Legend of the White Wolf

Chapter 11

WITH HER HEART IN HER THROAT AND NO SIGN OF CAMERON, Faith backed away from the Arctic wolf targeting her. Her chances of survival were slim at best. The way his narrowed amber eyes pinned her with promise— glowing menacingly in the moonlight—she'd be dead within seconds.

But she had to save herself, the dogs, and find Cameron.

The wolf crept toward her, separating her from the dogs that were charging and growling at the other wolves. Like a predator singling out the weakest link, the wolf bared his dagger like teeth, snarling, crowding her. Her heartbeat spastic, her hands trembled as she tightened her grip on the can of pepper spray in one hand and the gun in the other.

The damned wind was blowing in the wrong direction. She couldn't chance choking herself or the dogs with the spray. If she could work her way around to have the wind at her back… but dogs and wolves blocked her path, and the tent was hindering her in the other direction. Plus, she was unable to fire the gun accurately without using both hands. She shoved the pepper spray in her pocket and wrapped her hands around the gun. Having had weapons training in her line of business, she knew how to shoot, but practicing at targets was one thing. Killing a live animal or a person…

The aggressor wolf paused, his expression changing. No longer growling, he smiled—if a wolf could smile. Her finger on the trigger, she hesitated to fire the weapon. Since he'd quit pursuing her, she hoped she could scare him away—although she figured it was a futile exercise—but giving it a try, she stomped her foot, yelling, "Ha!"

He crouched in response. An icy shiver stole down her spine. Readying to leap, he behaved just like her standard poodle would when he was a puppy, crouching before the pounce.

But more than that, she envisioned the wolf that had lunged at Cameron, then bit him in the arm.

She aimed the weapon again, took another step back ward, and stumbled on a pile of snow. Her heart nearly seized. Falling on her butt, she dropped the gun.

Everything seemed to freeze in time. The dogs and wolves quit growling and barking, their mouths snapped closed, their attention diverted to something behind her. The one ready to leap on her, straightened, his ears perked, his gaze focused to her left.

She didn't have time to turn to see what was coming, when a huge wolf sailed past her shoulder, nearly hitting her. She jerked away from the great white beast and rolled over the mound of snow.

The new wolf, bigger than any of them, pounced half on the wolf's shoulder, his hind feet landing firmly on the ground. He knocked the other down. The pinned wolf tried frantically to get to his pads, before the newcomer seized his throat.

Not wanting to see any of the animals fighting or injuring each other, she feared the outcome should either win.

The other wolves and the huskies all observed the pair as if the newcomer was attempting to become the pack leader of a mixed bunch of wolves and huskies, and they wanted to see who came out on top.

Faith scrambled to her feet and shoved her gloved hands into the piles of snow until she located the gun. She shook the snow off her gloves and aimed the weapon at the fighting wolves. Their incisors bared, snarling, lunging, and biting, the ferocious sound chilled her blood.

Patches of blood covered both wolves' fur and stained the snow in places.

Desperately, she wanted them to give up fighting and run off. But the two continued to circle each other. Then the biggest wolf attacked the other, tore his ear. When the wolf yelped and jumped back, the biggest one went for his throat like an animal possessed by the devil. The newcomer seized the other's throat and the wolf went down.

The victor's head swiveled around to look at her. Immediately, she raised the gun and pointed it at him. But she couldn't pull the trigger. If they were all Kintail's wolves—which she believed to be so—why did the biggest one kill one of the others?

For an instant, the animals were silent. Then the other three wolves began to growl low. So, they didn't accept the newcomer as the pack leader. But at the same time, the dogs began to bark at the wolves, growling and lunging. The big wolf's chest heaved for a few minutes while he stood still, turning his attention toward the rest of the animals.

Although he had helped her and the dogs, she worried he still might turn on them.

The dogs pounced on one of the wolves, while the other two wolves shied back, then ran off. They'd tell Kintail. That's what she figured. They'd alert him to where they were, leading them back here like blood hounds on a prey's trail. Then she and Cameron would be in bigger trouble.

Bleeding at the shoulder, the big wolf crouched low, targeting the last of the aggressors. The beast continued to show his aggression, his ears straight up, his tail stiff behind him, snarling at the dogs. The huskies ran at him, snapping their jaws. He lunged in retaliation. They darted out of his path.

