Page 85 of Wolf's Keep

Chapter Thirty-Three

Erin’s eyelids flickered, but they didn’t open. Her body burning, her muscles cramping, she slipped in and out of consciousness, lost in terrifying visions of a man with broken, yellow teeth, a dagger pressed against her side, of chevaliers, armor, blood and death. She cried out, but no one heard her, the sound echoing only in her mind. She fought to wake up, a moan slipping from her throat, but she could not surface, forced to replay the one scene over and over again. The stabbing pain in her side, rough arms releasing her, Gaharet’s anguished cry as she fell. The torment on Gaharet’s face as her eyes grew heavy, and her body cold. He’d said he would die for her, and she’d never even told him she loved him.

She broke the surface of her dreams briefly, as warm, bitter liquid dribbled into her parched mouth.

“Water,” she croaked. None was forthcoming, only more of the same. She sank back under, a vision of a black wolf leaning over her, jaws clamping down on her wounded side. Erin opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out and she watched, helpless to stop him, unable to break free of the wolf, the dream or the heaviness in her body. She burned, she froze, icy needles pierced her skin and her blood boiled in her veins.

She slipped away into blessed blackness, and when she surfaced again, slivers of something wet, juicy and raw slipped between her lips. She wanted to refuse it, spit it out, but when its metallic scent hit her nostrils, an alarming hunger consumed her and she swallowed it greedily, opening her mouth for more. Gentle hands fed her, dripped bitter liquid into her mouth and washed her face and neck with a cool, wet cloth.

She settled into a restless sleep. All the while, a comforting presence sat by her, holding her hand, talking to her, telling her she was strong, that she would make it through, that he loved her, that he could not lose her.

She’d no clue how long she’d been out when she finally awoke, the vestiges of nightmarish visions fading and her eyelids fluttering open. She lay on a cot, covered in blankets, wearing nothing but her bra and panties. Staring up at a smoke hole in a peaked, thatched roof, she tried to get her bearings. She rolled her head to the side and her heavy-lidded eyes took in her surroundings. A smoky hazed room, wattle and daub walls, a fire pit in the center and a familiar dark-headed figure sitting at the table, his back to her. Gaharet.

She closed her eyes. In the clearing, he’d fought to save her. Killed five men with brutal efficiency. And he’d been about to come for her, to take down the man who’d grabbed her from behind and dragged her into the clearing. She didn’t understand why some herbs thrown about were so dangerous, but they were, and Gaharet had been willing to risk his freedom, his life, by stepping into the ring they had created. For her.

Somewhere, there was a witch who knew how to reverse the spell on the amulet. A spell that could take her back to her world, her life and her career. Take her away from this man and the possibility of a love so strong they’d make their own wall hanging as a testament to it. Could she walk away from that? Walk away from this intriguing, wonderful, sexy man and all they’d shared? A wave of emptiness washed over her. Would she ever recover from the loss? Or would she, as her mother was, doom herself to forever search for a replacement that would never fill that void?

She opened her eyes again, staring at his back, the low rumble of his voice sinking into her heart, her mind and her bones. With perfect clarity, she finally understood why her mother was so willing to throw everything away for the chance of such a love. She wanted that chance, hungered for it with every fiber of her being.

“Gaharet.” With her mouth so dry and her throat parched, she barely made a sound, but his dark head turned.

“Erin, you are awake.”

He rushed over, lowering himself to sit beside her on the cot. She rose, put her arms around his neck, and he pulled her into his embrace. She nestled against him, pressing her face into his shoulder. His strong musky scent filled her nostrils, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat loud in her ear. She did not need to go anywhere, to leave. This was home.Hewas home.

“I thought I had lost you.” He brushed her hair from her face, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. “I have never felt such fear in my life.” He put a gentle hand on her forehead. “Your fever has broken.”

A woman, a gentle smile on her face, approached and handed her a mug. “Here, you will be thirsty.”

Erin took the mug and drank, gulping it down.

“Steady now. Small sips.” He took it from her. “How do you feel?”

She frowned. “I don’t know.” She put her hand to her side where the mercenary had stabbed her, feeling a wad of fabric, some type of dressing. “How long have I been unconscious?”

“Three days.”

Three days!With a stab wound to the gut from a dagger of indeterminate cleanliness? And no antibiotics? She should be dead. With no analgesics, she should also be in pain. But she wasn’t. She pulled away from him and peeked beneath the covers, peeling off some sort of poultice.

What the hell?

No wound, no stitches, not even a slight reddening of the skin. A thin line of scaring, flanked on either side by four smaller round scars, the only evidence of a wound at all. And just three days ago. It must be some miracle poultice.

She fingered the thin line of scarring. That was the knife wound. She touched the other scars, remembering. The black wolf.

“You bit me. Why? That man stabbed me, and you turned into a wolf and bit me.”

“Erin,” said Gaharet, his voice soft. “You weredying. I had no choice. I did the one thing that could save you.”

He gave her a moment to let his words sink in.

“You bit me to…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes widening. “Am I…?” She rubbed her hands over her body. Did she feel different? No. Yes. Maybe. She looked around the room, at Gaharet, at her body. Everything seemed brighter, clearer. Scents seemed stronger—the smoke from the fire, the herbal stench coming from a large pot. She wrinkled her nose and focused elsewhere, further away. Damp earth from outside, the hint of moisture in the dew, and the pine of the forest—she could smell them all. And her hearing was sharper, picking up things she shouldn’t be able to hear. The crawl of an insect on the floor across the room, the scratch of a rodent in the forest, and the rhythm of her own heart, beating a little faster than it should be. And hers wasn’t the only heart she could hear. The woman’s across the room, slow and measured, and Gaharet’s too. Reaching out, she placed a hand on Gaharet’s chest, the strong rhythm pounding against her palm even as she heard it with her ears.

He took her hands in his. “Believe me, Erin, in any other circumstances, I would have given you a choice. After…” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “After you declared your intention to return home… But you were dying.”

She rested her hand over her scar. “Is that why I healed so fast? Why there is only a scar when I should still have a wound?”

He nodded, brushing his hand against her cheek. “All will be well, Erin. It will take some time for you to adjust, but I will help you. I will train you to use your wolf. When I am sure you have control—” he looked over to the woman, standing by the fire stirring a large pot—“we will discuss again your desire to leave.” He dropped his hand to her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

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