Wolf Claim (Wolves of Willow Bend Book 3) (10 page)

“What?” She blinked.

“The shoes for your feet, little wolf.” Brett intruded, sounding altogether too pleased with himself. “Unless you just want Chase to carry you everywhere.”

Owen spared him a glare and would have shot him his middle finger, but manners dictated he refrain in front of Gillian.

“Oh, shoes, Right.” Lips pursed, she reached over the seat and into one of her duffle bags on the bench. After withdrawing a pair of slip-on shoes, she dropped them on the ground forcing Owen to back up a step. She stepped out, sliding her feet into her shoes one at a time.

He gave her an approving nod, but instead of meeting his gaze she avoided looking at him at all. Owen frowned.

“How far to Hatcher’s?” she asked the Alpha, her attention on him.

“We can walk from here. His place borders mine.” The Alpha’s house sat apart from the other local dwellings on an estate.

“Great.” Gillian grabbed her bag and evaded touching him as she circled around him to join the Alpha. “Shall we?”

Now what the fuck have I done wrong?
Scowling, Owen stalked after the pair and took his place at her side.

Chapter Six

By the time they’d walked the few hundred yards from Brett’s home to the home of their healer, separated from his property by a black metal fence, Gillian managed to get her rioting emotions under control. How Owen managed to turn his interest in her off and on, she couldn’t fathom. On the one hand, he rejected her overtures or ignored them and, on the other, he was hopelessly sweet and thoughtful.

When he’d declared he’d just wanted to carry her, hope surged inside of her. Then he’d glared at Brett. So apparently carrying her had more to do with the Alpha’s presence than expressing real affection for her? The Alpha’s earlier offer to share his bed had been a sweet, if utterly inappropriate, flirtation considering their current circumstances. Was it too much to ask Owen to give her a straight-up response? Who knew a male could be so damn coy?

Two wolves met them at the house, a male and female. The mated pair gave her a friendly enough nod, but maintained a wary distance. Mated Hunters, both securing the pack, running circuits together…maybe that was the problem. Maybe Owen wanted a mate who could fight and run with him.

Grimacing at the spiral of her thoughts, she blew out a breath between her teeth and climbed the three steps to the broad veranda. Pausing at the top step, she absorbed the view. The river could be seen through the trees, but the vegetation and landscaping offered a sense of seclusion. Twisting, she avoided running into Owen and looked toward the Alpha’s house.

The fence was plainly visible and the house just around a curve. Near enough to have the feeling of closeness, far enough apart to provide privacy. She liked it. Brett met her gaze as she spun to face the door, but she shook her head. No more details, she wanted to see what her nose and her gift could find.

Death was never pretty, and her heart already hurt for the loss of the healer, though she’d never met him. Maybe all pack healers shared a kinship, an understanding that went beyond their animals or allegiances. They were the ones who patched the wolves back together, nursed them through illnesses, and delivered their young.

Yes, it also meant they were there when those wolves passed from this world and onto the next. Neither Owen nor Brett spoke to her, but when she headed for the door Brett beat her by a step and opened it.

Death rolled out on a cold, air-conditioned breeze. She didn’t have to ask. They’d turned the temperature down in the house to preserve the body. The chill air stung her skin, but she followed her nose. Weaving through, she saw a house filled with clutter of a life well lived. Photographs, and books stacked ten deep in places, well-used furniture with colorful throws filled the space. Near one wide set of windows sat an easel and a dozen canvases.

Beneath the scent of death were a dozen other smells, most likely from packmates. A healer’s house saw a lot of foot traffic. Even if she determined foul play, the keenest of noses would have a hard time separating friend from foe in the miasma.

The deeper into the house she traveled, the colder it became. She shivered, but not from the temperature. Nearer to the body, she fought the heaviness slowing her heart. Next to her, Brett sighed, and she gave into the impulse to take his hand. She squeezed it in a silent offering of comfort.

Losing pack hurt everyone.

“He was a good friend,” Brett said into the solemn quiet. “We don’t have time for my sorrow, little wolf. I’ll mourn him when this puzzle is solved.” A rebuke, but a gentle one. He squeezed her hand, then released her when they stood before a closed door on the first floor.

