Legend of the White Wolf
Page 29

Letting out his breath, he hurried back to the sled. He slipped the shovel on the sled and climbed onto the runners. Even if she couldn't see that he was one of them, she knew the others were. No words could express what had happened to make it any less unreal.
In pain and worried about Charles's condition, Cameron shouted, "Hike!"
The dogs took off and they raced past the grave mounds.
"Haw!" he shouted, steering them left, toward Charles's camp.
He hoped Faith could deal with all that had happened, and that she wasn't too traumatized. She needed to manage the other team, if they were going to get both sleds home. He prayed Charles would be all right when they got him to Millinocket. And Cameron hoped that he didn't have a sudden urge to turn into a wolf again ever.
He made kissing sounds at the team, encouraging them to run faster.
When they reached Charles's camp, Cameron hollered, "Whoa," and the dogs came to a halt.
"What's wrong with Charles?" Faith climbed out of the sled bag and seemed much steadier now.
"Not sure. I couldn't rouse him." Cameron grabbed the first aid kit and hurried into the tent.
Charles was sitting up, his eyes glazed.
"Hell, you're alive." Thank God for small miracles. Cameron knelt beside him and took his wrist to feel for the strength of his pulse, although he concentrated more on listening to Charles's heartbeat, but he couldn't let Faith know that. Strong steady pulse, not raspy like he'd feared.
Charles's gaze shifted to Cameron. "What… what happened?"
Cameron glanced at the sleeping bag and saw blood where Charles's head had been.
"You tell me. You took off and left us to fend for ourselves." Cameron examined the back of Charles's head as Faith knelt beside Charles and held his hand.
"Ambush," Charles said and started to lie down.
Cameron stopped him. "Wait, let me see where you're injured." Then he found the bloody swelling centered on the very back of his head. "Who struck you?"
Charles moaned and closed his eyes.
"Kintail? One of his men?"
Charles didn't respond, but with the way he was struck from behind, he might not have even seen who hit him. Cameron pulled bandaging out of the first aid kit and wrapped it around Charles's head, trying not to hurt him any more than he was already. But Charles winced and groaned.
"What's wrong with him?"
"Someone struck him from behind." Cameron eased Charles down on the sleeping bag and covered him with the blankets.
Faith rubbed her arms. "He wasn't bitten, was he?"
"No, he wasn't bitten. Here, you can feel the knot on the back of his head. Probably got a concussion. He's pretty out of it."
"Kintail's men?" she whispered.
"Good bet."
"So what do we do now? Find our way by ourselves? Wait until he's better?"
"We'll be right back, Charles." Cameron took Faith's arm and led her from the tent to the sled. "We can't go the way we came or we'd have to run by Kintail's lodge. We'll have to find our way to the main road that had been blocked. Since he's in bad shape, we'll stay here, let the dogs rest, then head for the cabins. I'll set up our tent and—"
"I'll stay with Charles. To make sure he's okay during the night."
Again he wondered if she had a clue about the wolf and him being one and the same, about his being naked in the snow. And why she hadn't asked him anything more about it. "All right. Go to him then. Let me know if he gets any worse." He headed for the dogs.
"I'll help you with the huskies."
He thought she'd ask him what had happened at their camp. Instead, she talked lovingly to the dogs and helped get them settled. Then, much to his surprise, she assisted him in setting up the tent. When they were done, they shared an awkward moment of silence. He wanted to kiss her and give her a hug, to reassure her that they'd all be fine. But before he could take her in his arms, she said good night, whipped around, and quickly escaped to Charles's tent.
He couldn't reproach her, although he couldn't stifle his desire for her, no matter how much he tried. Normally, if a woman wasn't interested in him, he wouldn't have followed up. Although no woman had ever acted afraid of him. Except for the case where he'd questioned a woman who had everything to hide—including a dead husband and stolen money from work—but he didn't think he would have anything to do with a woman who feared him. So what the hell was making him want Faith even more?
The need to prove he was the same person as before? The same man that she'd found as desirable as he found her? But he wasn't the same, either. He was some kind of aberration. And he still wanted her. Craved her as if she was his lifeline to reality.
Inside the tent, she asked Charles, "Are you going to be all right?"
Cameron hesitated to hear an answer. Charles didn't respond, much to Cameron's disappointment, then he ducked into his own tent.
