Rescued by the Wolf (Blood Moon Brotherhood 2)

“You’re bleeding,” the woman’s voice was slurred and unsteady.

“So are you,” he answered.

“You’re naked,” she said.

“Enjoy the view.” He needed to find cover.

“I grabbed this.” She reached around his side.

“A coat?”

“It’s cold.” Her arm wavered, then dropped. “And…it was all I could reach.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t knock anything off or make noise.” His eyes swept the forest, his pace slowing.

“Does that mean, ‘No, thanks then’? Or, ‘Wow, how considerate. Thank you.’” Her irritation was amusing. “Or even, ‘I appreciate the offer.’”

He chuckled.

“You’re not cold? It’s really cold. I can’t feel my fingers or my toes.”

He thought she’d been shivering because of her injury. “Adrenaline, I guess.” That and the whole werewolf thing.

“Guess I don’t have any.” She poked his side. “Not trying to be ungrateful for breaking me out, but any chance of a break? My head is going to burst.”

He didn’t answer. She was hurting. He was hurting. He needed all his strength if the pack tracking them decided not to be friendly. He moved deeper into the woods, shifting her into his arms as he pushed into a patch of thorns and shrubs. She groaned, her head lolling back against his chest and her eyes pressed shut.

“Everything’s spinning,” she murmured.

He waited for her to open her eyes then set her on her feet, propping her against a tree and taking the coat she’d carried. The coat was massive, probably motherfucking Byron’s. He spread it out on the ground then looked at her. “Better?”

She nodded, pressing her hand to her head. “Still dizzy.”

His attention swept the trees. The wolves were closing in—he could smell them. “Sit down.” He pulled the tool box from the bag. A pair of needle-nose pliers. Good. He looked her way—she leaned against the tree, eyes shut, breathing shallow. “Sit?” he repeated.

“No,” she said, not moving. “Okay. In a minute.”

He gripped the needle-nose pliers, took a deep breath, and slid the long metal pinchers into the cut on his shoulder. Numb Nuts had done a good job this time. He had to dig, damaging more tissue before he gripped the blade with the pliers.

“Oh. My. God.” Her voice was soft. “What are you doing?”

He gritted his teeth and pulled, groaning as the blade slid free. The pliers and knife blade fell onto the coat with a wet splat, his blood scenting the air. He was already feeling better. The healing was slower, thanks to the collar, but he would recover. Which was good because the wolves were here.

...

Olivia clung to the tree. If she let go, she’d wind up face-first on the ground. She was dizzy, her leg was on fire, and now this—watching this complete stranger dig in his shoulder with a pair of pliers. Blood poured over his back in thick ribbons, but he didn’t pause. She saw him tense, then the clean, quick pull of his arm, and the horrific sight of a jagged blade emerging from the gash. He dropped the tool and deadly looking weapon on the coat, sinking down—shaking.

She hugged the tree tighter, sucking in long slow breaths. Now was not the time to fall apart. So she didn’t know what was going on, or who these people were, or what, exactly, they wanted with her. But the more immediate question was, what was happening? And this guy? He’d rescued her but…why had he been chained to his cage? Was he that bad? Or were their captors just perverts?

Should she be freaking out? Because she was, even though she was too weak to run. And even if she could, where would she go? Home no longer seemed like a safe option.

“Come here.” It wasn’t a request.

She shook her head, then stopped, the world tilting and swaying.

He sighed, stood, and crossed to her. Her hold on the tree tightened—a fact he didn’t miss. His brow arched. “We’re not alone. I need you with me.” He tugged her arms free and swung her up in his arms.

“I can walk.” She tried to wriggle free, his recent makeshift surgical procedure vivid in her mind.