Rogue Wolf (19 page)

“And…?”

“And to destroy the rogue violating our laws. If your sister is helping him, I have to kill her, too.”

Rage spilled over from the man to the wolf and back again. “She is not yours to destroy.”

“If she broke our laws, she is…and this is why they will be within their rights to kill me, Salvatore. If I break this law for you—for her, because of you—I
am
the Rogue.”

“No.” He told her, gripping her chin. “You are mine. You may fight it all you want, but no one will harm you. We will tend to this and they will stay out of it or I will rip them apart.”

She cradled his face, and the lightness of her touch leashed the fury in him. “I am not yours. I do not choose you. I will do everything I can to protect you and your sister, to see that you can take her home and then I will face my punishment.”

The tile cracked under his fist at her repudiation. “Margo that is pride, not your heart talking.”

“It’s both, you just haven’t accepted it yet.” She released him. “Now let me go.”

“No,” he said, then slammed his mouth down on hers. The kiss was savage in its possession and denial. She could fight him all she wanted, and he welcomed the chase. If this was how she intended to run, he would still pursue. Breaking the kiss, he studied her. “I will never let you go. Run all you want, but you will feel me at your back and know that I am
always
there.”

Straightening, he released her and backed into the water. She scampered away, and he let her go. Switching the hot water to ice cold, he forced himself to remain where he was. He needed his intellect, not his passion. No one would deny a mating, wolves didn’t. The mating bond was the strongest of all, superseding even that of wolf to Alpha. It was how mates from differing packs, even packs at war, could still come together.

If he had to mow down every Enforcer to free her, he would.

Margo was his, dammit.

It took him another ten minutes of icy water to cool his temper. By the time he left the shower, dried off and dressed, Margo had fled down stairs. He’d waited her out, needing the time to refocus his will. His wolf agreed, they understood the nature of their hunt. If they put their mind to something, they would accomplish it. Making Margo theirs was the priority—over rescuing his sister, over dealing with the rogue. Both of those needed to happen, but Margo came first.

She’d taken her bag, but left him his. He armed himself, dressing in slacks and a button down shirt. The nature of civility and control. The beast wanted to rend, but the man, he would procure. She needed proof of his capability to protect her even from her own honor. He would give her all of that and more.

Half-expecting to find her in the car, he was surprised to see her at the bottom of the stairs, bag at her side. Pausing, he stood three steps above and waited.

“I don’t want to go out there,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know I have to. I know what I need to do, yet I don’t want to go out there.”

So remarkable in her determination. Did she even recognize the strength she demonstrated? “You are not going out alone, Margo.”

She blew out a breath, then glanced at him over her shoulder. “Just so we’re clear, I loved every minute of last night.”

Appreciating the compliment, he smiled. “As did I. I look forward to repeating it tonight.”

“Salvatore…”

“Trust me.” He descended the last steps, then crossed to her side. Brushing his knuckles down her cheek, he repeated the phrase. “Trust me.”

“You can’t fight this battle for me.” She stole his heart when she caught his hand, then pressed her lips to his knuckles. “You can’t. If you do, if you pit yourself against them, you make yourself my enemy and I have to defend them. I don’t want to fight you.”

Stubborn woman. Ignoring the dozen phrases he could use to rebut her statement, he settled for kissing her. “Trust me.”

Groaning, Margo wrapped her arms around him and hugged him. The tight embrace went a long way toward soothing him. He cradled her and nearly missed her whispered words. “I do trust you.”

The wall of tension crackling between them collapsed. It was enough. He closed his eyes and savored her nearness. It was enough—for now. “Then let us go.”

Another squeeze, then she stepped out of his arms and retrieved her bag. With a sniff, she gave him a small smile. “I have a feeling our phones rang off the hook since you left them in the car.”

“Too bad for them,” he said without regret. “I wanted no interruptions to disturb us.”

Margo laughed. “At the risk of inflating your ego, I don’t think a marching band could have distracted me from you last night.”

“Perhaps we shall test that theory,” he grinned. “You haven’t heard some of the parties at home…” He held the door for her and she was still laughing when she strolled out the front.

