Untamed Wolf (6 page)

She pawed at his leg again, and he held his palm toward her.

“I’m okay, sweetheart. I did great. My life is pretty peachy…You want some pettings?” When she bumped her head against his palm, he grinned. Slow, even strokes over her head and down her back relaxed her further. When her eyes drooped, he guessed her tiredness wore on the wolf as much as it did on the woman. He patted the bedroll and she stumbled over to it, then sort of flopped down. Biting back a smile, he leaned over her slowly, and added another log to the fire.

Head tucked on her pillow, she put a paw against him. He settled on his makeshift spot and dragged a blanket over her and one over him. Smothering a yawn, he slanted her a sideways look. “Get some sleep, pretty girl. If you’re really good tomorrow, I’ll tell you another story.” If she even remembered the one he’d just shared. Though he suspected she wouldn’t. It wasn’t long before her breathing evened and the same gentle snoring he heard from the woman came from the wolf.

Had someone turned her? Willing or unwilling? Was that why she’d latched onto Three Rivers?

If they had…Dylan might have to find said wolf and kill them.

Just a thought…and a purpose.

S
tretching
, she yawned and blinked her way to wakefulness. Bacon sizzling teased her nostrils—so did the scent of raw meat. Her stomach rumbled and a low, throaty growl echoed beyond her bed. Raising her head, she glared at Mama. It would be nice if the wolf she’d tried to save, and had because she’d waved down Dylan, gave her a break.

Mama’s head dipped, her muzzle lowering to the steak, but her objections silenced. Much better. Pushing to her feet, Chrystal stretched her front legs, then her back and finally paused when her gaze landed on her shredded clothing.

Torn. Destroyed.

Swinging her head around, she glanced at her tail then her paws.
Paws
. When had she shifted? Disbelief mingled with mild panic. Whistling from behind her jerked her into a spin. Dylan strolled out from the kitchen with two plates, each piled high with bacon and…she tested the air, eggs and toast. And could those be fried potatoes? Her stomach tightened and she panted, savoring the array of flavors assaulting her senses.

“Good morning, sunshine. I put fresh clothes in the bathroom for you.” He sidestepped her and set the plates on the table. “If you hurry, your food will still be warm and I’ll get the coffee.” He paused, giving her a sidelong look. Here it came, he would call her out for changing so rudely. Braced, she snapped her mouth shut before she drooled over the thought of food. “You do like coffee, right?”

Oh.
Startled by the utterly normal question, she nodded once.

“Good deal.” He leaned to the side and stared past her to Mama. “And you’re almost done, pretty lady. Do you need to take a walk?” His eyebrows rose as though he awaited an answer, then nodded. “Maybe after we eat.”

Leaving Chrystal, he returned to the kitchen. Disquiet thrummed through her, but the chink of cups touching the counter galvanized her from standing stupidly waiting and lunging for the bathroom. Sitting, she closed her eyes and reached for the image of herself. Starving, she didn’t want to take forever to shift. Not when all she…the change struck with alacrity and she couldn’t catch her breath. Her body pulled itself apart, and the pain sizzled over every nerve ending followed by the most exquisite relief.

Minutes passed, but she was soon kneeling on the cold tile, fists braced against the floor.
Holy crap.
She did it. Laughter bubbled out of her when she released the breath she’d been holding. Grasping the edge of the sink, she pulled herself to her feet. At first glance, her eyes were still golden but she looked to have gotten all the parts back where they belonged—except her hair. It stood out on end in places, a rough, tumbled mass which would have made bedhead look like a deliberate choice.

Wincing, she used her fingers to try and comb out the snarls, but it refused to settle. “Crap.”

“You okay, sweetheart?” Dylan called and she winced.
Damn wolf hearing.
Being used to hearing every nuance of sound from an early age taught her to pretend not to hear. Living around other wolves was an ugly reminder that they didn’t pretend.

She opened her mouth, intending to say
no
. Instead, she said, “I don’t suppose you have a hairbrush?”

After a moment, he answered. “I got a comb out here, I think.”

