Читать книгу Half Wolf - Linda Thomas-Sundstrom - Страница 8

Chapter 1

Pain, sharp-edged and nasty, hit Kaitlin Davies in an undulating wave, pulsing in time with the spike in her heart rate.

God, she thought. Can this be happening?

The guy who had just seconds ago seemed like any normal male—short hair, jeans, old white T-shirt—had her by the neck before she could shout. So fast she couldn’t draw a breath. The asshole actually bit her, breaking the skin beneath her right ear. He kept his teeth clamped to her neck and seemed to get a kick out of it. He was making happy noises.

Shock made screaming impossible. The a-hole had her pinned to a tree with some kind of supernatural grip.

Her bags fell to the ground. A hideous sucking sound, like someone knocking back a smoothie through a narrow straw, caused her stomach to turn. Something wet trickled down her throat, forcing a gag reflex, but she was too stunned to do anything other than try to breathe.

The scent of blood saturated the air. Her scream was internal, silent.

No...

The last rush of her frantic energy ebbed with a sensation similar to a tumbling wave’s retreat. And then another jarring spike in her pulse hit, fueled by adrenaline with nowhere to go.

Scream. Shove. Knee him. Fight.

That was what the rules of self-defense said to do if she were ever to find herself in trouble.

Yell. Make as much noise as possible. Draw attention.

Don’t talk to strangers.

While it was a safe bet that every single female across the country had been given those same rules, no one had mentioned the fact that they might not work. She hadn’t spoken to anybody, had just been minding her own business walking across university grounds from the library to her studio apartment.

Searing red flashes behind her eyes warned that she was going into shock, and still standing only because the creep held her upright. She no longer felt her hands or feet. Nerve twitches that should have instigated muscle movement produced no response at all.

Shit.

Help me!

She was so very scared, and cold, though she had started to sweat. Inside, she was fighting, struggling. Outwardly, she did zip. This attacker’s maniacal strength and the speed with which he had executed it severed any prospects of a worthwhile reaction.

What sort of creature bit a person?

Pervert.

Animal.

Monster...

Her thoughts began to fuzz over. Blackness floated in from the periphery of her brain like spilled ink spreading on a flat white surface, threatening a last hold on sanity.

Would she ever see her family again?

Tingling sensations accompanied her blood pressure’s plummeting descent. Dark thoughts dangled. The monster was going to kill her beneath the trees bordering the pathway. She was on her own here because this was Friday night, and everybody else would be either prepping for the weekend or hitting the books. She had walked here at least twenty times this past semester, thinking it safe.

And now she was going to die. Out here. Alone. Just weeks before presenting her doctorate thesis.

She did not want to die, not like this or any other way. Her life hadn’t really started yet.

Don’t deserve this.

She had no energy left to finish the argument. The night had grown darker.

Somebody help me.

Anybody. Please...

Kaitlin prayed, chanting inwardly and straining to keep her eyes open for the last few precious seconds of life. Nothing seemed real. Nothing felt real.

Stomach convulsing, head exploding in a last hurrah, she heard another sound break through the darkness, stirring an internal response. It sounded like the growl of a large animal. Low, guttural and unmistakably menacing, that growl rolled toward her.

But maybe, just maybe, this was merely the sound a soul made when prepping for flight.

Her soul.

No. Not that. God, not that, because the monster beside her also heard the noise. When he lifted his head, part of her T-shirt hung from his teeth, soaked in blood.

His sudden withdrawal was more painful than the initial attack had been. The world began to spin, mingling with the sound of another ferocious animal growl that came from right on top of them.

Can’t hold on...

The monster released her. She fell, sliding down the bark of the tree, sinking onto numb buttocks with her legs folded. In the dullness of tunneling vision, she witnessed a blur of black on black, deeper than the night itself, approaching.

Like a whirlwind, the blur of fluid darkness swept her attacker aside, seeming to temporarily shift things in her favor. In life’s favor. Too weak to make any kind of acknowledgment, Kaitlin fought the wave of light-headedness threatening to overtake her.

