Wolf at the Door: Salvation Pack, Book 1 (27 page)

It almost tore Jacque apart to have to release his hold on her and put her life into the hands of another man. He slowly released the towel and Gator moved in quickly, pulling it back. He swore again and swabbed her neck with antiseptic of some kind. The harsh chemical smell mixed with that of her blood, burning the inside of Jacque’s nostrils.

“I’m going to give her a shot to numb the area. I don’t want her waking up in the middle of this.” Gator grabbed a small needle, removed the cap with his teeth and injected whatever was in the vial into several spots around the wound site.

Jacque clasped Gwen’s hand in his and squeezed it tight. She was so cold and silent it frightened him. She’d lost quite a lot of blood. This was so wrong. Gwen was so full of life and fight, never at a loss for something to say.

Gator worked quickly and competently. He picked up a needle and began the long, arduous process of stitching Gwen back together. The gashes on her neck would scar if she survived. He swallowed hard, trying not to think of the alternative.

He was grateful that Gator had taken paramedic training and had kept up on the latest techniques thanks to the internet and online education. They rarely needed this kind of medical attention as their physiology made them very quick healers, but it did happen from time to time.

He lifted Gwen’s hand to his lips and kissed the bruised top, cradling her palm in his. “Gator is stitching you up now,
chère
. You’ll be good as new after you rest.” The men around him shuffled uncomfortably. He knew as well as they did that the chances of her surviving this were practically nil. Still, he wouldn’t give up, and he wouldn’t let her quit either.

He talked to her while Gator stitched, mending shredded tissues as best as he could. It was a patchwork at best. The clock ticked by slowly, each minute seemed an hour. When he was done, Gator padded the area and wrapped thick gauze around her neck.

Gator sat back and swiped his forearm over his forehead. “That’s all I can do for her. We’ll just have to wait and see. I’m going to check the rest of her over now.” He carefully worked his way down from her head to her toes, examining her for other injuries. “I’m almost positive several of her fingers are broken. I’m going to splint them to keep her from moving them and hurting them further.” Gator worked quickly, immobilizing three fingers on her right hand.

When it was done, Jacque clasped Gator’s arm. “Thank you.”

Gator shook off his thanks. “She is one of us now.”

That said it all. His pack had taken her into their hearts and she was one of them. He nodded and returned his gaze to her face, willing her to open her eyes. Nothing.

“She’ll need to be cleaned up and the other minor cuts taken care of. I assume you’ll handle that. I’ll be back to check on her later.”

Jacque nodded and Gator took his leave. It had been hard enough for him to allow another man to deal with her serious injuries. He would not be able to keep his wolf in check if Gator touched her naked skin beneath her clothing, even if it was simply to care for minor cuts.

Both Cole and Armand filed out behind Gator, stopping only long enough to squeeze his shoulder in encouragement.

Louis scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “Why don’t you shower and dress. I’ll sit with her while you’re gone.” Before he could protest, his brother continued. “It’s going to be a long day, my brother. You want to wash the blood of your enemy away before you sit with your mate.”

Louis was acknowledging Jacque’s claim on Gwen. By doing that he was relinquishing any hope he ever had of claiming her as his own. It went against every instinct Jacque had to leave her for even a few moments, but he knew Louis was right.

“I’ll leave the door to the bathroom open. If she stirs, call me.” He didn’t want to miss it if she opened her eyes even for a brief second.

“I will.” It was a promise he knew Louis would keep.

Jacque rose from the bed and stalked into the bathroom. He turned on the water in the shower and stepped beneath the spray. It was cool against his skin and he leaned his hands against the tiles and let it cascade over him. The water pooling at his feet ran red. How had this happened? How had things come to this?

His father.
The bastard wasn’t content to rule his own kingdom. He wanted to control his sons’ as well. He would pay for what he’d done. One way or another, he would pay.

Jacque grabbed the bar of soap from the shelf and quickly washed. He didn’t want to be away from Gwen any longer than he had to be. He kept his ears open for any sound that she might be stirring. Every now and then, through the roar of the water pelting the slate tiles of the shower, he thought he heard something and his body tensed. But each time, he was convinced he’d heard only what he wanted to hear so desperately—the sound of Gwen’s voice. When all the blood was washed from his body, he turned off the taps and climbed out, grabbing a clean towel from the shelf.

He padded back into the bedroom while he was still dripping. Gwen was lying exactly where he’d left her. Louis sat on the bed beside her, her limp hand in his, the splints Gator had wrapped around her hand made it look all the more fragile.

“She hasn’t moved or made a sound.”

Jacque nodded and toweled himself off. He went to his closet, grabbed a pair of faded jeans off the shelf and dragged them on. Gwen was covered in sweat and dried blood. His next job was to make her more comfortable.

He hurried from the room and out to the kitchen. The others had left the house and Jacque knew without having to ask that they were dealing with bodies. Werewolf remains burned hot and fast, which was a blessing in a situation like this. It wouldn’t take long to reduce their remains to ashes and spread them to the wind. There would be no evidence of this night’s work.

The sun was rising over the mountains in the distance as he dug through the cupboards, searching for a bowl he could fill with water. It seemed wrong for the sun to be out while Gwen was fighting for her life. It should be raining, the heavens sorrowful.

He found a metal bowl and quickly filled it with hot water. Neither Louis nor Gwen had moved when he returned to the room. “I’ll take things from here,” he told his brother. “I’m going to clean her up and make her more comfortable.”

Louis placed Gwen’s hand on top of the mattress and stood. “I’ll check back in later.” The two brothers looked at one another and then came together in a heartfelt hug. There was nothing more to be said. Louis left and closed the door behind him, leaving Jacque alone with Gwen.