Out there. Okay
. As promised, he’d left clothes for her on the top of the toilet. She cleaned up, dressed in yet another of his shirts. Apparently all she seemed to do was borrow his clothes. Like the other two t-shirts, the new one hung to her above her knees. The pants were hers, they’d dried a little stiff, but the denim slid over her legs like armor. Running her hands through her hair again, she tried to quash down the disarray. Her fault for going to sleep with wet hair—and apparently shifting while she slept. Grimacing at her appearance, she avoided meeting her gaze in the mirror.

What did it matter to Dylan what her hair looked like? What did it matter to her? Her stomach protested further delay. Seriously, she needed to just go out there. Sucking in a deep breath, she pulled the door open and peeked. Instead of waiting for her just outside the door, Dylan had returned to the table.

Grateful and a little relieved, she made away over to the table and avoided meeting his eyes. “Thank you for making breakfast.” Still nervous, she ran her fingers through her hair on her way to the table.

“My pleasure. I figured you’d be hungry.” His gaze touched on her lightly, but he didn’t comment on the nightmare of her disheveled appearance. He nudged her plate toward her and left his half-finished plate. She curled one foot beneath her as she sat, and nibbled a piece of bacon. After rooting around in his bag, he returned with a comb. “May I?”

May he…?
“What?”

“You should eat before it gets cold. It’s still snowing. See?” Comb in hand he pointed to the window. “And you’ve got a couple of snarls here, so I’ll take care of those and you eat.”

Unused to anyone offering, much less Dylan’s solicitous attitude, she blurted out, “Why?”

“Because I have two sisters and I know how to comb hair so it doesn’t hurt, and you need to eat.” The gentle upward tilt of his lips softened his smile to one which seemed to verge on teasing. “I like it when people eat the food I made them. Do we need to go over the reasons why wolves especially should eat after shifting?”

Her stomach cramped as if to illustrate his point, and she bit into the bacon before she said anything else stupid. Though she hadn’t said yay or nay, he waited for her to finish chewing. Truth was, if he really wanted to brush her hair, she couldn’t stop him. The idea of him standing at her back unsettled her more. Oddly enough, her wolf didn’t seem to react to the concept. So did she want him to do it or not? “What if I said I’d rather comb my own hair?”

“I’d say all right, but would you mind eating first?” He flipped the comb around and offered it to her handle first.

Guilt curdled her appetite, and she sucked on her lower lip. “I’m not really a difficult person.”

“I didn’t say you were.” The corner of his mouth twisted, and laughter sparked in his eyes. An amusement she shared as she tried not to chuckle.

“But you’re thinking it. Why shouldn’t you? I keep ending up in your clothes, and I destroyed your shirt last night.” Wincing, she ducked her head then peeked to meet his gaze. “I’d be happy to try and replace it.”

“You didn’t destroy it,” he offered as he set the comb on the table. “I did so you wouldn’t get too constricted while you shifted.”

Mortification replaced guilt. “I woke you up. I’m so sorry.”

Dylan frowned. “Sweetheart, you saw me change the other day. It’s not quiet. Are you not familiar with the process?”

Face heating, she purloined another bacon strip. Maybe she should shut up while she was ahead. After washing down the bite with a swallow of hot, sweet coffee—how had he known she liked it really sweet?—she sighed. “Truth be told, I have seen a couple of wolves change, but I try not to stare, because I’m sure it’s rude. If you haven’t already figured it out, I’m not really sure of what’s polite or not polite most of the time, so I have to rely on what I learned in school and what…” she’d been about to say what her mother had tried to drill into her when she was younger, but she didn’t remember all of those rules. Julian had been a little more helpful, but he terrified her and she could only recall one in three of the statements he’d issued.

A hand closed over hers, and she jerked her attention to where Dylan touched her, then to his face. “Hey, why don’t we make our own rules, at least while we’re trapped in the cabin? Sound like a plan?”

“Why are you so nice to me? You don’t even like me.”
Why can’t I learn to not say everything on my mind?
Pulling away from his touch, she clapped her palm over her mouth. Could eyes convey an apology?

Not bothering to hide his humor, Dylan chuckled. “One, I have little sisters, so I get the hair thing. Two, you’re my guest. The way I was raised, we take care of our guests. Three, sweetheart, you seem a bit clueless about wolves in general so it worries me, and I want to help if I can. Even if all of those weren’t true—you’re owed a break because you had a difficult night.”

She had? “What did I do after I shifted?”