The victor wolf growled threateningly low. The sound made the hair on the nape of Faith's neck stand at attention, even under her parka hood.

The final aggressor had been fierce and full of bravado when facing the dogs, but she swore he looked like he was about to die now. His tail suddenly lowered, his ears flattening as he turned to face the real threat—their wolf savior.

The big wolf crouched. His tail was slightly raised, the tip twitching to one side, his ears and fur erect. As soon as he made his move, he would kill the other. The smaller one had to be a male also, aggressive and single-minded in his urge to fight. Because of his size, the larger wolf had to win.

Without further warning, the victor lunged. The two slammed into each other. Their front legs lifted off the ground, their teeth clanking as they bit each other's mouths. They landed on their pads, but the victor didn't hesitate to attack again. He grabbed the aggressor's throat and killed him. The animal dropped to the ground with a thud.

Everything was whisper soft with the breeze blowing against the tent, and the animals now standing silent. The victor quietly watched Faith. He stood still, panting, his white muzzle tinged with blood, his eyes amber, the wildness in them softening. Her heart was beating hard and she felt panicked, unsure what to do, but she didn't want to kill him. Not after he'd saved them from two of the wolves. And not while he didn't act threatening toward the huskies or her.

For a minute, no one made a move. Then the dogs barked in excitement. Jumping at each other, they licked him in the face in greeting. He continued to watch Faith's reaction, his tail now pointed down. She barely breathed and wanted to get the huskies away from him before their over exuberant attentions irritated him, and he attacked them. The dogs treated him as if he was a war hero and they were cheering the wounded veteran. He didn't seem bothered by them, but eerily kept his attention on her.

But then a husky nuzzled its face against the wolf's ear. Recognizing the husky, Faith's mouth dropped open. "Nikki?"

Nikki. What had happened to Charles and the rest of the team? And Cameron? Faith's gaze searched for any signs of him and saw Cameron's parka and the rest of his clothes piled up on top of the sled.

"What the…?"

The wolf lifted his nose and sniffed the air, then turned his head south. With the dogs still yipping, he tore off. Nikki followed him, along with two of the other dogs.

Dashing to the others to grab their collars and make them stay with her, Faith hollered at the rest to come back. But the wolf's influence overrode hers and the dogs ran with him until they disappeared from sight. She prayed they'd come back and that Charles and his team were all right. That the wolf wasn't leading the dogs into an ambush like the one did in one of Jack London's wolf tales.

But what of Cameron? She had to locate his tracks in the snow. Something surely had gone wrong with Charles and his team, too. She glanced at the dead wolves, their blood coloring the snow red. What if the blood attracted predators? She shoved her outer gloves back on and hurried to the sled to search for a shovel.

In the distance, an eerie howl sounded.

After he killed the first of the wolves, Cameron reluctantly concluded he wasn't living a dream or a nightmare. The taste of blood and fur was too real. The smell of dogs and wolves. The way he recognized their fear, anger, and jubilation in every action—the raised tails and the drooped ones, the ears forward, or back, or flattened, the narrowed eyes, or widened. Every action signaled a defensive, or aggressive, or excited posture. The way he understood their barks, growls, and yips. The feel of the cold breeze whipping across his face and the burning in his shoulder from the new wolf bite. The iron smell of blood—of his and the ones he'd killed. All were very real and too unreal to ponder more closely.

Still in shock over the whole changing-into-a-beast scenario—had to have been twice now—he couldn't figure out what the hell had happened to him. Except it probably had something to do with Charles's comments about magical wolves coming down from the aurora borealis. But he didn't want to think about his bizarre situation beyond that for now. All he knew was he had to locate Charles pronto, make sure he was safe, and find out more concerning the magical wolves.

He was a white Arctic wolf, just like the one that had bitten him, and the ones he'd killed.

But right now, more than anything, Cameron hoped the older man was all right and the dogs were, too.

Nikki ran with Cameron, then turned west. He followed her along with the other dogs and heard Charles's team barking in the distance again. The sound was in greeting, not warning of danger. Which gave him a small sense of relief.

Then it occurred to him that the other two wolves had taken off before he could kill them—the one howling their whereabouts. What if they circled back around to the camp and Faith? Hell, if only he could be in two places at once. He had to hurry, not wanting to leave Faith on her own for long.