He set the bowl on the bedside table and hurried to the bathroom for a fresh washcloth, towel and soap. She was lying on top of the covers, her formerly white shirt now only fit for the garbage. And those ridiculous pajama bottoms with the little stars and moons would never be free from bloodstains again.

He ripped the remains of the shirt away, moving her as little as possible. There were a couple small scratches beneath it but nothing serious. Her torso was heavily bruised, new bruises mixing with the older, almost faded ones.

“Oh,
chère
,” he whispered. Her life had been one bloody battle after another since he’d met her. It was a wonder she could stand the sight of him, let alone welcome him into her bed and her life.

He removed her canvas sneakers, hooked his fingers into the waistband of her pajama pants and slowly pulled them down her legs. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found only bruises. Those would heal in time, assuming she survived.

He shoved that thought out of his head. She would survive. She had to.

She was totally naked except for the bandages wrapped around her neck and fingers. The vibrancy that he associated with Gwen was missing, her body limp and still. He knew he had to get her cleaned up as the enzymes in his father’s teeth were even now flooding into her bloodstream. Soon, they would take over her body like a virus, trying to turn her body into something it wasn’t—a werewolf. This was the time those who were bitten died.

Gwen would be one of the special few who lived. He couldn’t believe anything else, even while he feared the worst.

Jacque dipped the cloth in the water, which had cooled enough to touch, and rubbed the bar of soap over it, making a light lather. He started at her face and washed it, cleaning away sweat and blood. “That should make you feel better. When you’re well again, we’ll have a bath together. I may need to rethink that room. I think it needs a bigger tub. What do you think?”

She didn’t answer, but he kept on talking as he dipped the cloth into the bowl and wrung it out again. “Maybe you’d like a different house. You can have anything you want,” he promised as he ran the cloth over her face again, making certain to get every speck of blood. “You can even decorate it however you want.” He paused. “Okay, no pink. Or frills. Or froufrou stuff. But other than that, you can do whatever you want.” He used the towel on her face, patting it dry so she wouldn’t catch a chill.

He loaded up the cloth again and started on her chest. The sight of her full, firm breasts usually sent his libido skyrocketing, but not now, not with her clinging to life. Now the slight movement in them was a reminder she was still breathing, was still alive. When he was finished with her torso, he changed the water, dumping the dirty stuff down the drain in the bathroom and refilling the bowl.

Time passed slowly, but he took his time, wanting to care for her. His wolf paced inside him, fretful and angry. His wolf wanted to kill. The human part of him knew that time would come but for now he had to care for his mate. His hands were gentle as he washed her, not stopping until he’d cleaned the soles of her feet.

“There, you’re all clean,
chère
.” He took the bowl and supplies to the bathroom and dumped them. On his way back to the bed, he detoured and grabbed one of his oversized T-shirts. He knew the other men would be checking on her from time to time and didn’t want her naked in front of them. He was turning into a possessive beast when it came to his Gwen.

It took him some time and maneuvering but he finally got the shirt over her head and her arms through the armholes. He tugged the fabric over her body, covering her all the way to the tops of her thighs. The neckline hung down to her collarbone, which was good. He didn’t want anything tight around her neck.

“Don’t get used to me dressing you. And don’t think this means you can start wearing pajamas to bed. This is only temporary.”

Jacque dragged the covers from beneath her, being careful not to jar her too much, and pulled them over her. The top blanket was soiled with blood and water so he dragged it off and dumped it on the floor.

He eased down onto the bed beside her and propped his head on his hand so he could watch her. She was unnaturally still, which bothered him. Her breathing was slow but steady, and that gave him hope.

Jacque placed his hand over her heart and felt the stuttering beat. “Don’t die, Gwen,” he begged her. “You have to live. For me. For us.” As he watched her, the sun streamed in through the window, capturing her in its golden glow, making her hair look more like a halo.

Gwen drifted in a dark void, hovering, weightless. There was something she should remember, but she couldn’t summon the energy to care. It was safer here. Above the darkness was danger and pain, and she shied away from it.

As though detached from her body, she studied it clinically. She knew she’d been injured. Someone had hurt her badly. She tried to swallow, but her throat hurt. Why did her throat hurt?

A fleeting memory flitted across her brain. Something had bitten her. A wolf. No, a man.

She pulled back from the image, not wanting to see it. That was cowardly of her, but she didn’t care. A voice kept calling to her, trying to pull her away from her comforting darkness. She ignored it at first, content to be where she was. She didn’t hurt here but knew she would if she went back.

But the voice didn’t stop. At times it was insistent, at other times cajoling. Always, it was there. Something about the voice soothed her and pulled at her senses. The voice was important. No, that wasn’t right. The man behind the voice was important.

Jacque.

His name hit her like a lightning bolt and everything—all the last memories—flooded back to her in a torrent. A werewolf had bitten her during the attack. That meant she was going to die. She didn’t want to die, wasn’t ready for it yet. She wanted her three or four decades with Jacque before she had to leave him.

It was Jacque talking to her, his voice she was hearing. He was calling her back to him. If she was going to die, damned if she was going to do it without telling him she loved him.

She swallowed again, ignoring the throbbing pain in her neck. This was important. She had to reach Jacque.

Gwen tried to open her eyes, but it felt as though someone had glued them shut. She struggled and fought her way out of the darkness one slow inch at a time. Pain hit her as she pushed past the void. It hurt so much. Every part of her ached. Even her skin hurt.

The temptation to withdraw was great, to simply let the darkness take her. But she heard his voice again and went toward it, pulled by a force greater than the pain—love.

Her eyelids fluttered open a crack and she closed them again as the bright light hit them. She tried again, this time keeping them half closed. She felt something resting on her chest over her heart, something warm and heavy. She looked down and saw a male hand, the skin tanned and the fingers calloused. She knew that hand intimately.