage was done. With her free hand, she followed the
short length of attached chain to the stake that was supposed to
anchor the trap, grasped it and began to drag it along behind
her.

"I said leave that stuff," Charles called
back over his shoulder in that you-will-obey-me voice.

Kat ignored him. Her mind was running on a
kind of autopilot where she knew what she had to do, but couldn't
articulate why. The umbrella had to go. The trap had to go. The gun
had to stay. The body? Every time the word entered her thoughts,
her mind shut down a little more. Body? What body?

Charles already had the unconscious Buddy
settled in the back seat by the time Kat caught up with him. He
stood aside and held the passenger door for her, the perfect
gentleman. She nodded her thanks, slid into the seat and arranged
the umbrella along her leg and the leghold trap on her lap as if it
was her purse, the perfect lady.

"Seat belt," Charles ordered as he climbed in
the driver's side. He frowned as he jerked the seat back as far as
it would go which apparently wasn't far enough because he muttered
something about a piece of shit car.

"But it's my piece of shit, so watch your
mouth," she snapped without thinking. "You don't like it, you can
walk."

She turned in her seat to check on Buddy and
heard Charles sputter. She couldn't tell if it was indignation or a
laugh and didn't care. She was still trying to make sense of what
was before her eyes.

Charles threw the car in gear and said, "As
soon as we get there, I'll carry him upstairs. The wounds need to
be cleaned…"

"You'll carry him to the kitchen," she said,
staring out the window, "You'll lay him on the table. He'll be
easier to work on and it won't be so back breaking. Is there a
doctor or a vet you can call or is this all on us? Because I can
stitch, but I can't set bones," she said earnestly.

Her autopilot mind didn't even register the
absurdity of the questions. When Charles didn't answer, she looked
over at him. "Well?"

He was staring at her with a dumbfounded look
on his face. "You're taking this all pretty well," he said.

Kat thought about that and nodded. "I suppose
I am," she told him truthfully, "Though I'm not sure how else I
could take it. Like you said, Buddy needs our help. There'll be
time enough later for me to fall apart." She pointed at the
windshield. "Keep your eyes on the road. It won't help if you run
us into the ditch."

"You must have questions…" he began.

"I guess I do." She had a hundred questions
and by the time her befuddled mind was working smoothly again,
she'd have a hundred more. Right now, she needed to sort out the
most important ones, the ones that would help Buddy. "First off…"
she began.

"No," Charles cut her off.

"What do you mean 'no'? I haven't asked
anything yet."

"The answer to your first question is no, you
won't turn because he bit you. It doesn't work that way."

Kat looked at the back of her hand where a
thin line of blood defined where Buddy's razor sharp tooth had
broken the skin. She hadn't thought of infection until Charles
brought it up.

"Nice to know you're not a mind reader," she
said wryly. "I wasn't thinking of biting. I was thinking of
changing. What's the chance of him changing while I'm
stitching?"

"He won't change. He can't. And you won't be
stitching."

"Really? Why not?" she asked curiously, "Is
he stuck this way? How does he, uh, do you, uh, change, anyway? Is
that the right word? Change? Does it hurt? Do you think like a man
or an animal when you're, uh…?" So much for holding her
questions.

"Over the moon."

"Is that what you call it? Over the moon?
Over the moon." Kat tested the words out several times before
nodding her head. "I like it," she said and then she frowned, "I
can stitch, you know. My grandmother taught me. Brandon thought it
was horrible when I told him about it. She'd use white cotton
thread and a sewing needle."

"Brandon?" Charles said the name as if he
didn't like the taste of it.

"My ex fiancé, the doctor." It was the first
time since he left that she referred to him by name instead of The
Bastard and she was pleased and not a little surprised that
mentioning him didn't hurt that much anymore.

"Ex," Charles said and nodded, "Good. Good
that you can stitch, I mean. Just in case."

He pulled the car up as close as possible to
the front door where Tilda met them with a cry of anguish.

"He's alive," Charles assured her as he
rounded the car and opened the back door. "Get hot water, towels,
any antiseptic you can find. We've got to clean him up before I
close him up."

Tilda froze mid turn. "You? Are you sure?"
She stepped back as Charles pushed past with the limp wolf in his
arms.

Kat watched Charles' shoulders sag as he
continued on to the back of the house, evidence that Tilda's words
only added to his burden.

"I'm not that boy any more, Mrs. Martin," he
said. "I can take care of the worst of it and if I can't finish,
Kat can take care of the rest."

