Untamed (Wolf Lake) (4 page)

"Run with me?" Sam asked, her voice going husky as Nafarius' desire traveled down their bond.

Nafarius groaned. "Not tonight," he said. "I - "

"Have a headache?" Sam teased.

Nafarius laughed and pulled Sam to her feet. "No, but I don't want anyone except the patrols out at night, not until we have a handle on this thing."

After Roland returned with the injured female, Nafarius had ordered several of the males out into the woods. They were to guard the pack's den, killing anyone and anything that approached.
 

"What are we going to do?" Sam asked.
 

"I don't know," Nafarius admitted. "Roland and I will talk with Natasha tomorrow and find out more about what happened."

"You think there is some reasonable explanation for Dimitri beating his daughter near to death?" Sam asked, her voice deceptively mild. Born human, it still bothered her that pack hierarchy was based strictly on survival of the fittest, with the weakest members often left to fend for themselves at the bottom.
 

"Of course not," Nafarius said, drawing Sam against his chest. "But I need more information before I can act."

Sam slid her arms around Nafarius' waist before resting her head on his chest. She listened to the steady beat of his heart, and took comfort from his arms wrapped reassuringly around her. She would admit, if only to herself, that despite her time with the pack as a human, she had been woefully unprepared for this.

Nafarius sensed his mate's distress. "Come on," he said.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked.

"You too," Nafarius said, pulling Maddie to her feet. The young female had been sitting nearby, listening quietly.

Nafarius led them back into the den, taking the turn that led to the space he shared with Sam.
 

"Everybody up," he ordered and indicated the large, hand-carved bed.

"If this is one of your kinky fantasies..." Sam said.

Nafarius pulled a face. "Just get on the bed."

Maddie moved quickly, sitting at the bottom of the bed and waiting.

Sam was slower to climb up, watching her mate suspiciously.

Nafarius climbed up beside Sam, nudging the two females around until they lined up along the bed, their heads resting on the pillows.

"Roll over onto your sides," Nafarius ordered them both. Reaching across Sam, he wrapped his arm around Maddie's waist and pulled her close, pressing her back to Sam's chest. Tucking himself up behind his mate, the three of them lay back to front, spoon style. "There."

"I feel like a sardine," Sam said, not unhappily.

"More like a sandwich," Nafarius said, and pressed his knees more firmly beneath Sam's thighs.
 

"A Sam sandwich," Maddie piped up, wiggling closer to Sam.
 

Sam let the heat of them sink into her, and slowly started to relax. This must be what it felt like to have family. Orphaned as a child, she'd never had Sunday mornings in bed with her parents or enjoyed a puppy-pile with siblings.
 

Slowly, tentative at first, Sam slid her arm around Maddie's waist, and was rewarded with a rush of contentment along the pack bond. Werewolves craved touch, and took comfort from almost constant contact. It was something Sam was still learning how to give and receive.

Encouraged by Maddie's response, Sam buried her nose in Maddie's hair, and nuzzled her neck. This time, Maddie's response stroked down the pack bond, a flood of warmth tinged with desire.

Sam opened up, and let her emotions feed back along the bond. A moment later a third, masculine presence appeared, wrapping around both her and Maddie in a protective embrace.

Nafarius felt Sam grow heavy against him. Along the mating bond, her usual discomfort at the close physical contact eased into a warm sense of contentment.
 

****

Roland slipped into the alcove and disappeared into the shadows. He had stood guard outside, waiting in the narrow corridor that led to the pack's den. Eventually, the need to check on the female - assure himself - had grown too strong to resist.

Across the tiny room, Natasha slept buried beneath a blanket. Only her hair was visible, the bright red appearing black in the night.

Taking up his silent vigil, Roland watched Natasha sleep and thought back to their first meeting. He had been drawn to her from the start. Her open appraisal of him a refreshing change from the abject horror he encountered with most strangers.
 

He had been surprised by the invitation and understood when it was withdrawn out of a sense of duty. As Nafarius' intended mate, she had to be careful where she spent her time.

