Vicki Thompson: Werewolf in Alaska

“All right, I’ll give up on it for now. Come on back to your bed and lie down. You shouldn’t be walking around. You’re shaking like a leaf and you’re bleeding again.”

He was shaking, and he hated that. He’d lost a lot of blood, and without the ability to shift, he was pathetically weak.

“Go on. Get back in there and lie down before you fall down.”

He saw the wisdom in that suggestion. If he collapsed in the middle of her living room, he might not have the strength to get up again, let alone stop her from shaving him. The folded quilt she’d fixed for him was far more comfortable than this wide-plank wood flooring. He made his way back to the bedroom.

“The thing is, I want to put some salve on your wounds, and it will make a mess of your fur, which is incredibly thick. If I could just trim around the gashes, the process would be way easier. Then I could bandage you better, too.”

She wasn’t going to let the idea go. He imagined himself getting shaved and then heading to San Francisco in three days. Giselle had scheduled a late-night run with some of WARM’s supporters in the hills outside the city, and if Rachel had her way, he’d be the mangiest looking animal on that run.

Besides, some Were was bound to ask about it, and what was he supposed to say? That he’d allowed a human female to shave off his fur, like Delilah snipping on Sampson? This time in Rachel’s cabin had to remain their little secret, and that meant keeping all his fur intact. As much as he longed to curl up on the fluffy quilt, he followed his instincts and crawled under her king-sized bed.

He was too big to be doing that, but by flattening himself to the floor, he managed to wiggle his way to the very middle. Every movement hurt like crazy, but at least he’d be safe under there.

“Oh, for pity’s sake. Come out of there. How am I supposed to put salve on you when you’re under the bed?”

He figured he could do without the salve. She’d given him a dose of the antibiotic and cleaned his wounds. That should be good enough. It would be more than enough if only he could shift, but he didn’t dare try, even hidden under the bed after she was asleep.

The space was cramped, and assuming she slept in that bed tonight, she might feel him bumping around underneath her during a shift. Just his luck she’d hang her head over the edge and spy a naked man where a wolf used to be. He’d wait out the night and escape in the morning.

She didn’t appear ready to give up so easily, however. Dropping to her hands and knees, she peered under the bed. “I see you under there, wolf.”

He could see her, too, and she looked adorably pissed at him. Too bad. At this moment their goals weren’t aligned and she’d have to get over it.

“I wish I knew what has freaked you out. I still can’t believe it was the scissors and razor.”

He stared back at her and sent her a telepathic message. It was mostly the very pink razor. He didn’t expect her to get the message. Humans couldn’t communicate with Weres in wolf form. But he felt better after sending it, even if she couldn’t hear him.

She frowned as if trying to make sense of something. He wondered if her empathy allowed her to pick up part of the transmission, even if she couldn’t understand all of it. She was the most intuitive human he’d ever met, so she might hear a muddled version of his telepathic thoughts.

Testing her innate ability would be fascinating. But he’d have to reveal himself as a werewolf to do that, and he had no intention of betraying himself or his kind. He might believe she wouldn’t sound the alarm, but could he be absolutely sure?

His heart answered yes , but his logical brain insisted that she was human, and humans represented too great a risk to security. She could never be allowed to know who he was.

As that truth fully penetrated, he was filled with sadness. How cruel that he could be so close to her and yet so far. He chafed at the barriers, even while knowing they had to stay firmly in place. His belief system had never seemed like a straitjacket before, but it did tonight.

“All right, wolf, I surrender.”

If only she knew how often he’d fantasized having her saying that in a different context.

“I get the feeling that once you dig in your heels, there’s no budging you, so I’m going to leave you alone and get ready for bed. And I’ll call Otis. I’m sure he’s frantic.” Rising to her feet, she sat on the bed and the mattress shifted above him.

Jake wondered how she’d handle the phone call. If he was right about her, she wouldn’t mention that she’d been saved by a big black wolf. He wanted to be right about her.

“Hey, Otis. Sorry about that, but I couldn’t talk until I’d made it safely inside.” One of her running shoes dropped to the floor. Then she tossed a sock on top of it. “Yeah, I’m fine.” The other shoe landed with a soft plop. “The bear decided to leave. Guess it changed its mind about eating me.”

Jake exhaled in relief. He had been right. She wasn’t going to tell the whole story, at least not to her client.

“Actually, it was my fault for not looking before I walked out of my workshop. Trust me, I’ll be a lot more careful in the future.”

As she stood barefoot next to the bed, he heard her unzip her jeans and then saw her shove them down to her ankles before stepping out of them. His nose twitched as he drew in the sweet fragrance she stirred up by shucking off those jeans.

“Absolutely, Otis. I should have that triptych finished by sometime next month. Once I’m closer to the end of the project, we’ll figure out the best time for me to install it in the lobby.” She paused. “Right. I’ll need a couple of days to do that.”

She was silent for a moment, and then she laughed. “All my doors and windows are locked tight. Don’t worry. Okay? I’m safe now. Good night.” She sighed. The click of the phone being placed on the nightstand was followed by her T-shirt joining the rest of her clothes on the floor. “And that’s that, wolf.”

Last of all, her underwear landed on the pile. Plain white cotton with only a smidgen of lace. She didn’t dress seductively, not even when it came to underwear. Once again he asked himself why he found her so wildly sexy.

Part of it was her scent. He’d reacted to it from that first day, and not only because he liked almonds. Her natural aroma drew him, too.

Had she been Were, the reason would have been obvious. An attraction this strong usually meant a werewolf had found his soul mate. But he refused to consider the possibility that his soul mate would turn out to be a human.

The Wallace brothers had each justified their choice that way, but Jake thought they were rationalizing. They’d lusted after those women just as he lusted after Rachel, and they’d justified their actions by claiming a soul-mate connection. It had made the decision so much easier for them.

Jake thought they should have been stronger than that. They could have resisted, just as he’d resisted Rachel all this time. He didn’t pretend it was easy, but with the fate of werewolves hanging in the balance, tough choices had to be made.

Rachel gathered her clothes and shoes and walked into the bathroom that adjoined the bedroom. By turning his head, Jake could see that she’d left the door ajar. And why not? No need for modesty if your guest is a wolf. A rush of water indicated she’d turned on the shower.

Moments later, the shower-curtain rings scraped across the rod as she stepped in. The aroma of almonds became more prominent, and he imagined her using scented soap on her lithe body. Then she began to sing some popular song about rainbows.

Sharp longing overshadowed the ache in his side. Being here with her in such an intimate way was far more tortuous than he’d anticipated. He should have known, though. Hiding in the shadows night after night had been a small taste of what he was experiencing now.