Silver Wolf Clan (12 page)

No! He’d held his mother a long time after she’d died and it hadn’t brought her back. Now her cold body was the most vivid memory he had left of her. It couldn’t be that way with Morgan.

He spun away from the door. Hoarsely, he said, “Where’s my kid?”

“She’s upstairs with Marissa, getting a bath. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want. Grey?” Rachel paused, still crouched on the floor. “Do you need anything?”

“I just want my kid,” he said, voice cracking. “Which bedroom?”

“The second one on the left has a big enough bed for both of you,” she murmured.

Brandon threw Grey a first aid kit as he headed for the stairs. He needed to find a bathroom to clean himself up before he fainted. The lightheadedness told him of injuries he didn’t care to look at.

He’d never been on the second floor before because he’d never had a reason to stay the night. He tried three doors before he found the bathroom. Lana sat in a bubble filled bathtub while Marissa sat on the ledge reading from
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
. Marissa looked up with frightened, wide eyes. She slammed the book closed and stood.

He was about to back out of the room when she said, “I’m sorry about Morgan, Mr. Grey. I hope she’ll be all right.” Never had she talked to him before without him dragging the words out of her.

“Thank you, Marissa.” Gesturing to Lana, he asked, “How’s she holding up?”

“She doesn’t know what’s happening. She’s scared and confused but okay.” Her voice held less of a tremor and she looked him boldly in the eye.

He probably didn’t appear very threatening at the moment. Passing out right here on the tile floor was becoming a legitimate possibility, and Wolf had holed up deep inside, mourning. His eyes were probably bluer than she’d ever seen them.

“Mr. Grey? You’re bleeding. Do you need help?” she asked. He pitched forward unsteadily, and she reached out, but didn’t touch him. Grey leaned onto the cold marble sink and the pit pat of liquid against the hard floor became quick and almost constant. The foot long gash across his ribcage was probably the culprit. When had that happened, and who’d done it? The small first aid kit he held was completely inadequate for such an injury.

“Do you want me to go get Wade?” she asked. “He’s the pack doctor, and he’s good with this kind of stuff.”

Grey shook his head weakly. Wade was a dominant and Grey didn’t want him around when he was injured. Not like that. Marissa stood there for a moment, shifting her weight from side to side. She let out the tiniest growl, like a frustrated kitten, pulled wads of gauze from the first aid kit and pushed it onto his side. The pain made him wince and inhale sharply through clenched teeth.

“Hold that there, tightly,” she told him, then left the room.

She returned a few minutes later holding an armload of what looked like medical supplies. Grey leaned heavily against the wall.

“Rachel!” she called. “Can you help us with Lana?”

Rachel’s footsteps sounded on the stairs.

“You don’t mind crooked stitches, do you, Mr. Grey?” Marissa asked.

“Are you going to be the one doing the stitching?”

“Yes, sir, if it’s okay. You can’t stay open like that, and I don’t mind blood.” Her last words sounded haunted and quiet.

He grunted and lifted his arm so she could get a better angle at the seeping wound. Sure as hell, he couldn’t stitch it on his own with one left hand, so why not?

She flushed it out with a saline solution, and had trouble holding his slick, blood soaked skin together. So she stuck butterfly bandages in place every couple inches and stitched toward them, removing the tape as she reached each one. The stitches weren’t pretty or professional, but she told Grey she’d seen Wade stitch up enough wolves over the past couple years, she at least had an idea how to do it. He wasn’t vain, so it worked well enough.

Rachel dressed Lana in one of Marissa’s smallest t-shirts, and took her downstairs for a drink of milk and to watch television. Probably best, until he was more presentable and less gory.

“When I was down getting supplies from Wade, I saw Morgan,” Marissa whispered. She finished bandaging him and backed into the corner of the bathroom.

Wolf stirred at the sound of his mate’s name. “I don’t understand. Is she alive?”

“When I was there, yes. It looked like her body was already trying to heal itself. She’ll always be scarred, but the bleeding stopped and she was thrashing around pretty good.”

“Wait, what does that mean? She’s healing? I felt her dying. There is no way she could have survived losing so much blood.”