When he neared the camp, his original husky team raced to greet him, but there was no sign of Charles, just his sled, tent, and the bed of straw he'd made for his dogs. Cameron loped toward the erected tent, the door flap blowing in the wind. He poked his head inside and saw Charles lying in his sleeping bag, deathly quiet. After walking inside, Cameron nuzzled Charles's face with his nose and pawed at his chest, but Charles didn't wake. Cameron concentrated on the man's breathing, his heartbeat. And he smelled blood. But Charles was alive, thank god. Although he needed help and Cameron couldn't give it to him—not like this.

Then a blood-curdling scream shrieked across the snowy woods from the direction of Cameron's campsite. The dogs began barking. His heart thundering, Cameron raced out of the tent. Faith. Kintail's other wolves. Or maybe Kintail and his men had arrived.

Hell, what next? He had to take care of Faith, and then Charles, but how could he take care of anyone while he was in the form of a magical wolf?

Cursing his situation, he tore off across the snow again, heading straight back to Faith. A couple of the dogs had followed him from the other team, and so did his own, making him truly feel like the alpha leader of the pack.

When he finally reached the campsite, Faith was gone. Or maybe she was hiding inside the tent. There was no sign of anyone else, and he realized then—there had been no sounds of snowmobiles approaching the area. Then the wolves had to have returned.

The dogs that had remained behind greeted him and their teammates. It wasn't until he got around them to head for the tent when he saw what probably had shaken Faith.

Kintail's men lay naked in the snow where Cameron had killed the two wolves. He stared in disbelief. That could have been him, if they'd gotten the best of him instead. Shaking loose of his surprise that they had the same affliction he had, Cameron rushed over to the sled, wishing he could turn back into his human form and dress and see to Faith. They had to get the team together and take care of Charles.

Cameron closed his eyes and concentrated. I want to be human again.

He opened his eyes. Nothing had changed. Hating not being in control, he growled low. He nudged at his clothes with his long wolf's snout, pawed at them, wanting to put his things back on, to be himself. But still, he didn't change.

Without another plan, he loped toward the tent, hoping Faith was all right inside. But when he pushed the flap aside, he found the tent empty. Hell. Trying not to panic, he attempted to smell where she'd run off to. Or had someone managed to take her?

He found no signs of any tracks other than wolf prints, and the impression in the snow made by her small boots. He raced after her, hating not being able to holler her name.

When he found her, if he found her, what then? She'd think he was the same kind of wolf that he'd killed, most likely. Some type of alien aberration.

The sound of footfalls followed him, and he whipped his head around to see all the dogs chasing after him. His breath frosty in the breeze, he paused and sniffed again. Straight ahead. He bolted in that direction, his tail straight out. The tracks indicated she'd stumbled and fallen several times, running at first, then slowing her pace as if the need for flight had dissipated.

When he finally saw her not very far from camp, she was sitting in a pile of snow, her white parka and clothes nearly blending in. She looked back, her eyes widening when she saw him with the teams. The dogs raced to greet her, and Cameron moved in close with them, hoping she wouldn't shoot him, or wouldn't attempt to with the other dogs surrounding him.

Tears sparkled in her eyes and streaks of tears trailed down her cheeks. But the dogs were so enthusiastically licking her and poking her to go with them, their actions stirred her from where she sat. He wanted so badly to take her into his arms and hold her tight. Damn what he'd become.

Warily, she watched Cameron, then patted some of the dogs and rose to her feet. She didn't pull the gun on him, yet, but she kept her eyes on him as she headed toward him in the direction of the camp. Good. Maybe he could nudge her into hitching up the team and joining Charles until Cameron could figure a way of changing back. If he could. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to die first. Damn, what if Kintail somehow changed people through these attack wolves and then once they changed, there was no turning back?

No, Cameron had done it before. Damn, then that meant that he really had seen Chris and his friends in the tent that one night. Oh hell, if they hadn't seen Bigfoot, had they seen someone like he was now?

When Faith neared him, she made a wider circle around him as the dogs escorted her back, some racing ahead, some running by her side. Cameron inched in closer and nudged her gloved hand with his nose in greeting. She looked like she was about to run.