But Nafarius was mated to Sam.

So where does that leave me? Roland wondered.

"Who's there?" Natasha's voice was quiet, thankfully interrupting his thoughts.
 

Roland slipped deeper into the shadows, knowing she couldn't see him in the dark room, even with her superior sense of sight.
 

Natasha snuggled deeper under the blanket, barely biting back a moan at her body's protest. She felt like a crash test dummy someone had tried to glue back together.

"I know you're there," she said softly, breaking the silence. "I know your scent."

Roland's eyes closed briefly, her words sending a ripple of warmth across his flesh. The idea of marking her scent had him shifting in his jeans. He wanted to search out and find the subtle differences that created the heady elixir that was her.

He had hints of her scent, soft floral notes combined with the wind of wide open spaces. But that was just the top note, the layer that everyone would know.
 

Roland wanted the private notes, the scent that belonged to the back of her knees or lingered on the skin between her breasts. Those were the notes only a lover would know...or a mate.

Roland's eyes snapped open. His body was tense and hard, his cock straining the front of his jeans.
 
He had no business thinking of Natasha in terms of a mate. Any female deserved better than the scarred wreckage that was all Roland had to offer.

A soft snore broke the silence, Natasha once again asleep. Her soft, even breathing was calm and steady, and despite his intent to stay until dawn, Roland slipped out of the alcove, once again taking his place alone in the corridor.

****

Natasha woke the next morning feeling like she'd been run over and the driver had backed up to finish the job. She was hoping someone got the guy's license plate, and wondering what to do about clothes when a gorgeous werewolf stuck her head into the alcove.

"Hey," Sam said. "I'm here to spring you."

Natasha caught the bundle Sam tossed and shook it out, revealing a dress. "Thanks."

Natasha was loath to stand up, her body needing another five...maybe six months of sleep to feel normal again.

This is going to fucking hurt
.

Natasha gained her feet, groaning like an old woman.

"You look good," Sam said, watching as Natasha pulled the dress over her head, and marveling at a werewolf's ability to heal. The female's body was still covered in bruises, the bite marks the most disturbing. But everything had taken on the yellow hue of an old injury.

"I look like a chew toy," Natasha said before she could stop herself.

Sam laughed. "A little rough around the edges maybe, but definitely better than you did two nights ago."

"You saw me?" Natasha asked. She still had no memory of coming to be among Nafarius' pack.

"I tried to help," Sam said, suddenly wondering if Natasha would recognize her. Natasha didn't feel any different to Sam and the tentative bond she had created to help the female shift was gone.

"How bad was it?" Natasha asked.

Sam chewed on her bottom lip. Natasha had been near death, her body broken and her skull partially bashed in. What did you say to that?

"I've seen worse," Sam finally offered.

"What? Roadkill?" Natasha asked, smoothing a hand down her front. The dress fit fine though she preferred jeans and a t-shirt.

Sam liked Natasha's sense of humor. It was a good thing the female hadn't mated Nafarius, Sam would hate to have had to kill her.

"Come on," Sam said. "I convinced the others to let you eat something first." Sam led the way out of her old alcove and into the den's common room where extra fires burned against the early morning chill.

"Others?" Natasha asked, looking around curiously as they made the short walk. Was she considered a guest or prisoner? Natasha wondered as the corridor opened up onto a large room. She was instantly struck by the warmth that had nothing to do with temperature. The room was large, the ceiling curving up gracefully from the floor with a small entrance that was easily guarded.

Books, toys, tipped-over tennis shoes and even a forgotten iPod littered the area - a messy living room with the feel of a comfortable home. But what really made the room were the groups of plump pillows and low tables, the arrangement organic rather than organized. It was easy to picture Nafarius' pack gathered in the evenings, small groups blending together in boisterous conversation.

Even empty as it currently was, the room had a strong sense of family.

Nafarius stood watching the female approach, saw her eyes roaming over his home and felt his hackles rise. It was nothing particular to her, Nafarius would have a hard time with anyone not pack remaining in their den. Still, this was their best chance of speaking without interruption, the rest of the pack under orders to remain outside.

