Wolf Claim (Wolves of Willow Bend Book 3) (11 page)

“Gillian is a healer, Owen. You have to remember that. She has been fighting to consciousness. Her fever is indicative of her body’s response. Hydration is what we have to focus on, particularly because a healer’s gift will pull all her available resources.” Emma had paused, her composure admirable, but not even she could disguise the worry beneath her words. “Think of it this way…when we hunt, in the heat of battle, you lose focus for anything save what you must destroy and what you must protect, yes?”

His answer had been a single word. “Yes.” At that moment, Gillian needed his protection and, whomever had begun this attack on Hudson River? They needed to die.

“Good, you’re hearing me.” Kindness and empathy were wasted on him. In some distant part of his mind, he understood what she attempted and maybe someday he would even appreciate it, but until Gillian opened those beautiful topaz eyes of hers, a smile lit her face, and the sickly pallor leaching the color from her sweet caramel skin retreated…he wasn’t willing to respond.

“Tell me what I need to know, Emma.”

She sighed. “A healer’s gift works the same way. She is fighting to heal herself, to purge the poison, and to alleviate any physical damage—”

“She will live, won’t she?” No other outcome was acceptable.

“The next few hours are crucial. She vomited, and that’s a good sign. She may do that a few more times, another reason for the importance of the water. Keep her hydrated…keep her warm.” A moment of silence. “Owen?”

“Yes?”

“She needs pack right now. You
have
to be there for her. Give her something to hold on to, be her anchor. Don’t you let her leave us.” The healer’s voice thickened with tears. “Thomas and I are arranging a charter.” Mason had said nothing about their senior healer coming, but he might not be willing to risk both. Owen wanted Emma here.

He wanted Emma to fix it. So he didn’t argue. “I won’t let her go.” It was the only promise he had to give. They’d disconnected the call, and Brett’s phone rang again.
Mason
. His Alpha wanted to speak to the Hudson River Alpha, so Owen focused on Gillian.

The other wolves gave them space, though more crowded in the area. He could hear them. Smell them. His wolf paced restlessly inside him. They were too exposed. Too many
others
they didn’t know—too many threats. She’d given into delirium. After ripping out his heart with her accusation that he didn’t care, she’d lapsed into a near peaceful state of sleep interrupted only by low moaning. If not for his focused attention, he might have missed the slow, but steady beat of her heart. The rise and fall of her chest.

At Emma’s direction, he’d stripped off his clothes, changed into fresh and worn gloves to do the same for Gillian. He’d seen her naked before, wolves didn’t put much stock in nudity. Yet stripping her while she’d been vulnerable and unaware proved disconcerting. He hated the separation from skin contact the gloves imposed, but Emma had insisted. Until the poison was out of Gillian’s system, skin contact had to be a no go.

Hell for a wolf. They needed contact. So he kept a gloved hand on her, held her hand, cupped her cheek—anything to let her know he was here. A sound at the door and Owen shifted slightly, a hammer in his hand. He could throw it with deadly accuracy, and it would serve well as a first blow toward any potential attacker.

“It’s me,” Brett announced even as his scent drifted into the room. He waited a heartbeat before entering fully, a courtesy Owen hadn’t precisely earned. With him came two large bags. “I brought food.”

Chicken, hamburgers, and tacos if Owen’s nose could be trusted.

“I’m not hungry.” Not exactly gratitude, but Owen set the hammer down and refocused on Gillian. The stillness made him crazy. He’d thought it would be an improvement over the thrashing and moaning, but it wasn’t.

It was worse.

“Take this in the spirit it’s intended, Chase.” Brett’s voice deepened, and the feel of Alpha permeated the room. He wasn’t Owen’s Alpha, but the fact hardly diminished the effect. “Bullshit. You need to eat so you can continue to take care of her. It’s been hours, and she hasn’t worsened.”

Owen dragged his attention from Gillian and scowled at the Alpha. “Don’t presume to give me orders.”

“So, stop being a jackass.” He crossed the room and set the bags down next to Owen, then dropped a hand on his shoulder. “Mason’s fucking pissed. I’m fucking pissed. You’re fucking pissed. In this, we’re three united toward a common goal.”

Despite shrugging his shoulder, Owen didn’t dislodge the Alpha’s grip.

