Page 68 of Enemy Wolf

The pack would find me eventually, and the dragon tooth would give them an idea of what happened. Who knew if they’d find the scaly bastard himself, hardly any wolves went that high up the mountain. Someone would, one day. Maybe alien paleontologists millions of years from now would find his fossilized remains.

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that Shiloh was safe.

Just as I was about to succumb to the darkness, a single point of light zipped across my vision. It could have been a comet, or a lightning bug, except that I wasn’t looking at the sky, and it was too damn cold up here for lightning bugs.

The light swung back toward the direction it came from. And through the painful numbness in my ears, I thought I heard a voice calling out my name.

It had to the moon, her magic taking on a human voice to usher me into the afterlife. That had to be it. The light must have been from her too, but why did it keep swinging back and forth?

“Orson, is that you? Oh my God, Orson!”

The voice sounded frantic, panicked, and so familiar. I couldn’t decide if it was sweet or cruel for the moon to take on the voice of the mate I had lost.

“Orson! I’m right here, stay with me.” Hands touched my face that were so warm, the heat was almost searing. “Fucking moon, you’re a block of ice. Hang on, I’m going to get you warmed up.”

The scent of citrus and cinnamon hit me with a blast of warmth and aching familiarity. Shiloh was…here?

“Shi…” My weak attempt to say her name was thwarted by warm fingers on my dry, freezing lips.

“Don’t say a word. I’m getting you to town and then we’ll talk.” My mate’s voice was strong and self-assured, despite the undercurrent of fear I smelled on her.

I wanted to tell her there was no reason to be afraid. The dragon was dead. She, the pack, and the entire territory was safe.

But I succumbed to exhaustion before that could happen.

Chapter 25

Shiloh

I never thought I’d be one of those witches who took up embroidery. But stabbing a needle through something over and over was the only activity that gave me some sense of calm while waiting for my mate to recover from his injuries.

Orson was in remarkable shape for what he’d been through, according to the team of healer witches who tended to him. Aside from having a shockingly low internal body temperature for a werewolf, he only had minor surface injuries and a fractured pelvis.

On my way down the mountain with him, I had called Howling Death and shouted over the alpha to have a team of healers ready at the edge of town. Derric got over being pissed at me quickly enough to do as I asked, even calling an angel friend in case we needed more powerful healing magic.

Thankfully, all the extra healers were overkill, and the main priority was bringing Orson’s temperature back up. The next forty-eight hours were a blur of gradually warming him with blankets and warm fluids. He came in and out of consciousness the whole time and didn’t seem to be fully present when he was awake, which worried me. But waiting was all I could do.

A few of the healers noted that it was unusual for his temperature to be so low. It was cold in the mountains at night but not dangerous-levels-of-hypothermia cold. A lot of people had questions that only Orson had the answers to, so it was a waiting game for everyone.

His computers hummed quietly, making a gentle white noise in his room at the Howling Death lodge. The only other sounds were his breaths and my threaded needle stabbing through the fabric stretched over my embroidery hoop. His temperature had finally stabilized late last night. His vitals were strong and his other injuries were well on their way to repairing themselves, thanks to his shifter healing.

All I needed was for my mate to open those brilliant, arctic eyes and see me, recognize me. Tell me if he would still let me be his mate after what I did.

It was past noon when I set aside my embroidery hoop and stretched out my cramped hand. I twisted in my chair and stretched out my hunched back as I stood. I’d find something in the lodge kitchen to nibble on and come right back. It wasn’t like I had much of an appetite, but sustenance would keep me going.

With a final lingering glance at my mate, I headed for the door and—

“Shiloh?”

I froze in place, then whipped around. Orson’s head rolled slowly on the pillow to face me, then his eyes started peeling open. “That really you, sweet witch?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

I must have levitated across the floor because I could not recall how I went from the door to the spot in bed beside him.

“Orson! How do you feel? What do you need? Are you cold? Too hot?” I touched his forehead, his neck, and slightly flushed cheeks. It was such a relief to see color and life back in him.

“No, I’m okay.” He coughed as he started to sit up. “Little thirsty, maybe.”

“Here, don’t move. I got it.” I reached for the bedside table and handed him a mug of tea, which was infused with cinnamon, echinacea, chamomile, orange peel, and a touch of amplifying magic so the herbs would give an extra boost to his immune system.

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