River Wolf(94)

Anger, confusion and despair rolled off her in alternating waves. The speed heal on Luc may have consequences for both she and Luc, but he had to trust her instincts. Healers were as different a breed of wolf as Alphas. They did what had to be done. Stripping off his shirt, he settled it over her. The action soothed him. Her resistance to touch kept his scent off her.

Claiming her for Hudson River, pulling her into the pack wasn’t the same as claiming her for himself. Soon. He promised his wolf, but not until she was ready. Not until his enticing, stubborn lady dared him to finish the pursuit—when she was ready to claim him. If she’s never ready… Her commitment phobia hadn’t been lost on him. Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought. If it took one year or twenty, he was a patient wolf.

After locking the bedroom door and checking on her one more time, he headed into the bathroom. His skin itched, and his wolf paced restlessly within. What they needed was a long, hard run. Nothing he could afford to take while Colby remained in a precarious position. Once or twice, her scent changed and he’d thought he’d seen a glimmer of something more in the wolf’s gaze.

Standing on the hot sheeting water, he braced his hands on the tile and concentrated on letting the tension roll off him. His pack drew closer and closer. He could feel the weight of them, the excitement and even the trepidation. A full gathering hadn’t occurred since the funeral bonfires. Even then, some wolves held quieter ceremonies if they couldn’t arrive in Story Pointe.

The ache in the muscles between his shoulders began to relax. It would be good to see everyone, catch up, and hear about their lives. It would be good to be pack again.

After sluicing away the soap and shaving, he allowed the shower to beat on his back for a few moments longer then shut it off. Toweling himself dry, he padded out of the bathroom. Colby’s wolf hadn’t moved beyond sprawling further, nose buried in the pillows. She made an exceptional wolf, all lean, long boned and rangy, with thick, almost shaggy hair. The length made her seem bulkier than she was and the color was deep brown with hints of red. A remarkable and unusual wolf…much like the woman.

His chest ached as he dropped the towel and slid onto the bed. Running a light hand over her, he grounded himself in her nearness. A full day since he’d had to cope with her sassy responses and dammit, he missed her challenging grins and way of twisting his words back on him.

With care, he adjusted the shirt over her. Then settled in, eyes half closed. He wouldn’t go all the way to sleep. When necessary, he could doze for days on end without full sleep. The moment she woke or needed something, he wanted to be there.

A twitch jerked his eyes open. Darkness blanketed the room and the digital clock on the nightstand told him only a few hours had passed. Not dawn yet. Letting his eyes shift, he checked on Colby. She twitched again, her legs and paws moving in short, sharp bursts as though she ran in her dreams. Rising on an elbow, he brushed one of her ears and the twitching turned to writhing.

Finally.

His drowsiness faded in a heartbeat and he withdrew his hand to wait. Focused solely on her, he rode out the soft cry she made when her body wrenched itself human once more. Her eyes never opened and for that he remained grateful. It wasn’t unusual for wolves to resume their human forms when they slept. Especially if they dreamed of being human. Some went to sleep wolves and woke in their wolf form, others slid into their wolf while they slept. The curiosity of their nature was one every wolf simply accepted. He’d never wondered the why before. Only when she let out a last harsh exhale and her eyelids parted briefly, did he let his fingers stroke through her hair.

Not her skin, no matter how much he wanted to tug her into his arms and sleep wrapped around her. After a shift, they were too sensitive and she was so new. To his night vision, her skin was blotchy. She would be too raw, too uncomfortable with contact.

“Hey,” he murmured when those beautiful eyes opened again.

“I hate you.” The mumble came out so sleepy and petulant, he grinned.

“No you don’t.” Something in his chest settled. Colby was still with him.

“I want to hate you,” she complained, the throatiness of her whine drawing away the dark cloud of brooding.

“No, you don’t.” At his repeated response, she reached out with a fist and mock-tapped his jaw. “Oh, that showed me.”

“You are way too happy.”

“The woman I love is in my bed, and she has all her faculties and isn’t trying to rip my throat out anymore. Yes, I am exceptionally happy.” Propping his head on his fist, he contented himself by drinking in the sight of her.