“You don’t remember?” When he picked up a piece of bacon, then stared at her plate intently. She mirrored the action.

“Not really, no.” She ate, because when she did it seemed to please him and kept her busy at the same time. “I remember you stuffed me full of lasagna and cookies—thank you, by the way. Then you grabbed the blankets and made me a pallet in front of the fire. You were doing stuff around the cabin and I was beat. I didn’t mean to go to sleep on you, but I was really tired.” Then nothing ‘til she woke…shifting hurt. A lot. So why didn’t she remember doing it?

“Fair enough. You shifted, you got a little scared, I coaxed you back over to the fire, and you finally went back to sleep. So I did, too. No biggie.” The way he said it, she believed him.

“Really?”

Crouching, Dylan set his hand on the table. The action put his head lower than hers and made it impossible for her to avoid his gaze. “Truly. You did nothing wrong. Will you let me help you while you eat?”

Her reticence was probably silly. “I don’t know why it makes me uneasy to have you at my back.” Oh, she really hoped she didn’t offend him.

“Because I’m a dominant wolf, more so than you. Because I’m Willow Bend and you are not. Because…well, I hate to break this part to you…” His sober and serious tone had her gut clenching. “Because I’m male and you’re female—and a really pretty one at that.”

He thought she was pretty? She blinked, and her horrible cramping uncertainty exploded into laughter.

“Am I close?” The tilt of his eyebrows coupled with the gleam in his eyes chipped away at her reservations.

“No,” she lied, but only a little.

“No?” It was Dylan’s turn to blink. “I’m not male? Oh hell. What have I been doing wrong?”

Too much. It was all too much. The giggles struck, and she covered her mouth to keep from laughing in his face. His easy grin and soft chuckles joined her. Every time she let her gaze collide with his, she cracked up all over again. To her absolute delight, so did he. After a few minutes, she put a hand over his eyes and reached for her coffee.

“See no evil?” His question made her snort.

“Stop that,” she said, trying not to choke on her drink. “You’re a terrible man.” Fighting for a breath, she pulled her palm away from his face slowly. “And a kind one, too.” Because calling him terrible wasn’t especially nice.

“Thanks,” he said with a wink. “I think.”

Snaring another piece of bacon, she considered his offer again. “If you want to comb my hair, I think it’s very nice…but what do you want from me in exchange?”

“Wow, that’s a cynical attitude.” No judgment discolored his words, but a tiny line did appear between his brows. At this distance, she couldn’t help but notice his bone structure, the slope of his forehead, the square, raw strength of his jaw.

“Not cynical so much as experienced. Most people want something, quid pro quo, for being nice. And…” She almost hated to say it, since she didn’t want to ruin the friendliness he showed her.

“And…?” His verbal nudge gave her courage.

“And you haven’t really been that friendly to me the last few times we met. So, I really have to wonder, why the change in attitude?”

Though his expression didn’t change, the weight of his regard did. Something akin to respect filtered into his beautiful blue eyes. “You’re right. Before I wasn’t very nice. I’m a Hunter, Chrystal. Willow Bend is my home, my pack, and mine to defend. You are not Willow Bend. You were trespassing. And…” He held up a finger when she would have protested, so she sucked her lips against her teeth to say nothing. “We are in a delicate position with your pack. I get how you don’t seem to understand pack politics or the need for boundaries. I’m also willing to cut you some slack—
at the moment.
” Oh, that didn’t sound so good. “I also propose, since we seem to be sharing the same space for a time, that we set specific rules for us. One of which is you let me help you and take care of you some. It will settle my wolf down, and I think…I think it might yours, too.”

Surprise rippled through her. He spoke about her wolf as if it were separate, and yet not. Eagerness sent butterflies dashing through her insides. The tantalizing offer appealed to her on so many levels…and terrified her for all the same reasons.

“Do you mind if I think about it?”
A safe answer, yes?

“Not at all.” He curled one end of her hair against his finger, then tugged gently. “Can I comb your hair?”

Quid pro quo.
It would give her some control. Her rabbiting heart rate made it difficult to think. “If you’ll let me take care of the scratches on your chest.”

Another surprise, and he raised his brows. “Dying to get your hands on me?”

“No, I don’t want to die because they think I killed you, either.” Shock struck her mute. Had she really said that?