In her dimming periphery, squeals broke through the silence—sounds reminiscent of fierce fighting that seemed to come from every direction at once. A high-pitched whine was followed by a scream and the unmistakable sound of flesh tearing. But it wasn’t her flesh being torn this time.

Not this time.

Kaitlin heaved up one final inward cry. Tears were running down her cheeks. When the night became quiet, the silence was scary. And then an artificial softness descended like a cloud, as if she’d been covered by a fur coat. That softness caressed her legs and thighs beneath the hem of her denim shorts.

After the terrible events of the past few minutes, sensation of any kind seemed odd. So, was this gentle caress a sign of Death knocking at her door?

With great difficulty, Kaitlin cracked open her eyes. Looking out through teary slits, she found the face of a man kneeling beside her—a half-naked man, his skin gleaming from the waist up in the dappled moonlight filtering through branches.

This wasn’t the creep that had tried to steal her life force. This guy had broad shoulders and a sculpted chest etched with scrolling tattoos. His hair was dark, long, and a stark contrast to his face.

Could this be an angel?

Moonlight encircled his position as if he sat in the center of a searchlight beam, but his features were hidden by shadows. He didn’t speak, just sat there looking at her as if appraising the situation. If this was a trick, if he wasn’t to be trusted, well, there wasn’t much left for him to take.

When gentle fingers touched her face she winced, because tenderness in the malignant moonlight felt wrong. Her visitor finally spoke in a deep, hushed voice. “It’s all right now. That thing is gone.”

He moved inches forward so that moonlight flooded his face with a wash of pure silver. Kaitlin couldn’t see much past the splashes of blood on his lips and chiseled cheeks. That blood was as black as his hair.

She did a quick reassessment, wanting to understand what kind of an angel would appear like this. Fear made a comeback. Rattles of protest welled up in her chest. Was the blood on his face hers?

The man’s fingers slipped to her chin, which he tilted slowly upward. “You’re safe.”

I’m dying, she wanted to say.

As if he had heard the words, he brought his face close to hers. From inches away, he observed her with the brightest eyes she had ever seen—eyes that glowed a light luminous green and shone with intelligence and understanding. Beautiful eyes. Kind. Sympathetic. Not quite human.

His attention made the last wisp of her consciousness flicker way down deep inside her, almost in a sexual way. Kaitlin wanted to reach out and touch those angular cheeks. She wanted to wipe the slashes of crimson away and thank him for helping her.

She couldn’t do any of that.

He spoke again, slowly, so that she could hear and comprehend.

“You can be healed.”

There just wasn’t one bit of energy left to argue with him. Threads were separating. She’d been attacked, mauled, only to be saved by a what? Man? Angel? Madman? Beast? He hunched there like a predator, with radiant eyes indicative of some animal species. She sensed an edge to his sympathy. He hadn’t picked up a cell phone to call for help.

His presence kept her from drifting off. Kaitlin willed her body to hang on for a few more seconds, afraid he would leave, afraid that if she closed her eyes she’d never open them again and die alone.

Please stay with me.

Help me.

Did he hear her plea? He nodded as if he had.

When he put his arms around her, a strangled moan erupted from her throat—the pain was so very great. Her head hit his solid, soothingly bare chest as he lifted her into his arms, high off the ground.

An odd thought wafted through her mind that it would have been tough for an angel to manage the saggy mess of a twenty-three-year-old woman. Yet if this was an angel, who was going to argue? If he were to take her to heaven, she was in good hands.

Or so she thought until he shifted her weight and the pain came crashing down—crushing, pulverizing, boiling—as though she had imploded.

But it wasn’t over yet. He gripped her with care and whispered assurances. As he turned, cradling her against his body, Kaitlin’s soul-wrenching wail was finally freed. She screamed and screamed. Feral cries. Helpless noises.

The shouts didn’t frighten this man, this angel, this questionable soul who held her. Taking a deep breath, he placed his mouth on hers and blew a warm stream of air into her lungs that tasted of grass and meadows, not the bloody brutality of a savage monster.

His lips lingered on hers, forcing her to swallow past the pain, quieting the riot. She took in each breath he gave her. His long hair brushed her cheeks with a silkiness that was as light as day.

