Defying Destiny (20 page)

could have used her help. He wasn’t used

to fighting common wolves. His kind

fought with a basic set of rules, but these

wolves were animals. They didn’t have

morals or a sense of fairness. They

wanted him dead—the sooner the better.

Nash concentrated on putting one wolf

out of commission at a time. His teeth sank

into the back of the wolf’s neck, which

was tearing into Nash’s right foreleg.

Nash shook his head vigorously and felt

the wolf’s neck snap within his mouth. He

dropped the wolf’s body and went for the

next one, managing to get this one on its

back before he sank his teeth in its throat

and silenced its snarls permanently.

Two of the wolves stepped back for a

moment, deciding they had taken on a foe

more dangerous than anticipated. Nash

crashed into the trunk of a nearby tree to

get the others off his back. Both fell to the

ground. One of them yipped in pain and

then made another lunge at him. Nash

silenced him as well.

Nash was bleeding heavily from his

throat and right foreleg. He could feel the

warmth of his blood leaving his body. In

the darkness, it was visible only as black,

shiny puddles on the ground around him.

Nash growled, raising his hackles, trying

to look as threatening as possible. Ears

back, lips curled, he barked and snapped

at one of the three remaining wolves. He

didn’t really want to kill these animals,

but he had to protect Rella and Lord. The

wolf backed down, licking its nose and

lowering its head. Nash didn’t want this

wolf’s pledge of submissive loyalty

either. The last thing he needed was for

some common wolf to follow him back to

the village.

Nash snapped at the wolf again and it

turned tail and ran into the forest. The

other two decided this was their best

option as well, and followed. Nash

watched them go and then limped towards

where he had left Lord.

He found both Wolves waiting for

him. Rella was cleaning her son’s wounds

with her wide, pink tongue. Lord seemed

to be asleep again. Rella looked up, her

amber eyes glowing in the moonlight. She

stood up and trotted over to Nash. She

turned around, lowered her head and lifted

her tawny-colored tail, waiting for him to

breed her. His body responded to the

smell of her, but he denied his lust.

Instead, he returned to his human form,

shivering in the cold night air.

“I thought you didn’t want help from a

traitor,” he said.

He was irritable from the pain and the

loss of blood. He had never felt any sort

of animosity towards his brother’s mate

before that moment. The idea that she

would allow him to breed her, with Cort

scarcely cold in his grave and her son

looking on, appalled him.

Rella took her human form as well.

“My mate is dead. Someone has to breed

me.”

Nash knew he was responsible for the

change in this normally warm and loving

woman. The loss of her husband was

much more devastating to her than she was

projecting. As was expected, she was

remaining strong for her children, but in

denying her grief, she was failing them.

“You know as well as anyone I’m

sterile,” he said.

The last Wolf Guardian had also been

plagued with sterility. Nash had mated

numerous times in the past in the hopes of

having children of his own, but females he

could not impregnate, had no problems

conceiving with other males. He had given

up twenty years ago, although he still gave

into his instincts for the simple pleasure of

it from time to time. Now would not be

one of those times.

“I’d rather drink silver than whelp

your pups,” she hissed.

He merely looked at her, and then

glanced pointedly at her son, who would

become an orphan if she did something

that

impulsively

selfish.

Obviously

ashamed by her unthinking declaration, her

eyes dropped to Nash’s chest, which was

covered with his blood.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I am aware of that. Let’s go home.”

He reverted to his Wolf form.

Before he could move away from her,

she wrapped her arms around his broad

neck, fingers burrowing into his thick fur.

“Tell me what to do, Nash. I don’t

know what to do without him.” A sob

erupted from her and tears she had been

holding at bay streamed from her eyes in

rivers.

He allowed her to hold onto him until

her sobs subsided. He couldn’t offer her

any advice, because he didn’t know what

to do either. He continued to live his life,

continued to try to break the curse,

allowed Maralee to take him to a place far

from reality, but he too was lost. He never

expected to be found again. Cort was

gone.

“Mama, are you all right?” Lord

asked. He had returned to his human form,

his stark white hair glowing in the

moonlight. His skin was roadmap of angry

scratches, welts and bite marks.

Rella released Nash and wiped her

tears away, putting on a brave, forced

smile. “I’m fine,” she said. “It’s you I’m

worried about. We need to get you home.

Do you think you can walk?”

“I can walk.” Lord took his Wolf form

again and climbed to his feet. He wobbled

unsteadily for a moment, but managed to

remain standing.

Rella shifted as well and the three

Wolves made the arduous trip to the

village.

It was getting dark and Nash had yet to

return home. Bored, listless and, most of

all, worried, Maralee roamed the small

cabin ceaselessly. Again, she found

herself standing at Nash’s desk with her

hand resting on the cover of his book. She

longed to examine its contents, but her

conscience wouldn’t let her. She watched

for him out the small window above the

desk for a while, and then returned to her

haunting only to find herself back at the

desk again.