His shoulder was throbbing with a deep ache and after settling into his sleeping bag, he tossed and turned, reliving the night's events. He thought about Kintail and his wolves and how they were not at all what they seemed. Which meant?
Hell, Kintail was probably one, too. And David and Owen?
Cameron raked his hands through his hair.
If they'd seen Kintail's people shapeshift, had he had them killed? Or were they now what he was?
Chapter 12
UNABLE TO SLEEP AFTER ALL SHE'D WITNESSED, FAITH rolled over and felt Charles's pulse again. Normal. His breathing was steady. She sighed and hoped in another couple of hours, he'd be feeling well enough to make the journey. And that she could drive a team without any problem.
She bumped against something plastic, wondered what it was, then realized it was the first aid kit. Damn. She'd meant to tend to Cameron's wound.
She couldn't get the look of hurt in Cameron's expression out of her mind—although he'd quickly hid it when she'd chosen to stay with Charles instead of him—but she had to watch over Charles. Beyond that, yeah, she couldn't have stayed with Cameron. She just couldn't have—not in light of what had happened. She didn't want to think about why he was naked either, or how he could have survived in the cold that way for long. Only one conclusion she could come up with, and that was too bizarre to contemplate. But the wolf had been chasing her and then all of a sudden she was pinned beneath Cameron's naked body? He hadn't shouted to her he was coming to save her, nothing. Just one pounce and she was facedown in the snow, and then he was on top of her, heating her backside.
Not only that, but their savior wolf had miraculously vanished. If he hadn't, she still would have wondered what Cameron was doing freezing his naked ass off in the Maine wilderness. And how had he been injured? Wolf bite for sure. But when and where? He sure hadn't freely offered any explanations either and that didn't bode well.
But even so, she'd meant to treat his injury.
Grabbing the first aid kit, she crawled out of the sleeping bag and tent. Several of the dogs lifted their heads and watched her. She shushed them before they ran to greet her.
She peeked inside Cameron's dark tent, but she couldn't see anything. She hesitated. Maybe this was a stupid idea if he was sleeping soundly, and she should just skip it. But his bite wound had looked nasty, she'd promised, and besides, it might soothe his pride that she hadn't stayed with him.
She crawled into the tent, opened up the first aid kit, and pulled out the ointment and bandages. Then she reached for Cameron's arm, to shake him slightly and wake him so she could ask him to turn on his lantern, and she'd doctor him.
Bad plan. Her fingers felt fur and lean, mean wolf instead. As soon as she touched him, she about had a heart attack. He growled, whipped his head around, and bit her.
She screamed and fluorescent amber eyes peered at her in the dark, then the shine in them faded. Her heart beat pounding, she jumped back, favoring her throbbing hand, and ran into one of the tent poles. The pole toppled and the tent collapsed.
Feeling suffocated, Faith scrambled away from the center of the tent, trying to extricate herself from the tomb of polypropylene fabric. Her hand touched fur again and she jerked back, afraid he'd bite her once more. She thrust her hands out madly in another direc tion. The canvas elevated near her. He'd slipped in front of her, like a dangerous predator, unwilling to let her escape.
A tongue licked her injured hand, and she gasped. The taste before another bite?
Again, she crawled toward what she hoped was the tent opening, but all she found was more tent, and then Cameron's soft bedding. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she scrambled over his blankets and sleeping bag and tried to locate a way out.
And then she touched bare skin—Cameron's thigh?
Before she could jerk away, a large hand grabbed her wrist and held on tight. "Stay."
God, Cameron. Barely breathing, she didn't move.
"I'm sorry, Faith. I didn't mean to bite you." He sounded remorseful, but worried, too.
Her hand was stinging so badly, she was sure he'd broken the skin. Her heart pounded like a sledgehammer while she tried to come to grips with the truth. He was the wolf. It made the only sense and yet no sense at all.
But he was the wolf—he admitted biting her, had been chasing her earlier, had saved the dogs and her from the other wolves—which was the only reasonable explanation that fit. The dead men—the ones who had been wolves before Cameron had killed them—they were like him. He was one of them.
She groaned and collapsed onto the bedding. Could Cameron's bite have transferred whatever he was to her, and she'd be like him now?
"What were you doing in here?" He pressed her hand against his face and breathed deeply.
She swallowed hard, trying to calm her racing heart, to drum up the courage to speak. What was she doing in here? Oh, yeah, his wound.
"I was going to put some salve on your injury."