Who could have anticipated a kiss on death’s threshold? The intimacy of their mouths touching and their breaths mingling held a surreal beauty that continued until Kaitlin was able to breathe on her own. Soon after that, the mouth she had depended on left hers.

Wait, she wanted to cry. With his kiss, the pain had lessened. She’d felt as though she actually might survive.

The heat radiating off this stranger’s bare chest brought another level of awareness to her broken body. Her rescuer was muscled and extremely hot. Being held by him was like confronting a bonfire.

She parted her lips for speech that didn’t come. The hovering unconsciousness, temporarily held at bay by a pair of green eyes that continued to stare into hers as if urging her spirit to continue, floated on the sidelines.

“You have to be willing,” he said. “That’s the way this works.”

What did that mean? What did any of this mean?

“There’s no time to explain. But it’s the only way you’ll make it. Nod your head if you understand.”

In the end, it didn’t matter what he might be suggesting, since she’d do anything to stay alive. With great effort, Kaitlin lowered her chin.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said. “Be brave. Hang tight and remember that I gave you a choice.”

His finger tracked a tear sliding down her cheek. Then he nestled his face into her neck, right above the attacker’s deadly wound.

Oh, God, she thought. Not this.

Taking her skin between his teeth lightly, he paused as if waiting for her to change her mind. After that, he bit down.

The sky collapsed in on itself. The earth rose to envelop her. And somewhere between the two, Kaitlin Davies became one with the dark.

* * *

What he was doing was a sin, and unforgivable. So why had he considered it? Why, on the spur of the moment, had Michael Hunter broken every rule governing Lycan behavior to try to save a human female he’d never met—when no human had ever done anything to help him, and in fact had left him with his greatest heartache to date?

His pulse was racing. He knew better than to cross the line.

And just couldn’t help himself.

The woman in his arms was slender, and small-boned to the point of being fragile. But she was no child. Behind the torn T-shirt, her shape was visible. Lean legs, lightly tanned, were shown off by a pair of shorts.

Blood spatter covered everything, and the scent of that blood had already been dispersed through the air. If he didn’t hurry, other bloodsuckers in the area—if they dared to show their fangs to a prowling werewolf—would come calling.

She was seconds from death. He recognized the signs. But death wasn’t the worst scenario here. The worst-case outcome would be hearing her last strangled breath, and then watching her morph into the same kind of monster that had savaged her.

Vampire saliva was highly toxic. The ultimate poison. All it took to kill and then resurrect a human being to the dark side were four or five drops dribbled in an open wound. Rogue vampires didn’t even wait around to see the rise of the night creatures they created. New vampires with no idea what had happened and nowhere to turn except to the raging thirst would be a threat to everyone.

There had been a rash of missing people near Clement College lately, and law enforcers were taking stock of those disappearances. Cops were nosing around. This didn’t bode well for the other secretive nonhuman species living alongside the so-called normal folks. Something had to be done about the recent influx of vamps. Fast.

Michael looked down at the woman in his arms.

Her face was oval-shaped and bloodless. She had long hair that was a unique combination of red and brown, and her skin was soft and lightly scented with the fragrance of flowers, despite all the damage the vampire’s fangs had done. Her tears tasted like sunlight.

After all these years, he still would have given anything for someone to have comforted his mother like this as she lay dying, and helped in any way they could.

This little human had sorely needed help.

Replacing the vamp’s saliva with Lycan blood had been of paramount importance in order to save her life. Wolf blood was volcanic, and immensely alive. If she was lucky, that blood might counteract and overpower the other chilling version of poison put into her by those fangs.

With the miraculous healing powers Lycans possessed, if this female survived the night, the gaping edges of her wound would draw together and mending would begin. On the outside, anyway.

Odds were less than fifty-fifty that she’d pull through no matter what he did or how timely his actions were. Yet purebred Lycan blood, strengthened over the centuries, was one of the strongest medicines on the planet, and he had just given her system a jolt.

Blasphemy?

Hell, yes.

As Alpha of his pack, his other pack-mates might argue with what he’d done. Then again, a couple of them had been on the wrong side of a bite or two, so maybe they’d feel sympathetic.

