mywolfprotector (5 page)

reunited with your mate. Understand this, Marrok. You're not alone.”

Marrok nodded, watching the men and silently willing one of them to wake up. He imagined he

could hear the screams of his mate in his head, and it was driving him crazy. What had she endured in the last thirty-one years while he was living free?

Alexander's support eased part of the pain. For once in his long life, he allowed another to share the load. Marrok looked at him, his expression solemn. “Thank you,” he replied, simply but

meaningfully.

One of the men on the bed shifted, the action so slight it wouldn't have been noticed by anyone without their supernatural senses. Marrok leaned forward, watching and waiting to see if he would wake up. He did.

“Water,” a hoarse voice requested, the sound just a breath above silence. He didn't open his eyes or move again.

All three of them stood up in anticipation of getting the answers they needed. Carole Anne

quickly grabbed a Styrofoam cup off of the tray and poured him a glass of water. Adding a straw, she brought it to his lips as Alexander lifted his head to let him drink his fill.

Connor and the doctor stepped into the room. Marrok was sure they'd been watching the

monitors, and knew the exact moment the man woke up. The doctor moved to wait behind Carole

Anne, eager to check on his patient.

Giving a tiny shake of his head, the weakened male indicated he didn't need anymore to drink.

“Please, raise me up,” he gasped, the effort making his tortured body shake. “If I'm to die, I don't want to leave this world flat on my back.”

Alexander gently pulled Carole Anne up against him, allowing the doctor to move next to him.

The doctor pushed down on the pedal to raise the bed before checking his pulse rate and respiration.

His expression was grim but his voice pleasant as he told him, “Let's not invite trouble by saying that.

So far you are still alive, and I wasn't expecting that much. It's a good sign. I'd like to keep you that way, if it's all the same to you.”

Physically, it didn't look possible. Jagged suture marks covered nearly every available inch of flesh. He'd been cut open and reattached many times to leave this type of damage. Large areas of his body were bruised, as if he'd been beat repeatedly with a blunt object. To finish it off, he was extremely thin and malnourished.

“Did you come all the way from New Mexico like this?” Marrok hadn't to push him, but he

couldn't wait any longer. If they did, the unfortunate wolf might not live long enough to tell them anything.

“Yes,” he sighed out. “Stole car. Kept promise.”

“What promise?” The doctor shot him an aggravated look over his shoulder, but Marrok

ignored him.

“To Taylor.”

“Where is she? Who had you?”

“Jagged Rock. Mesa.” With that, he lost consciousness again.

Alexander and Marrok exchanged a long look. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Marrok

turned to the door. “I'm going after her.”

“I want to talk to you first,” Alexander replied, gesturing for Connor to go with them. They

stepped out into the hallway, and Alexander shut the door behind them. Marrok immediately started pacing, the wolf inside of him demanding action.

Alexander spoke decisively. “You can't just go off without a plan. We don't know what we're

going up against here. I know you're a werewolf, and a powerful one at that, but you aren't invincible.”

Marrok stopped pacing and faced the men, his eyes red and wild. “Would you be saying that if

Carole Anne was in my mate's shoes?”

Alexander's blue eyes met his, glinting supernaturally underneath the artificial lights. The alpha wolf inside of him was considering the situation, and it didn't like it one bit. “Hell, no,” he bit out. “I'm not going to argue. Connor, tell the team to be ready to move out in ten minutes.”

He walked to the window, staring at his mate and the men inside the room before looking back

at Marrok. Alexander and Carole Anne had only been mated for a short time in comparison to the years they would have together. They were still in the honeymoon phase, and Marrok expected them to be for a long time to come.

“I'm coming with you,” Alexander finally said, his expression determined when he faced the

two men. “Carole Anne will remain here. The helicopters have already been prepped, and they are ready for takeoff. I'm going to see her back to the house, and then I'll meet you at the airfield.”

Marrok nodded and left without another word, heading back to the barracks to get his backpack.