“She can if she is a wolf, sir. Hopefully she can Change—”

He’d jumped up before Marissa had finished and bolted from the bathroom. “Where is she?” he asked, sticking his head back into the doorway.

“The cages,” she responded.

“Where?”

She tossed the blood soaked gauze into a small trashcan. “Down underneath the barn.”

He ran, invigorated with the idea he might be able to hold his Morgan again. Please, please, please let her be alive.

She screamed loud enough to be heard from outside the barn. The cage’s soundproofing really needed improvement.

He stuck his head inside the drafty wooden walls and scanned the outbuilding for a secret entrance, sniffed the air. A trail frequented by members of the pack wound to a wall but dead-ended. It had to be some sort of panel because the scent ended there.

Poking, pushing, he searched for any kind of latch or release mechanism. Nothing. He stood back and studied the edges. There, at the bottom, a hole wide enough to get a foot or hand under. It looked like a rat hole, but worth a try. He put the toe of his shoe into it, hoping no rodent was home, and pushed down. Nothing happened. He pulled up with his shoe and a latch on the inside clicked. The wall rotated at an angle, far enough for him to see a narrow stairway. Crafty.

A short sprint down the stairs brought him face to face with Dean headed in the opposite direction at the bottom. He looked up, apparently startled to see anyone rocketing down the stairs and barreling toward him.

One look at Grey’s face, and he reassured him, “Your mate, she lives.”

Grey let out a long, shaky breath. “Where is she?”

“She is in the first cage. You can see her, but you can’t go in there right now.”

Wade squatted outside the bars of Morgan’s cage.

“What’s happened? Why aren’t you in there taking care of her?” Grey demanded.

Drenched in sweat, she lay on a bare, blood-soaked mattress. He shook the lock, but the cage was secured. Her face was turned toward them, but she jerked it way and back again as if she were having a terrible nightmare.

Another ear piercing scream ripped from her throat. Grey threw his hands up, covered his oversensitive ears. “What’s wrong with her? Can’t you do anything?”

Wade rubbed a hand over his scarred face. “There’s nothing we can do now. We have to wait.” He watched Morgan thrash with a slight frown. “You don’t remember your first Change?”

“She’s Changing? But mine happened over days. Is it normal for it to happen so fast? What if she is dying, not Changing?” he yelled, desperate. “We should be in there trying to save her!”

A bone chilling growl, long and low rippled through the air. It had come from Morgan’s drawn back lips.

Wade arched his eyebrows. “Yep, she’s definitely Changing. She’s the fastest one I’ve ever seen. She all but took my hand off before I realized what was happening, and I had to hightail it out of there and lock the door. We’d better go, boys,” he said, standing.

“I’m not leaving her here alone,” Grey bit out.

Wade sighed impatiently. “It’s not for her. It’s for you. Anyone she sees during this time, she isn’t going to associate with good memories after she comes to. Go take care of Lana. There’s nothing you can do for her, other than that. We’ll check on her in the morning.”

Morgan groaned, a tortured sound, as she clenched into herself and spasmed. Before he could change his mind, Grey took the stairs two at a time. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone observing his first Changes. The best he could do was give her privacy from prying eyes.

Lana had fallen asleep in Marissa’s arms by the time he walked back through the front door. She followed him to an upstairs bedroom, carrying the sleeping child. The room boasted a king sized bed and plenty of space for them to sleep comfortably. He took a sleepily smiling Lana from Marissa and tucked her in.

“Thanks,” he said, “for everything tonight. You’re a tough kid.”

Marissa nodded shyly and left him, likely to try and find sleep.

Lana opened her eyes just enough to ask about Morgan.

“She’ll be away for a little while, but I’ll take care of you until she gets back,” he told her.

Lana sniffled a while and fell asleep facing him, her cheek resting against her tiny hands. Big Bad Wolf indeed. If that baby girl asked him to jump, he’d ask how high.

He woke to the sound of muffled footsteps and the bedroom door creaking open. Wade peeked his head in, put a finger to his mouth, and motioned for him to follow him. Grey slid out of bed as gently as he could and met Wade in the hall. Lana didn’t stir.

“Is she all right?” he whispered. “What’s happened?”

“I’m not sure, and we figured you should know about any changes. Follow me. There’s something you need to see.”