She was light as a feather. Her breath escaped as a sigh through quivering lips, though her eyes remained shut. Michael’s heart thudded with unanticipated empathy as he carefully scrutinized her expressionless face, deciding that she wasn’t beautiful, exactly. Striking was a better word. She was quite striking for a human so near to death.

“Breathe, little one,” he directed, knowing that humans didn’t take well to their DNA being rearranged. Human women were especially vulnerable to the sudden change in their body chemistry.

“There’s a chance, if what I’ve given you takes and you somehow manage your system’s rewiring, that you won’t thank me.”

Although she’d be alive, she might also be angry, and that was a concern. Telling someone about this rescue attempt, or letting the world in on the secretive presence of werewolves, would place his pack in the spotlight. Hunting season would begin again, as it had for so many past centuries after humans got a whiff of werewolf—in spite of how humanlike Lycans were most of the time. In spite of the fact that this city’s friendly local doctors, mailmen and cops might become something else when the moon was full.

There was another potential problem.

By getting too close to the woman in his arms, he could be instigating a bond between them that for Lycans was a greater event than placing a ring on her finger. Imprinting was something he had carefully avoided for all of his adult life. Imprinting with a human...well, that would be bad. Lycans only mated with Lycans. As werewolf royalty, pure Lycan blood was not to be diluted by the weaknesses humans possessed.

Yeah. So...it was too late for regrets. And hindsight was always a bundle of joy.

He had just committed a sin without thinking twice, and now had to deal with the consequences. Something about this female had captured his attention after merely a look, and that just wasn’t usual fare for an Alpha with a badass reputation.

What is it about you, woman?

Michael’s muscles twitched in response to his silent question because even in her rapidly declining state, the woman in his arms was like wolfnip. She was seductive in an ethereal, ultrafeminine way. Her gray eyes, her flowery scent and white face, were lures he hadn’t been able to resist.

In his defense, Michael concluded that a good excuse for his behavior was that she probably wouldn’t have harmed a fly, even if she knew about the existence of werewolves, and that it would be a shame for the world to lose such a small bundle.

“Breathe,” he said to her. “That’s right. Now breathe again.”

It’s a damn shame that if you live and decide to threaten or expose my kind, it will be my job to kill you. Saving your life tonight would have been for nothing.

Her lashes fluttered, which was a good sign. He said to her, “Some of the pain will ease temporarily, though probably not nearly enough.”

He watched her face for another reaction without finding one.

“The pain will return and get worse. I won’t lie about that. You’ll have to hold on, ride this out, if you want to survive. You’ll have to prove yourself stronger than you look.”

The woman’s pale lips, beautifully shaped and so close to his own, were stiff with shock. Her temporary respite from the agony—either of losing her life altogether or losing life as she’d known it—was as fragile as the rest of her. Michael lowered the odds of her ever opening her big gray eyes.

Still, he held her possessively, liking the feel of her body against his despite her chance of surviving. Liking the velvety softness of her hair against his chest, and how her silky legs dangled over his arms.

Seemed even badasses weren’t immune to an attractive woman.

Something inside him stirred when she moaned. His thoughts grew softer. Is someone waiting for you to come home?

No response came from the prize in his arms. She wasn’t yet alive enough to speak. Possibly she didn’t even hear him.

“I don’t know you. Don’t know your name,” he said. “But here we are, about to either become allies or enemies. Provided that you gain back the strength to open your eyes.”

Michael felt his pulse skip again as he carefully observed his unintentional captive. His victim. His new, awkward responsibility. He wondered if maybe it was only the moon causing the hum in his chest.

Glancing up at the sky, where that nearly full moon blazed a luminous silver white, he held off the muscle burn that urged him to shift shape.

“Hold on,” he whispered to the woman nestled in his arms, willing her to hear, commanding the few drops of his blood, now inside her body, to obey their codes and offer assistance.

His voice lowered to a growl as his internal wolfishness finally rushed to meet the moonlight. “Hold tight, little wolf, and pray for a miracle. If we’re very lucky, maybe you’ll actually thank me someday.”