Vicki Thompson: Werewolf in Alaska

As she dipped a washcloth in the basin, he realized he’d never experienced first aid, human-style. Whenever he’d hurt himself as a wolf or human, which hadn’t been often, he’d simply shifted to accelerate the healing process and let it go at that. Two shifts helped twice as much.

This time he’d find out how nonshifters dealt with injuries. When she touched him with the wet cloth, he nearly went through the ceiling. The stab of pain made him jerk violently, and he began to pant.

“Sorry.” She spoke to him in a low, crooning voice. “I’m sure that hurts.”

No shit. He began to question whether hanging out with Rachel was worth it after all. If he’d made a greater effort to get away from her, he could be deep in the forest healing his wounds by himself. He wouldn’t need her primitive warm-water-and-washcloth routine.

Apparently he’d overestimated the joy of being nursed by her and underestimated the amount of suffering he’d have to endure. She was obviously trying to be gentle, but damn, it hurt . He hadn’t appreciated how good he had it being able to shift his way through an injury. How did humans stand the pain? Narcotics, probably, and he wasn’t getting any of those.

Pride kept him from groaning every time she laid that warm cloth over his wounds, but he sure as hell felt like bellowing. He considered his options. Leaving now might be impossible, especially if she’d closed her front and back doors.

Besides, she wouldn’t let him leave if she could help it. She firmly believed he’d get sick and die without her medical intervention. Instead she was putting him through unnecessary torture, but her heart was in the right place. He was stuck here, so he might as well lie quietly and count his blessings.

And he did have blessings. As she leaned over him, he was surrounded by the sweet smell of almonds. After all the nights he’d traveled around the lake just so he could catch a whiff of her favorite scent, he was in almond heaven, so he’d better enjoy it while he could.

He’d often dreamed of having her touch him, too, and although her touch brought nothing but pain at the moment, that wasn’t her fault. She was only trying to help. In fact, without the aid of shifting, his wounds actually might become infected if she didn’t clean them.

She had courage to even attempt such a thing on an animal she didn’t know. He’d always thought she had guts and spirit, and she’d demonstrated that strength of character tonight. He’d never forget the sight of her bracing for the attack armed with a cardboard tube of sketches.

Good thing he’d been there to stop the mother bear from tearing Rachel to pieces. He’d been lucky to get a good hold on the bear’s throat. As she’d swung him around, he’d telepathically threatened to puncture her jugular if she didn’t stop.

The bear had finally listened to reason and the fight had ended. He’d hoped that Rachel would run inside when the fight started, which would have allowed him to disappear into the woods after it was over. Instead she’d stayed, from either bravery or fear—he couldn’t be sure.

But most people faced with a wounded semiwild wolf would have punched 911 on their cell phone at the end of the fight. Not Rachel. She’d chosen to tend him on her own, as if she understood the need for secrecy. She was truly remarkable, and although every swipe of the damp cloth brought agony, he was still honored to be under her care.

It crossed his mind that if any human could be trusted with the knowledge that werewolves existed, Rachel probably could. For the first time he understood how a Were might talk himself or herself into mating with a human, especially if that human had the sterling qualities Rachel displayed.

That still made human-Were mating a reckless decision. No matter how trustworthy the human might be, he or she could unintentionally leak information to other humans. Security would become impossible to maintain.

He discovered that thinking about the problems of mixed mating helped him forget the pain in his side, so he decided to focus on the topic as a distraction. Another major issue bothering him was the question of offspring. The ability to shift might be passed on to the next generation or it might not. Both of the Wallace brothers from New York faced this uncertainty about any children they might have, because they’d taken human mates.

As a result, they wouldn’t know until their offspring reached puberty whether they’d have the ability to shift or not. The ability to shift, along with an identifiable Were scent, didn’t show up for at least eleven or twelve years. Siblings could end up a mixed bag, with some human and some Were. How could that be a good thing?

He imagined having a discussion with Rachel about it. That wouldn’t ever happen, but if he could debate the issue with her, she’d probably agree with him. Weres and humans weren’t suited as mates. They were from different species and they—

“I should really shave off some of this fur,” she murmured, partly to him but mostly to herself.

He raised his head and glared at her. No way was he submitting to that.

“You keep acting as if you understand every word I’m saying.” She met his glare with a soft smile. “You don’t, of course, but it’s uncanny how you seem to.”

He’d have to watch his reactions so she wouldn’t edge any closer to the truth. But he wouldn’t let her take a razor to his coat, and that was final. One shift to human form and another back to wolf form, and he’d be on the road to recovery. If she started hacking up his coat while he was in wolf form, it wouldn’t grow out for weeks.

“I’m sure you don’t want me to shave you, but it would make dressing your wounds about five hundred percent easier. I’m going to try it and see what happens.”

The hell she was. After she walked away, he staggered to his feet and headed unsteadily toward the bedroom door. He’d leap through a glass window if he had to. His fur had never been shaved, and he wasn’t about to let her do it now.

“Hey.” She blocked his path, scissors in one hand and a girlie-looking pink razor in the other. “Where do you think you’re going?”

With one glance at the razor, he shouldered his way past her. Bad enough that she planned to shave him, but with a pink razor? Hell, no. Adrenaline gave him strength, and he nearly knocked her down. As he’d suspected, both the front door and the back one leading out to the deck were closed tight.

So were the windows. The bear had scared her into battening down the hatches. He didn’t blame her, and he’d hate to repay her kindness by breaking through her window.

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure if he could work up enough momentum to do that. The windows on the lake side of the cabin looked fairly new, which could mean they were double paned. Besides, if he succeeded in breaking through, he’d leave her vulnerable if the bear returned.

He’d told the mother grizzly to keep away, but her cub was young and unruly. He could scamper back. Curiosity might cause him to climb through a shattered window, and his mother would be obliged to follow. Jake cursed a bad situation that left him no good options.

“What’s gotten into you?” Rachel approached him, still holding the scissors and pink razor. “You seemed so docile until I mentioned shaving your fur.” She frowned. “Surely that isn’t the reason?”

Growling, he backed away from her.

“I can’t believe it’s that.” She tucked both hands behind her back. “You can’t possibly know what I plan to do with these.”

Yes, I do, toots. He growled again, louder this time. He would never hurt her, but if she thought she could trick him into getting shaved, she had another think coming. He’d find a way to escape that fate, one way or another.