He pushed the door inward, before retreating a step. Neither he nor Owen would enter the room.
Respect
. Inside, she found the old man laid out on a bed, his hands folded peacefully against his chest. His ancient visage seemed almost leathery. Hatcher had lived a very long time. She hadn’t thought to ask his age. Though wolves had longer lifespans than humans, they weren’t immortal.

Death came for them all, eventually.

Leaving her bag by the door, she padded over to the bed. Her wolf had gone on point the moment she’d entered. The nearer she drew, the more she itched within her skin.

Nothing about the death had been natural. Stripping off her glove, she placed her bare hand against the healer’s cheek. Outside, Owen hissed a word and a thud of a hand slamming against the door penetrated her focus, but she ignored the disagreement. Owen and Brett could settle their own pissing matches. This was her fight.

Zeroing in on the healer, she let her gift open and information flooded her. The scents in the air became sharper, more defined and easier to separate. A hint of the cloying substance she’d located at Eddie’s house drifted beneath the heavier odors, trailing like sticky fingers.

Not illness. Not injury.

Gillian snapped her head and glanced at the door. Brett’s eyes narrowed and Owen’s expression was unreadable. “Poison.”

One word and all hell broke loose.

It was mid-morning of the next day by the time she’d finished with the third and final autopsy. They only had three bodies to work with, as all the others had been cremated in keeping with pack tradition. Hatcher had a full medical clinic attached to his home, though it hadn’t been visible from the front. Brett’s Hunters brought in Eddie and Leo.

She confirmed her suspicions about Eddie through examination and blood samples. When she’d said she’d need the blood tested, Brett had taken care of it. When she’d requested tools or a brighter set of lights, they’d showed up. The Alpha wasn’t fooling around and, through every step of the procedures, he’d remained alongside Owen.

Half the time she forgot they were there until Owen forced coffee into her hand or made her leave the room to eat. Then she’d wander back in. She and her wolf wanted to know what happened to these men and she wouldn’t stop hunting until she had her prey.

Hatcher’s autopsy left her sad and wrung out. Even in death, the sense of him as a healer remained. Her soul hurt, and she wished she’d known him. What made him laugh? What made him shake his head in disbelief? Had he been a thoughtful man? So many questions. His pack keened for him. They’d been arriving for hours. Despite her focus, she’d heard the thump of feet or caught new scents from outside.

Leo had been the last. A wolf in his mid-forties, if she were to guess, he’d been a healthy, vital male. Like Eddie and Hatcher, he’d been felled by poison, though he also had several broken bones and his neck had been snapped. A fall, according to Marco when he’d delivered the body. The somber wolf explained that they weren’t sure of time of death, other than they’d known something was wrong and had gone hunting for him.

So he’d taken a fall.
But you didn’t die right away, did you?

A few broken bones wouldn’t kill a wolf. Hell, she’d seen one come back after having his skull half-caved in. Granted, he’d been more than a little forgetful after the incident, but he’d recovered. She took her time stitching Leo closed. His family deserved a whole body returned for the pyre. The organs in all three had shown necrosis with Hatcher’s being the worst and Eddie’s the best.

Another symptom of poison. But she didn’t recognize the scent of anything, save the strange narcotic, and she’d have to trust whatever results Brett’s lab delivered. None of the wolves currently laid out on the steel tabletops around her deserved their deaths. Sure, wolves died like everything else. Gillian especially understood the chaos and pain of a brutal accident severing the lives of the ones she loved.

Eddie’s death could be excused if he’d been an anomaly as a young wolf experimenting with intoxicants. Their normal metabolisms prevented—
their metabolisms.
 

She glanced at her hands and went to the sink. Stripping off the latex gloves she examined the fingers on her right hand. They were warm and a little numb. Turning the water on, she began to scrub. Her healing gift hadn’t quieted since she’d touched Hatcher. It had reacted to the evidence she catalogued with her senses.

And to the poison leeching into her system.

Keeping her voice steady, she said, “Brett. Owen. We need to make sure that no one touches the bodies with bare hands. Any who have…” What should she tell them to do? She hadn’t identified the poison, but the odd tingling sensation in her fingers had extended to her arm while she’d worked.