Morgan had been trying to ignore the man who leaned against the wall opposite her cage, but unrelenting instincts wouldn’t let her lose sight of him for more than a couple seconds. Although he was familiar, she wasn’t ready to acknowledge anything or anyone until the anger ebbed. She couldn’t even pinpoint why she was so enraged or a constant rumbling growl came from deep in her chest. Or why she was already making plans that included maiming anyone who was stupid enough to unlock the door to her prison. Her body was sore, her throat hurt, and she desperately needed a drink of water to satisfy what felt like a small desert in her mouth.

Strips of fabric lay in shreds beside and under her, and her lip bled freely from catching it on a spring when she’d ripped the bare mattress in her holding cell to bits. The man had come in shortly after her rampage to observe.

The way he stared, with his arms crossed and shaking his head every few minutes, as if he’d never seen a wolf before. If only he’d give an outlet for her slow simmering fury by putting an arm in the cage or, at the very least, a finger.

A musky scent drifted through the sizeable room. She lifted her head to test which direction it came from. Another wolf was close.

She stood on wobbly legs. The cage a few feet from hers lay empty. Cage number three held the source of the familiar smell. A dark furred she-wolf in it huddled against the furthest bars. Short, dark brown, blood-matted fur covered her legs and face. The longer hair on her body was lighter brown and matched her muddy brown eyes. She was hideous.

The bitter stink of fear wafted from the wolf, and Morgan went berserk, charging the cage and roaring. The smell was dizzying, enraging, consuming. She needed to kill the wolf. Face stuck as far as it would go out of the bars, she gnashed her teeth. She knew that wolf.

She tired quickly, exhaustion pulling at her shaking legs, and plopped onto the cold, concrete floor. Why did she feel so weak? At a strange sound, she twitched her ears, and lips pulled back, prepared to fight.

The door opened, and the man who’d been watching her straightened. He met a tall man with a scar down his face. She’d tried to bite him, and satisfying as coming so close had been, she would have to try harder the next time.

She twitched toward another familiar smell as another man walked in behind him. A rush of feeling and emotion she couldn’t understand flooded her as she watched him. He stared at her, worry wrinkling his forehead. She might’ve known the man, but she hadn’t sorted out what he meant to her. Not yet. She lifted her lips back and growled softly.

A tall man with fair skin, he was lean and strong looking. He had messy light colored hair with a tendency to fall forward over his eyes, which were golden. They glowed unnaturally over his high, angled cheekbones. An undeniably masculine creature, but what were a wolf’s eyes doing on a man’s face?

She turned her back to them to search for a hiding place while they talked in hushed voices. Lying behind a piece of shredded mattress large enough to cover most of herself, she left only tail and back legs exposed to their stares.

A deep timbred voice sounded, and she jerked her head up, ears alert. Wolf-Eyes spoke quietly to Scar Face.

“She’s beautiful,” he said. “I’ve never seen anything like her.”

Human words didn’t hold much meaning. Sure, she understood them, but as soon as she heard them, she batted them away because she simply didn’t care about what the creatures said.

“No one has seen anything like her for hundreds of years,” Scar Face drawled slowly. “She’s a silver wolf.”

“Morgan? Are you okay?” Wolf Eyes asked, drawing closer to the cage.

She tried to look bored, and sighed heavily. He wrapped his fingers around one of the bars and leaned his face toward her. The smell of worry was pungent. She lunged, but he drew back just as she snapped at the bar. Damn, he was fast. He shouldn’t have been able to move in time. Disappointing, but she postured and snarled. She was a very patient hunter.

A combination of horror and devastation played across the man’s features. He lifted his nose into the air, sniffing once, as if instinct drove him to do it. Strange.

“What the hell is she doing here?” he blurted out.

His wave of anger was startling, and as she shied toward the back of the cage, Scar Face answered him. “It’s the only thing we can do with her right now. Everyone is safest while she is in the cage, including herself.”

“You put Alexis in the same room with her? You would protect Alexis after what she did to Morgan?” he said, voice rising in anger. He brushed past the other two men, shaking with fury and stood in front of the cage occupied by the other wolf. Wolf Eyes glared at the ugly brown wolf and she huddled with her head down in the back of the cage.