He had said he loved her and she had

gaped at him like an idiot. It had been the

perfect opportunity to tell him how she felt

about him, yet she had been too stunned to

return his sentiment.
I’ll tell him when he

returns.
This thought made her even more

anxious to see him.

It was completely dark now. She went

to the desk, this time to light a few

candles.

They

always

seemed

to

accumulate around the desk, as Nash

tended to read well into the night. The

glow of the candles gave the room a cozy

feel. Maralee sat down at his desk. She

hoped he would come home soon. What

would she do if something happened to

him? The thought was so horrendous she

pushed

it

away

from

her

mind

immediately. It was bad enough she

dreamed of killing him every night. If such

dark thoughts began to plague her waking

hours, she would surely go mad.

She caught movement outside and

stood abruptly to look for Nash out the

window. Her thighs connected painfully

with the desk. Books tumbled to the

ground. Outside several Wolves milled

around in the darkness, but there were no

signs of Nash. Disappointed, Maralee bent

to pick up the books. She couldn’t seem to

stop her eyes from scanning one of the

pages exposed to her.

full moon…curse… poison of silver…

Wolf Guardian… protection of the

crescent moon…

Maralee closed the book and smiled to

herself. Why was he so wrapped up in a

fairy tale? This nonsense reminded her of

a book she had discovered as a girl. An

immortal sage had supposedly written

them, an ancestor of hers who had sworn

to being abducted by a type of Wolf that

could appear human at will. Her aunt had

caught her reading the ancient tome and

confiscated it, punishing her for wasting

valuable time on fanciful fiction. She

wondered why Nash was so afraid of her

discovering the contents of his books.

They were nothing but entertaining

rubbish. She closed the book and put it in

its proper place on the shelf. Maybe she

would tell him about the book back home

in Dubwar. He would probably like to

read it. She wasn’t sure if it was still in

existence. Her aunt might have burned it

long ago.

Long hours later, Maralee started from

her light slumber on the sofa. She heard

several unmistakable thumps on the front

steps, followed by a louder thump behind

the door. There was something on the

porch. Her heart thundered with panic.

The Wolves had been restless all night.

Circling the cabin. Standing among the

trees looking at her through the window.

Pacing the length of the porch. Had they

finally decided to attack?

“Maralee.” Her name was a quiet plea

spoken just outside.

“Nash?” She went to the door and

placed a hand on its surface.

“It’s me. Open the door.”

His voice sounded strange—weak and

pleading. She hesitated. Maybe it was a

trick. Maybe it wasn’t Nash after all.

“You better not be reading my books,”

he said.

Relieved, Maralee unlocked the door

and flung it open. She was so shocked by

his condition that she allowed him to

remain shivering on the front porch for

several long moments.

“I can’t take another step,” he

whispered. He was scarcely conscious.

“Wh- what happened?” she said, tears

springing to her eyes now that the initial

shock had worn off.

She bent over and pulled him into the

house, managing to get him to the rug near

the fire with his feeble assistance. His

skin was icy cold, as was to be expected

of a naked man coming out of the winter

night air. His chest was a mass of dried

blood, his right forearm torn to shreds. In

places, she could see bone between the

tattered bits of flesh. He had submitted to

exhaustion and never answered her

question. She retrieved the bearskin from

the chair to cover him and went to close

the door. The Wolves were gone now.

Nash had apparently scared them off.

Maralee hurried to the kitchen for a

towel and some water, and then returned

to Nash’s side. She started by cleaning the

dried blood from his chest. She didn’t

even know where to begin with his arm.

Beneath the blood, she found deep

puncture marks and places where flesh

had been torn from his body. Most of the

wounds originated around his throat.

Horrible visions of her massacred family

flooded Maralee’s mind. There was no

mistaking the wounds were produced by

animal bites. When she turned her

attention to the severe wounds on his

forearm, he opened his eyes with a pained

gasp. Great hot tears suddenly filled her

eyes, trailed over her cheeks, and dripped

from her chin.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he lied

kindly. He curled himself around his

forearm and began to clean the wounds

with slow, deliberate strokes of his

tongue.

She covered her eyes with both hands

and tried to strangle the sob that

threatened to choke her. She was only

partially successful.

“Maralee?”

“I won’t lose someone else I love to

Wolves,” she managed to say. “I won’t

rest until every last one of them is dead.”

“You haven’t lost me.”

“Who said I was talking about you?”

She peeked at him between her

fingers. He was smiling crookedly. He

winced then and returned his attention to

cleaning his wounds. The effort seemed to

be sapping his little remaining strength.

“I’m cold,” he murmured, drawing the

bearskin around himself and abandoning

his wounds all together.