Alexander stepped back into the hospital room to collect his mate. Connor was left standing in the hallway, a wry expression on his masculine face. “Well, shit,” he finally muttered to himself. “I hate being left out of the action. This must be what it feels like to be emasculated, and it's a damn shitty feeling.”

With that, Connor walked back to the top level and advised the team of their departure time.

It was late that night when the wolves prepared to attack. They were hidden behind a thick

grove of trees about a quarter of a mile from the man made entrance into the mesa. It had been a long day and evening, but none of them minded. They were eager to storm the facility and rescue their own.

Upon their arrival, they shared the shirts that the escaped wolves had been wearing with the

New Mexico pack. It hadn't taken long to pick up their trail, and by late afternoon, they'd found the entrance. Deciding it would be safer to move in at night, the wolves spent the rest of their evening making battle plans.

Marrok was sitting on the ground with his knees up and his back against a large boulder.

Alexander paced restlessly in front of him. Both alpha males were fighting to remain calm, but the lack of activity was making the wolves inside of them edgy. They were waiting for Alonzo to return. He'd been summoned by the council with news regarding the hidden facility.

Alonzo was the current chief of the El Lobo Apache Tribe, and alpha of the New Mexico pack.

The tribe had taken the name from the Spanish, hundreds of years before, when they'd relocated to the area in northern New Mexico. Marrok's father had been the chief. Although it was before his time, he knew the story well. His tribe had been forced to relocate south due to the buffalo movement.

After his mother and father's death one hundred and fifty years before, the tribal council had voted to name him chief, but he'd declined. Instead, he chose the path of warrior, holding no

responsibility for anybody but himself.

Most Apache men picked their own names based on their personal characteristics, and he was

no different. He took the name Dalaa Ba'cho, which meant wolf of one. Marrok was a loner by heart, content with his own companionship.

Alonzo sprinted back into their temporary camp, followed by two other members of the tribe.

Although hundreds of years old, with his solid black hair and unlined skin, he appeared to be

somewhere in his mid-thirties. He talked easily, not the least out of breath from his run. “I'm sorry for the delay. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to find out much.”

Marrok had jumped to his feet when the men returned. “Does the tribal council know where the

main entrance into the facility is?”

Alonzo shook his head. “Not exactly, but they believe it's not directly into the mesa. I tend to agree. It would be too obvious and easily discovered.”

All three men turned and surveyed the mesa thoughtfully. At night, it looked lonely and

isolated. Nobody would ever guess the secrets held within. There were ranches scattered along the base, but even those were few and far between. With the exception of the mesa, the land around them was flat.

Marrok was the one to break the silence. “You're right. It would have taken a lot of activity to pull something like that off. Yet, in all these years I've never noticed anything unusual. I never even scented anything off.” His eyes narrowed in thought. “If someone wants something bad enough,

though, they will find a way to get it. My best guess is they have someplace around here that leads into an underground tunnel directly into the mesa.”

Alonzo nodded. “It makes sense. If it's underground, even our extraordinary sense of smell

wouldn't pick it up.” He looked at Alexander. “Our scouts have been out all day, but they haven't picked up anything out of the ordinary. Without the shirts you provided, none of would have ever detected the opening we did find.”

“It's masked,” Marrok said, his mind racing. “When I discovered Taylor missing that morning, I thought I scented something off. I brushed it away in the face of losing my mate. The Sheriff told me that something was off in the air at the lake that night, too. I believe the humans must have developed something to cover up their scents.”

Alexander watched him silently, his eyes far off in thought. “We know this place has been here for years, at minimum thirty-one years. It makes you wonder what else they've managed to come up with.”

Alonzo sighed. “God only knows. The tribal council is using every resource we have to figure

out who's behind this. They wouldn't be surprised if it was government-funded. Most people wouldn't have the resources or money to pull something like this off, much less the desire to do it.”

“Shit,” Marrok spit out. “If it is that means it's much bigger then this mesa. We don't know how many have their fingers stuck in this pot of honey.... Or how many lives have been lost because of it.”