“That common goal is catching the bastard hurting
my
wolves—and who hurt her.”

“Let go of me.” Owen growled. He was holding his shit together, and he would continue to hold it together. What he didn’t need was some kind of foreign pack interference.

“No.” Flat. Implacable. Unyielding. “I promised Mason I would return his wolves to him healthy and whole. I already failed where she was concerned, but we will see her through this. The way to do that is for you to eat.” Brett slapped the bags of food to Owen’s chest. “I will keep watch so that you can eat.”

The Alpha released him then took a position near the door and leaned on the wall, arms folded. Owen grimaced. The longer he scented the food the hungrier he grew, but the last thing he should have was respite while Gillian still slept.

Owen squeezed Gillian’s hand once, waited for a response, which he didn’t receive. Disappointed, he stripped off his gloves and opened one of the bags. “You’re an asshole.”

“You’re welcome,” was his only reply.

He finished nearly everything in the bag. The fast food nirvana wasn’t his favorite, but fuck it all, Brett was right. He was hungry.

“Any changes since I was last here?” Brett asked after tossed the remnants into the trashcan.

“None.” Not a flicker, not a move, she was so fucking still. Since Brett brought up that they were on the same side, he asked, “What have you found out?”

“Still waiting on lab results. We’re missing three packmates. I have every Hunter out tracking.”

Owen’s gut knotted. “Male?”

“Yes, all three.”

“What the fuck is going on in your pack, Brett?”

Aggression flooded the room, but Dalton didn’t move from the wall. “My promise to protect you doesn’t preclude me kicking your ass, Chase.”

“I don’t
need
your protecti—” A low moan from the bed cut through his temper, and Owen surged forward. Gillian’s eyes were open, but unfocused. Brett closed the distance, his attention on her as she pushed at the blanket.

“Shop writing.” The words were as incoherent as they’d been earlier—all save the ones she’d used to let Owen know he’d caused her pain.

“We’re not fighting, little wolf.” Brett’s swift answer spiked Owen’s temper, but he choked off his reaction. Gillian didn’t need his anger. “You need to wake up now. The pack needs to know you’re safe.
Your
pack needs you to be safe.”

The distinction amidst the rise of energy in the room set Owen’s teeth
on edge
. Brett danced perilously
on the edge
by asserting any authority over her. Since Owen would rather she were awake, however, he chose to ignore it. “Gillian, come on, sweetheart, wake up.”

 Her pupils were huge. The black circles so wide they left little of her topaz in evidence except for a thin ring. “Hot. Better. Hungry. Numbness. Mad.” The litany of words made no sense, and he shared a concerned look with Brett. The Alpha reached out and wrapped a hand around her sheet-covered ankle.

“Gillian.” Command filled every syllable. She blinked slowly, then scrambled upright. The change hit her so hard and fast, even Brett backed off a pace. Owen grabbed the IV shunt and tugged it from her arm even as her skin and muscles twisted. The last thing she needed was a foreign object embedded in her body. Sheets shredded under her claws and she got tangled in the T-shirt Owen had dressed her in.

His shirt. Her wolf, so beautifully and naturally submissive wasn’t pleased. She snapped at the shirt, tearing a hole in it to try and free herself. Owen caught her scruff and, gently as he could, ripped the shirt free. She settled at the contact, sitting and panting. The lost, dazed look in her eyes disappeared behind a flash of intelligence.

“Magnificent,” Brett exhaled the compliment and it echoed the one in Owen’s soul.

The soft gold of her fur was unique, even in Willow Bend, exquisitely shaded, like a ray of sunshine given wolf form. Her topaz eyes never shifted between wolf and human. Unlike so many wolves, her eye color was always the same. With almost exaggerated care, she stood, stretched and yawned. With a flick of her ears, she turned to face Owen.

“Eighteen hours,” he told her. Every single one a cut he’d endured. “We hydrated you. Emma said we should avoid skin contact until you completed the purge.” Every molecule in him wanted to pull her to him, bury his fingers and face into her fur until only her scent coated his lungs. He wanted to know she was alive and well.

Once assured, he wanted to hunt. To kill the bastard who put her in such danger.

Dipping her head, she sniffed at her legs. Next she inspected the sheets, turning until she’d checked every inch of the bed. Without a look toward either of them she leapt down.