Don't run, Faith. He'd take chase. He could already feel the urge rising in his blood. He didn't want to scare her, but the instinct was too great.

She was already walking as fast as she could, trying to get away from him. He stayed close. Don't run, Faith.

But as soon as she got near enough to camp, she dashed for the tent.

Had she left the gun in the tent?

Hell, maybe. His shoulder already hurt like the devil, and he didn't need her shooting him, too. Beyond that, he had to convince her to take care of Charles, who could be dying for all Cameron knew.

He bolted for her, the thrill of the chase coursing through his blood. The dogs barked with glee and Cameron lunged for her.

As soon as he pounced on her back, she screamed and fell face first in the snow. And then, lay very still, but he didn't move either. If he released her, she'd go for the weapon. She continued to remain motionless. From the sound of her too-rapid heartbeat, her heavy breathing, and her slight trembling, he knew she hadn't passed out, but rather was playing possum. He wanted to smile at her clever deception.

The playful urge to take her down gave way to something deeper, more primal and possessive. How could he want her now when he was a wolf? But the more he tried to deny his feelings, the greater his need to have and protect her surged through him.

The strange feeling that had consumed him, rushed through him again, the heat, his muscles and bones stretching, until he was butt naked and his backside was freezing as he pinned her down.

How the hell did he change back? And worse, how was he going to explain to her what had happened to him?

He cleared his throat. "Faith, I'm going to let you up, and we have to get the team hitched. Charles is not far from here, but he's been hurt and isn't responsive. We need to hurry and give him first aid."

"Cameron?" Her voice was muffled in her ski mask, kind of a squeak.

"It's me. Cameron." He spoke close to her ear, huddled against her for warmth. From the surprise in her voice, he guessed she was thoroughly confused. Why wouldn't she be? He still couldn't get over the change himself.

Then a new thought occurred to him. What if she thought he had bolted out of nowhere and shoved her down, protecting her from the big bad wolf that was chasing her?

He groaned. Then what? Tell her, or keep it a secret a while longer if she hadn't put two and two together?

"I have to dress. Why don't you take down the tent while I do that, and then I'll get the dogs together?" Cameron let her up and raced over to the sled, trying not to think about how cold he was, hoping she didn't go after the gun and shoot him in the back. But if he didn't get dressed quickly, he was going to lose some body parts to the frigid air. Beyond that, his new wolf bite shot streaks of throbbing pain from his shoulder straight to his brain, and he was having trouble concentrating on much else.

When he'd donned everything but his parka, he looked back to see her staring at him, her eyes dark and wide. He hoped she'd realized what had happened so he wasn't left with trying to explain, or keeping his strange condition secret. Deep inside, he knew he shouldn't tell her what had become of him, that it would be safer for him, and for her. "Hurry, Faith. We've got to help Charles."

Her expression changed slightly, from still in shock to all business. She whipped around and went into the tent. He hesitated to do anything, his first thought she was going for the gun. But then she came out holding his rolled sleeping bag up and headed for the sled. "Hurry, Cameron. You have some explaining to do."

Well, that decided that. He closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms to give her a comforting hug.

At first, she was stiff, but then she melted, wrapped her arms around him, embracing him as if she had found her long-lost love and never wanted to let him go. Still concerned that she might be in shock, he leaned down and kissed her forehead, then ran his gloved hand across her cheek. "Let's get you settled in the sled bag. I'll take care of everything else."

"I'll pack the tent." Her gaze fixed on his, making her seem determined to get through this on her own.

He leaned down and kissed her cold lips and hugged her with a bear of an embrace. He still worried she might be in shock, but when he tried to steer her toward the sled, she shook loose. "I'm… I'm all right." But he could tell by the hesitancy in her words, she was putting on a front.

He let her go, but while he rushed to get the dogs' booties on, and harnessed the team, then hitched them to the sled, he watched Faith dismantling the stove pipe from the stove, then working on the tent, to ensure she truly was all right. She seemed to be, and afterward, he packed the stove and tent on the sled. But then he caught Faith's gaze focused on the dead men lying in the snow.

"I'm sorry, Faith."

"You're injured," she said, changing the subject, her voice more sure now, and he was glad to hear it. "We have a first aid kit and I'll take care of you after we see to Charles."