Tilda's eyes slid to Kat. The worry in them
didn't lessen, so Kat smiled to reassure her.

"I can sew a fine seam as my Grams used to
say. Come on now, worry won't fix it." It was another thing Grams
used to say. "You go gather up the things we'll need and I'll go
help Charles get Buddy settled and put some water on to boil."

Kat squeezed past Charles to pull the chairs
away from the table and helped him arrange the wolf with the best
access to the damaged leg. Buddy's mouth sagged open and his tongue
lolled. His breathing was reduced to a shallow pant and the pink
around his mouth and nose and tongue had turned a sickly gray. It
was obvious he was in shock and dying.

They worked together to quickly clean away
the mud and the grit from the fur of the wolf and stroked it back
from the open wounds. There was massive bruising along his sides
and along his soft belly and Kat was concerned he was bleeding
inside.

"Stitching won't fix this," she said bleakly
as she stroked the matted fur of his face and ruff. She'd only
known the man for a few hours, the wolf not at all and yet her
heart was breaking at his loss.

"No, it won't and in spite of what I said to
Mrs. Martin, I don't know if I can. There might be too much damage.
I might be too late. I don't know if I should even try."

Here in the light of the overhead light, Kat
saw clearly what the night's darkness hid. The man was tired, worn
to the point of exhaustion and she was reminded once again that
Charles had been on foot while she had driven.

"You'll try and you'll succeed," she said
with a confidence she didn't feel. She straightened her back and
squared her shoulders. "What do you need? Tell me what I can do."
She heard Tilda's indrawn breath and left Charles and headed across
the hall for the kitchen sink. She turned on the tap to let the
water warm. Ignoring the frozen woman with the pile of towels and
bottles in her arms, she asked, "Is this okay to scrub with?" She
held up the container of liquid soap. "It says anti-bacterial."

She turned back to the breakfast room for the
answer that never came. Mrs. Martin had disappeared and there was a
light shimmering inside the room, brighter than that cast by the
small chandelier and similar to what she'd seen in the field
tonight, though not nearly as brilliant or blinding.

Was he…? Changing? Shifting? What the hell
did he call it? Going over the moon? No, that was the word for
changing to the wolf. Oh God, would Buddy change back if the worst
happened and he…? Suddenly worried, she inched a little closer,
craning her neck out to the side to get a better look and yet
frightened by what she might see.

What she saw was Charles holding a glowing
ball of light in his hand. Holding it in his palm, he ran it over
Buddy's wolf chest, paused, closed his eyes and frowned in
concentration. She inched closer and jumped when she heard a gasp
behind her.

Tilda looked over Kat's shoulder at what
Charles was doing to her son. The housekeeper's eyes were huge and
frightened.

Kat gripped the hand that gripped her
shoulder. She wasn't sure what was happening, but she understood
from Tilda's shaking body that it was important, maybe dangerous,
though for whom she couldn't tell.

Charles ignored them and continued to slowly
pass the glowing light back and forth across Buddy's body, spending
a great deal of time over the wolf's chest. He stopped his movement
now and then to concentrate the light on a single area.

Kat watched in growing amazement as a dark
and swollen area shrank back to healthy tissue. The wolf on the
table began to breathe easier and so did his mother. Tilda's hand
gently pulled Kat back into the kitchen. Her relief was evident
when she began briskly pulling food from the refrigerator.

"They're going to need food," she whispered,
"and Charles is going to need someone to watch out for him. I'll
take care of the food. You take care of Charles."

Take care of Charles? Kat nodded her
understanding, but she didn't understand at all until she returned
to the smaller room to find him pale and shaking with fatigue. The
power he was using was nothing short of miraculous, but it was
taking its toll. With each pass of his hand, with each flare of the
iridescent light, Charles became weaker as if it was his personal
strength infusing Buddy.

He was guiding the light over the animal's
mangled leg and she watched in fascination as the deep and bloody
wounds closed to faint pink scars. Charles faltered and he gripped
the table's edge with his free hand to steady himself.

"That's it, you're done. Sit down before you
fall down," Kat said when he started to sway and she shoved a chair
behind his knees.

Charles tried to wave her out of the way. "I
have to bring him home." His words were slurred. He sounded drunk
and with the silly grin he wore, he looked it, too.

"Home?" This was code again, but she was
starting to get the hang of it. "You mean make him human? Can it
wait? You look like you're about to pass out and if you go down,
you're staying down. I'm not strong enough to get you up." She
tugged his arm to force him into the chair where he sat, heavily,
and gave her another weak grin.