As soon as Boyd ceased to feel like a threat, Anna turned her attention to Charles. He was lying facedown on the floor, covered with blood—her nose told her that some of it was Justin’s, but some of it was his, too.
Despite the way he’d been fighting Leo, Isabelle had hit him at least once; she could see the bloody hole in his back. In wolf form she couldn’t help him and it would take her too long to change.
She looked over her shoulder at Boyd.
He shrugged. “I can’t help him unless I get closer than this.”
She stared at him, challenging him with her eyes in a way she would never have done before today. It didn’t seem to bother him. He just waited for her to make up her mind. The wolf didn’t want to trust anyone with her mate—but she knew she didn’t have a choice.
She hopped all the way over Charles’s body, giving Boyd access. But she couldn’t help her snarl when he rolled him over to check him for wounds. He found a second bullet hole in Charles’s left calf.
Boyd shed his suit jacket and ripped off his dress shirt, scattering buttons all over the floor. He tore the silk shirt into strips and then, as he was bandaging Charles’s wounds with rapid experience, he began giving orders. “Holden, call in the rest of the pack—and start with Rashid. Tell him we need him to bring whatever he needs to treat a silver-bullet wound—both bullets are out. When you’ve finished, call the Marrok and tell him what has happened. You can find his number in Isabelle’s address book in the kitchen drawer under the phone.”
Anna whined. Both of Isabelle’s shots had hit.
“He’s not going to die,” Boyd told her, tying off the last bandage. He glanced around the room and swore. “This place looks like the last scene in Hamlet. Gardner, you and Simon start getting this mess cleaned up. Let’s get Charles someplace quieter. He’s not going to be a happy camper when he wakes, and all this blood isn’t going to help.” He picked Charles up. When he carried him out of the room, Anna was at his heels.
• • •
Back in human form, Anna lay on the bed beside Charles. Rashid, who was a real doctor as well as a werewolf, had come and gone, replacing Boyd’s makeshift bandages with something more sterile-looking. He told Anna that Charles was unconscious due to blood loss.
Boyd had come in afterward and advised her to leave Charles before he woke up. The room was reinforced to withstand an enraged wolf—Anna was not.
He hadn’t argued when she refused. He’d just bolted the door behind him when he left. She waited until he was gone and then changed. There was clothing in the old-fashioned wardrobe, lots of things that were one size fits all. She found a T-shirt and a pair of jeans that didn’t fit too badly.
Charles didn’t notice when she got on the bed with him. She put her head next to his on the pillow and listened to him breathe.
• • •
He didn’t wake quietly. One moment he was limp and the next he’d exploded to his feet. She’d never watched him shift and, although she knew his change was miraculously swift, she hadn’t known it was beautiful. It started with his feet, then like a blanket of red fur The change rolled up his body, leaving behind it a malevolent, very angry werewolf dripping blood and bandages.
Bright yellow eyes glanced around the room, taking in the closed door, the bars on the windows, and then her.
She lay very still, letting him absorb his surroundings and see there was no threat. When he looked at her a second time, she sat up and went to work on his bandages.
He growled at her, and she tapped his nose gently. “You’ve lost enough blood today. The bandages don’t advertise your weakness any more than bleeding all over would. At least this way, you aren’t going to ruin the carpet.”
When she finished, she threaded her fingers through the ruff of fur around his neck and bent her head to his.
“I thought I had lost you.”
He stood for her embrace for a minute before wriggling free. He got off the bed and stalked to the door.
“It’s bolted,” she told him, hopping off the bed and padding after him.
He gave her a patient look.
There was a click and the door was opened by a slender, unremarkable-looking man who appeared to be in his early twenties. He crouched on his heels and stared Charles in the face before glancing up at her.
The force of personality in his eyes hit her like a blow to the stomach, so she wasn’t entirely surprised when she recognized his voice.
“Shot three times in one day,” the Marrok murmured. “I think Chicago has been harder on you than usual, my son. I’d best take you home, don’t you think?”
She didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything. She put her hand on Charles’s back and swallowed.
Charles looked at his father.
“Have you asked her?”
Charles growled low in his chest.
The Marrok laughed and stood up. “Nevertheless, I will ask. You are Anna?” It wasn’t quite a question.
Her throat was too dry to say anything, so she nodded.
“My son would like you to accompany us to Montana. I assure you that if anything is not to your liking, I’ll see to it that you can relocate to wherever suits you better.”
Charles growled and Bran raised an eyebrow as he looked at him. “I am the Marrok, Charles. If the child wants to go elsewhere, she can.”
Anna leaned against Charles’s hip. “I think I’d like to see Montana,” she said.
THE STAR OF DAVID
So I was asked to write a Christmas story about werewolves. David Christiansen, who appeared in Moon Called, had such a tragic history, I couldn’t help but write a Christmas story for him. A fellow army ranger, he and Adam were the only survivors of a mission gone bad in the Vietnam War. They returned stateside, only to discover that they had been turned into the beast they had defeated. David is, more than any other of my wolves, suffering from the traditional curse of the werewolf. A good man who, while his wolf was in control, killed the very last person he wanted to hurt. But Christmas is about grace and forgiveness and family. Surely there is room in the middle of all of that for David to find some happiness.
The events in this story happen the Christmas after most of the events in Moon Called.
“I checked them out myself,” Myra snapped. “Have you ever just considered that your boy isn’t the angel you thought he was?”
Stella took off her glasses and set them on her desk. “I think that we both need some perspective. Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off.” Before I slap your stupid face. People like Devonte didn’t change that fast, not without good reason.