A pop echoed through the morning and he frowned. The snap. The crack. The explosion of noise, then a bullet struck the wood and it shattered into splinters. Three more followed in rapid succession. Blood scented the air and Salvatore tackled Margo off the steps as the porch erupted in a shower of splintering lumber. They hit the grass and he rolled, keeping over her as he dragged her to the car.

Blood.

Dropping his gaze, he roared. Red spread over her shoulder and down her arm and her eyes were closed. A bloody gouge seared her cheek. He caught the sound of running feet, then a door slammed in the distance. He could catch the bastard, catch them and eviscerate them or save her.

There was no question for him.

Chapter Eleven

“She has to shift.” A woman with a vaguely familiar voice spoke, the words penetrating the darkness.

“She has shifted four times already, and the wound is wider than it was when you began.” Salvatore’s cool voice vibrated with pure rage. Latching onto the sound, she fought to swim upward.

“I know, I was here. I’m sorry. The bullets had silver in them or at least a silver compound. It shattered when it hit the bone and it was everywhere.” The woman didn’t back down and her apology rang with pure sincerity.

Scalding heat burned in her shoulder and spread out across her chest and along her neck. Had someone set her on fire? Pressure dug into her shoulder, setting every nerve on fire and a scream wrenched from her lips as her thoughts shredded.

“Shift.” Salvatore’s voice rang through the darkness and she clung to the word, the only constant in a kaleidoscope of hell. Her body tore itself apart and began to reassemble. Every muscle pull and snap of bone reverberated through her and then she was on four feet.

Lips peeled back from her teeth, she lunged at the hand holding her. All she knew was pain and she wanted the pain to stop. Something fisted her scruff and hauled her backward.

“Stop.” The command disintegrated the shards of pain stabbing her on all sides, coalescing into one demand for obedience. She turned, flicking her ears toward the sound of the voice. Her vision continued to haze, the world wavering in and out of focus. Her right front leg buckled and she half collapsed. A strong arm steadied her. “I am here, Margo. Trust me.”

Trust. Yes, she could trust the voice. She knew him. He was a strong wolf. He would protect her.

“Oh good.” Relief populated the woman’s voice, and she was near once more. Margo turned her ears toward her, then tried to see past the fog. The woman seemed familiar. Lithe, and fragile—almost like a pixie. A gentle hand feathered over her downed leg and to her shoulder. The hot brand of pain seared into her mind, but the grip on her neck did not ease, nor did the strength of the hand wrapping around her muzzle.

She knew the scent of the man holding her, sunshine, orchards, and wolf. The woman’s scent was softer, almost effervescent. A distant part of her mind summoned a name—Gillian. Willow Bend journeyman healer. A healer.

The knowing satisfied the need to attack the other for the pain she inflicted. The pain was knitting muscle and bone together again.

“Yes, she’s healing now. Stupid soft bullets. It would have been better if they hadn’t used silver.” Annoyance discolored her words. “Owen, we’re going to need a lot more food. As soon as she can eat, she’s going to need a lot of protein.”

“I will go for it when you’re done.”

Was she back in Willow Bend?

“Send Ranae if you won’t go,” Gillian’s voice edged toward an order. Margo calmed further, sinking against the man holding her while heat continued to wash through her wound. Either it was repairing or she’d grown accustomed to the new hell. At least the stabbing shocks had stopped. “Do you have her?”

“I do. Take what you need, little healer. All I have for her.”

Gillian’s soft laughter soothed. “Mason is getting nearer. I can feel him, too. And the other Enforcers will be here soon. We have enough. Just keep her calm. This is going to hurt. Margo, I know you’ve been in a lot of pain.” Each word smoothed over the jagged edges. “The bullets they used shattered on impact, little shards digging everywhere, that’s why your wound kept opening. I had to get them all out. Silly shooter thought silver would hurt you, and it did, but not for their reasons.”

The hand gripping her jaw relaxed and she opened her mouth to pant.

“There she is.” Gillian’s smile was worth surfacing from the pain. The little submissive was adorable, even if she had the touch of hellfire in her fingertips. “Are you back with us now?”