Natasha caught sight of Nafarius watching her. Arms crossed over his broad chest, he looked like a warrior preparing for battle, his feet planted hip width apart and a fierce scowl on his handsome face. Roland stood beside him, a thick pillar of menace guarding his alpha.

Definitely not a guest
.
 

"Can I get a cigarette to go with this firing squad?" Natasha muttered.

"You'll be fine," Sam said, laughing.

Leaving the female to fend for herself, Sam crossed the room and started putting together a plate of food.

As Natasha watched, Nafarius darted a quick glance at the female, his eyes returning to Natasha's face. If she hadn't been watching, she would have missed the nearly imperceptible softening around the alpha's eyes as he looked at her.

Comprehension dawned. Not just any female, Nafarius' mate. The female he had broken his word for, and the one he had rejected Natasha to be with. Now, why didn't that bother her more?

Curious, Natasha watched Sam. She moved with quick, efficient movements, her hands sure as she cut up an apple and sliced some meat. Nafarius' mate was curvier than most werewolves, evidence of her human beginnings, and beautiful, with thick black hair. It was easy to see how she had attracted the alpha's attention.

"All we have right now is water," Sam said, handing Natasha a plate and a bottle of water.

"Water is fine," Natasha said, looking around for a place to sit.
 

"Here," Sam indicated a nearby pile of pillows and a low table. "Have a seat."

"Thank you," Natasha said, maybe she was a guest after all. Getting her first good look at her plate, piled high with deer meat, she realized she was famished.

"Tell me what happened." Nafarius demanded without preamble.
 

Nafarius had argued earlier with Sam about questioning Natasha. She wanted to give the female time to rest and regain her strength, but Nafarius needed answers, and soon.

"Nafarius..." Sam sighed. "Let her eat."

"It's fine," Natasha said, pausing with her fork halfway between her mouth and her plate. "I can do both."

Fascinated, Roland watched the fork disappear between Natasha's pale, pink lips. He had felt a ripple of awareness when she walked into the room, even his wolf had stopped its incessant pacing to watch her approach.
 

She wasn't traditionally beautiful, Roland realized. Her red hair no doubt gave her fits as it rioted around big eyes and a triangular face. But beneath her stubborn chin was a athletic frame showcasing a trim waist, long legs and plump breasts that made his palms itch and his mouth water for a taste.
 

Natasha focused on her plate, all too aware that she was in hostile territory. Sam was all polite smiles and reassurance, but Natasha knew any alpha strong enough to lead this pack would not hesitate to kill her.

And neither would his beta.

Surreptitiously, Natasha watched Roland as he stood back and apart from the others, his body angled away as he guarded the den's entrance to his left. Standing in profile, the heartbreaking beauty of his face appeared unmarred, whole.
 

He's beautiful
, Natasha thought, and not for the first time.
 
His black as midnight hair was pulled back from his face and tied in a thick queue. Strong brows arched over intense, almond shaped eyes. Luscious lips, that could do serious damage if the man ever smiled, accented a chin with a small cleft. Not to be confused with a dimple. This man doesn't do dimples. His nose, the only the thing saving his face from being pretty, was sharp and slightly hooked at the end.
 

The beauty of him was made all that more devastating for the damage that had been done. The left side of his face appeared to have been ripped open, the wound somehow unable to heal, leaving a jagged scar from temple to chin.
 

No one in Natasha's pack knew how he'd come by the scar.
 

"What happened?" Nafarius asked, more gently this time.

No longer hungry, Natasha pushed her plate aside. "My father got some bad news," she said, her gaze darting from Nafarius to Sam and back again.

 
"I'm sorry," Nafarius said, and he was. He owed this female an apology and an explanation. But not for lack of trying. All efforts to communicate with Dimitri had gone unanswered, the male cutting off negotiations in favor of violence. Natasha's attack hadn't been the first, and Nafarius feared it wouldn't be the last.