Brett frowned. “Is she all right?”

Uncertain, Owen studied her as she paced the room, stretching and shaking in turns. Finally, she faced them and looked at the door. Rising, Owen paced over to open it. She strode out and he was after her in a flash. Two Hunters rose from their seats in the living room when they appeared. Brett followed in their wake and Gillian didn’t slow until she reached the front door.

The whole house reeked of death and illness. “She wants a shower,” he said with absolute certainty. Relief loosened the fist bruising his heart.

“Then let’s get her what she wants.” Brett glanced at the two Hunters. “Secure this house. No one in, no one out. Touch nothing outside of this room. I’ll have food and water delivered.”

“Yes, sir.” Neither man questioned the order. Brett’s manner didn’t allow for much leeway. Owen edged in front of Gillian and went out first. She gave a huff of a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort and brushed his legs as she past him.

More of Brett’s pack waited for them and their sighs of relief at the sight of her filled the air. The somber mood eased, and Owen nodded to those who’d stood vigil. He had no idea who they were or their names, but they’d waited for news. Waited for her to survive—or worse, maybe they’d waited for another death.

Brett paused once more to give orders, but Gillian wasn’t waiting. She jumped off the porch and Owen continued after her, keeping pace. With a sneeze, she stopped and glanced back at the gathered crowd. Something had her attention, Owen followed her look.

More than three dozen men, women and children filled the clearing around the old healer’s house. Most were riveted on their Alpha. It took him a moment to pick out what held her attention. How he knew, he didn’t question, but the child at the edge of the gathering seemed very alone. He sat, arms wrapped around his upraised knees, rocking in place.

Gillian took a step toward the boy and Owen placed a hand on her back, halting her progress. Squatting, he kept his voice low to keep his words from the too sharp ears of those gathered. “You just woke up. You shouldn’t be exerting yourself.”

Ears pinned back, she growled, the low, threatening noise so unlike any sweet sound she ever made. She tried to shrug him off and he firmed his grip, careful not to hurt her. Healers healed. He understood that, but she’d nearly
died.

“Gillian, you need to take care of you right now.”

Instead of listening to him, however, she gazed at him utterly nonplussed by his suggestion. Ears still pinned she curled her lips and bared her teeth. True submissive or not, she wasn’t interested in his advice.

Indulging his need to touch her, he stroked a hand over her head. “Promise me this is all right for you.” He didn’t ask if it was safe for the child. The last thing she’d ever do was endanger anyone, much less a child.

Her ears flicked forward then she licked his nose. A light touch, a hint of a kiss. And suddenly he was in her good books again. “Okay, go find out if he’s okay.” She streaked away, heading toward the boy.

Owen followed her at a distance until they reached the isolated child, no other adults near him. Better to let her handle it and not present a threat to the child’s parents, if he were to get too close. He passed a glance over the crowd. Brett noticed Gillian’s change of direction. With a quirk of an eyebrow, he questioned Owen’s allowing it. With only a shrug for an answer, Owen focused his attention on her.

She’d reached the child and rubbed her head along his arm. The startled boy blinked at her before, with the trust only a child could possess, he threw his arms around the golden wolf. She tucked her chin over his shoulder, returning the affection and, even from across the darkened field, her topaz eyes seemed to glow.

Thank God she was alive. Living. Breathing. Healing. Making him crazy. The urge to cut down anyone and everyone who threatened her still burned with him. But it vied and lost the battle against the need to simply be with her, to know she was safe.

“Sometimes, we must cross boundaries to protect those we care about,” Brett said, his voice quiet and thoughtful. Owen spared the Alpha a passing look. He’d heard and scented his approach. Whatever he’d said to his people had worked, since they’d begun to leave in pairs or family groups. No one traveled alone.

A couple stood waiting, watching Gillian with the little boy. Like him, they didn’t intrude upon the time the healer spent on the boy.

“That’s Eddie’s younger brother,” Brett said, answering a question Owen hadn’t asked. Which meant the couple watching had already lost one son and explained the deep well of sadness and isolation surrounding the boy. “Trent’s—special. He doesn’t ask a lot of questions, and he’s not a submissive but…”

“Not dominant either.” Owen understood. Gillian continued to lave affection on the child, and the boy talked in broken whispers punctuated by tears.