Though he’d said nothing to her over the long hours she’d spent on the autopsies, Owen was suddenly at her side. “What’s wrong?”

“Ketamine. It’s transdermal. Whatever they had in them…” Her words slurred, and her tongue felt thick. “It’s passing through the skin to skin contact.” She should never have touched Hatcher, but she couldn’t have stopped herself. Her gift worked better when in contact.

Black streaks tunneled her vision and she kept scrubbing her hands. The wild tingling sensation continued to inch up her arm. Owen reached for her and she flinched away.

“Glosh.” She blinked once, and it seemed to take a long moment. Angry voices erupted behind her, but in slow motion as though some had taken an old tape and made it drag. Even washing her hands seemed to take forever. She had to clean her skin as best as possible. “Aunt Sheptic.”

Wait, she wasn’t in front of the sink anymore. Between one moment and the next she’d gone from washing her hands to seated on a sofa. Orders were being hurled and her hands were bathed in something hot.

Too hot.

It would blister.

Her wolf scrambled inside of her, and she tried to jerk her hands free. Only they weren’t encased in anything. No, whatever was affecting her attacked her nervous center. A distant part of her mind tried to catalogue the symptoms.

“Wash.” No, not the word she wanted.

Owen knelt in front of her, his expression one of steely determination. “You washed your hands, Gillian. We also put the antiseptic on both. Emma said you need to drink. Lots of water.”

Emma was here? Oh, that was good. Emma could fix it if she’d messed up. He pressed a bottle of water to her lips and she tried to open her mouth, but she couldn’t seem to make it work. The muscles in her face tightened and her teeth grit together.

Interesting
. The nervous reaction was spreading to the muscular system. Insidiously creeping through her systems. Nerves, muscles…organs would be next.

“Gillian, drink the damn water.” The order sliced through her and she scowled.

“Thinking. Leave me alone.” The ketamine was the magic bullet, the transport system. The numbing effect was just a byproduct and, if she hadn’t been distracted by her sadness, she would have noticed it sooner. A hand tightened around her nape and tilted her head back, then water spilled into her mouth.

Oh God, that tasted good. She nearly moaned.

Owen filled her vision again, all blurry and soft around the edges. He was such a beautiful man. Why did he have to be such an ass? “You can be so sweet.”

“Thank you. You need to drink more.” He almost sounded like he was apologizing. He poured more water down her throat. She choked a little, but it was like ambrosia to her parched throat and lips. The cramp spasming her cheek eased.

“Why are you being so mean to me?” The thud of her heart filled her ears. Too slow. Her wolf thrashed frantically. Her heart was beating way too slow.

“I’m sorry. Emma said make sure you drink. We need to flush the toxins out and help your gift.” Another apology. God, he was so thick-headed.

“Water nice. I meant me. Why are you so mean to me? I asked you into my bed. I’ve begged you. You don’t want me.” Tears filled her eyes. Another symptom? Her heart stuttered. “Why don’t you want me?”

Silence resounded around her. Owen’s expression tensed, then softened. “Silly little wolf, you’re the only one I want. Now drink.”

Oh.
Why did he…? She didn’t get to finish the thought. Her stomach rebelled and a low keening cut through the air. Her. She made that sound, right before she retched all over him.

He didn’t retreat, flinch, or even let her go.

The blackness swamped her vision and her gift burned inside her like a heater turned to full blast.

Not good
.

The hours bled together as Owen kept watch over Gillian. He’d damn near come to blows with Hudson River wolves several times. They’d surged into the house, their desire to help admirable and, on some level, Owen understood. He still refused to let them near her. Brett kept invading his space—invading her space—he even brought in a phone.

Mason’s voice had been deadly cold and his order unmistakable. “Allow them to assist in taking care of her. Emma has instructions. Brett already filled me in.” His Alpha had to know Brett and his wolves could hear when he added, “If we lose her, Owen, we take the price back in blood.” His Alpha’s unflinching support and confidence calmed his wolf’s wild response.

After carrying her into a different suite, he’d watched with deadly intensity as one of Brett’s wolves, a medic, inserted an IV into her arm. Emma’s instructions played on a repeating loop inside his mind. Orders he understood, directions he could commit and execute.