He hit the boulder behind him, grunting in satisfaction as it cracked. It didn't ease the rage inside of him, though. Nothing could make up for the lose he'd experienced.

“I know how you feel, my brother,” Alonzo told him, his dark eyes filled with an answering

deep anger. “We are wolves, but we are human as well. No living being should ever be held captive and used for testing and experiments, regardless of the reasons. It's wrong, and we won't stand for this.

Before we had no clue. Now the secret's out, and I don't believe there is a werewolf alive that will accept this. These research facilities will be stopped, one way or another.”

“Damn straight,” Alexander growled out. The air was charged between the three alpha wolves

as they fought down their natural desire to shift and avenge the wrongs perpetrated against them.

Tonight they would use the powerful strength of their wolves inside the mesa, but they needed the clear thinking of their human counterparts. There was a brief battle within each man, but eventually, they were able to settle down.

It was almost time to attack, and the other wolves were anxiously waiting for the signal to move in. They watched with curiosity when Marrok grabbed his large backpack and moved to the small creek next to them. Unzipping it, he laid it on the ground at his feet before pulling off his shirt.

Alonzo and Alexander slowly followed him, exchanging puzzled looks. “What is he doing?”

Alexander asked the other man, his golden eyebrow furrowed in puzzlement.

Alonzo shrugged his massive shoulders. “Hell if I know. I've always wondered what he carried

in that bag, though. Guess we're fixing to find out.”

Marrok reached into his bag and pulled out a leather breechcloth. He changed into it, heedless of the men that watched him. Squatting down, he removed a tomahawk and laid it on the ground next to him. He wasn't done, yet. Rummaging further, he pulled out two small deerskin pouches and a mirror.

“What are those?” Alexander asked, keeping his voice low.

Alonzo watched Marrok respectfully, his mood instantly somber. “Marrok is a direct descendant

in a long line of Apache chiefs. He's preparing himself for battle. It's a time-honored tradition among our people, but not one often used in these modern day times. This, more than anything, tells me how much this battle means to him.” He nodded toward the pouches and added as an afterthought. “That's his face paint.”

Alexander watched in fascination as Marrok gently opened the first pouch and dumped it in his

hand. He then mixed it with a small amount of water, stirring vigorously with his finger. “That's clay,”

Alonzo continued softly. “He's using the white to symbolize the long years he's spent in mourning for his mate.” Carefully he applied the clay with a hand-held mirror until it completely covered his face.

Next, he mixed the charcoal in his hand with some animal fat he took out of a small canister. He applied three, thick stripes down his face, one over each eye and one down the center of his nose.

Alonzo waited until Marrok had applied the last one before saying, “Each stripe represents each decade he's been parted from her.”

Parting his long, straight hair in the center, Marrok tied a cloth headband around his forehead.

He finished off his preparations with a feather stuck on the back of his head, and a pair of moccasins on his feet. Marrok looked up at the other two men, his eyes glowing red and lethal in the darkness. There was no doubting the heritage of the powerful warrior that stood to face them. Shit was going to hit the proverbial fan when he stepped into that mesa.

“I sure as hell hope he finds his mate quickly,” Alonzo muttered to Alexander, his heavy dark

eyebrows pulled into a deep frown.

“Why's that?” Alexander was focused on Marrok, intrigued by his battle preparations.

Originally from Russia, he was unaccustomed to Native American tradition.

Alonzo's voice grew ominous. “He chose only two colors for a reason. Black and white, life and death. His future lies on what he finds tonight. He's made his choice, I can assure you of that. If Marrok doesn't find his mate in that mesa, he won't stay alive long enough to ever add a fourth stripe on his face.”

Marrok walked to them, his muscular body a dangerous combination that came from the

powerful Apache bloodline that ran through his veins, and the supernatural wolf that was a part of him.

His expression was firmly set, the powerful muscles in his arms and shoulders bunching with each step.