Margo’s jaw cracked with a yawn. She was there, but too tired to really think about much else. Fragmented memories jumbled together. The bullet slamming into her shoulder—that she remembered. After? An image of Salvatore’s face drifted across her mind’s eye, pure, raw rage tightened his expression. His snapped orders echoed in her ears.

Live. Do you hear me? You will live. Do not run.

Dropping her head, she rested her chin on a warm surface—a leg, she thought, but it might have been an arm. All she cared about was it smelled like Salvatore.

“I’m sorry, Margo. I will try to ease the pain as much as possible, but I have to rebreak the leg now. It knitted wrong because of the damage to your shoulder.” The explanation helped her understanding of the jagged pain when she’d shifted and the agony flaring with every beat of her pulse.

Rolling onto her side, her tongue lolling out, Margo focused on breathing. Inhaling Salvatore’s scent kept her rooted in place and she leaned into him further. A rock of strength at her back, he braced her.

“Do it,” Salvatore said. “She’s ready.”

Gillian Chase was many things—beloved by the pack, and a kinder soul Margo had never met. But she was also a fierce healer and she didn’t pull her punches. She gripped Margo’s leg and braced a hand on her side. One hard jerk and the world shattered all over again. A scream hurtled from Margo’s throat and came out a howl.

Then thankfully blackness curtained her.

“She’ll be awake soon. We can question her then.” Julian’s masculine voice drove the sleep from her mind. Fresh pain awaited her, but she wasn’t afraid of a little hurting.

Mason
. Her mind supplied the name. “Owen was Dylan able to pick up anything at the house?”

“The shooter was definitely human, but no one he recognized from Willow Bend.” Owen’s deep voice remained matter-of-fact.

“So nothing more than I already knew.” There he was. There was the beautiful accent she adored.

“No, unfortunately.” Julian was close enough to touch and she slitted one eye open. His guarded expression worried her. A hand stroked across her fur and since Julian didn’t move, she knew it had to be Salvatore.

Crap.

Suddenly Julian was at eye level with her. “Hello, Margo. Welcome back to the land of the living.” Too close, she snapped at him and he chuckled. “Always a charmer.” He touched a hand to the side of her face, then up to her ear. The steadiness of his gaze warned her. Shedding sleep with every blink of her eye, she fought to keep her respiration and heart calm.

Julian knew.

How much or how he’d found out didn’t matter…he knew. She struggled to rise and her leg buckled. A hand steadied her, but she snapped at the man bracing her and Salvatore released her. She had to stand on her own feet, especially if she had to face off against Julian.

Quiet blanketed the room.

“We should probably give you a minute,” Mason said.

“I will remain.” Salvatore’s implacable tone dared them to argue.

“It really is between the Enforcers.” Mason paused at the door, after ushering who Margo supposed was Owen and Gillian out ahead of him.

Gillian’s voice drifted back. “The first wolf that messes up my healing will answer to me. That goes for you, too, Margo.”

The men laughed, but Julian lacked any real humor. “Let him stay, Mason. We have more than enough here to deal with him.”

Enough to deal with him?
Margo steadied on her feet and turned to face the room. Beyond Julian waited Hadley, Adler, Calitri and Nelson—Julian plus four Enforcers. Margo’s chances were growing grimmer. Salvatore moved from his position behind her to her side, then rested his hand on her shoulder. A part of her knew she should shake him off, the rest remained focused on Julian and the others. They were the real threat in room.

Everyone seemed to be waiting. She flicked her ears—Mason and his wolves were still outside, but they were moving away, giving them all distance. Where were they? No bleach stung her nostrils, and the wooden walls said cabin, not house. The scents were a muddied lot—too many wolves to sort through all of them. Another hush of movement to her right and she spared a quick look.

Two men bracketed her right side, and another glance revealed two to the left of Salvatore. She didn’t recognize any of them. Since Salvatore didn’t seem worried, she focused on Julian again.

“If you’re up for shifting, you should probably be human for this conversation.” His wry tone offered little in the way of comfort. She raised her chin, and flattened her ears. Whatever issue he had with her, he could take up with her.