"It's a deal." The burning in his shoulder from the fresh wolf bite hurt like hell now and every move added a twinge of excruciating pain through the muscles.

He wondered if Faith was in denial though—if she truly didn't believe he was the wolf, or if she did and just couldn't acknowledge it. He sure had refused to believe it. Well, still did to an extent. Now that he was back to his normal self, he couldn't imagine being able to shapeshift again. At least the urge to run as a wolf was gone for the time being.

Glancing at the dead men, Cameron took a deep breath. "I'll clean up the camp a bit. Be right back."

He grabbed the shovel she'd dropped in the snow and buried the two men. It was as proper a burial as he could give them, but he figured Kintail and his men would come for them eventually. For a moment, he stared at the mounds, wishing it hadn't come to this. Figuring he'd killed a couple of wolves, wolf to wolf, he never imagined…

The wolf part of him felt no remorse. He had to protect Faith and the huskies. That was a given. The human side of him…

Then he remembered Faith's terrified expression. The wolf would have killed her. The man-wolf. It didn't matter what form they had taken. Cameron wouldn't have let any of them harm her.

Letting out his breath, he hurried back to the sled. He slipped the shovel on the sled and climbed onto the runners. Even if she couldn't see that he was one of them, she knew the others were. No words could express what had happened to make it any less unreal.

In pain and worried about Charles's condition, Cameron shouted, "Hike!"

The dogs took off and they raced past the grave mounds.

"Haw!" he shouted, steering them left, toward Charles's camp.

He hoped Faith could deal with all that had happened, and that she wasn't too traumatized. She needed to manage the other team, if they were going to get both sleds home. He prayed Charles would be all right when they got him to Millinocket. And Cameron hoped that he didn't have a sudden urge to turn into a wolf again ever.

He made kissing sounds at the team, encouraging them to run faster.

When they reached Charles's camp, Cameron hollered, "Whoa," and the dogs came to a halt.

"What's wrong with Charles?" Faith climbed out of the sled bag and seemed much steadier now.

"Not sure. I couldn't rouse him." Cameron grabbed the first aid kit and hurried into the tent.

Charles was sitting up, his eyes glazed.

"Hell, you're alive." Thank God for small miracles. Cameron knelt beside him and took his wrist to feel for the strength of his pulse, although he concentrated more on listening to Charles's heartbeat, but he couldn't let Faith know that. Strong steady pulse, not raspy like he'd feared.

Charles's gaze shifted to Cameron. "What… what happened?"

Cameron glanced at the sleeping bag and saw blood where Charles's head had been.

"You tell me. You took off and left us to fend for ourselves." Cameron examined the back of Charles's head as Faith knelt beside Charles and held his hand.

"Ambush," Charles said and started to lie down.

Cameron stopped him. "Wait, let me see where you're injured." Then he found the bloody swelling centered on the very back of his head. "Who struck you?"

Charles moaned and closed his eyes.

"Kintail? One of his men?"

Charles didn't respond, but with the way he was struck from behind, he might not have even seen who hit him. Cameron pulled bandaging out of the first aid kit and wrapped it around Charles's head, trying not to hurt him any more than he was already. But Charles winced and groaned.

"What's wrong with him?"

"Someone struck him from behind." Cameron eased Charles down on the sleeping bag and covered him with the blankets.

Faith rubbed her arms. "He wasn't bitten, was he?"

"No, he wasn't bitten. Here, you can feel the knot on the back of his head. Probably got a concussion. He's pretty out of it."

"Kintail's men?" she whispered.

"Good bet."

"So what do we do now? Find our way by ourselves? Wait until he's better?"

"We'll be right back, Charles." Cameron took Faith's arm and led her from the tent to the sled. "We can't go the way we came or we'd have to run by Kintail's lodge. We'll have to find our way to the main road that had been blocked. Since he's in bad shape, we'll stay here, let the dogs rest, then head for the cabins. I'll set up our tent and—"

"I'll stay with Charles. To make sure he's okay during the night."

Again he wondered if she had a clue about the wolf and him being one and the same, about his being naked in the snow. And why she hadn't asked him anything more about it. "All right. Go to him then. Let me know if he gets any worse." He headed for the dogs.

"I'll help you with the huskies."

He thought she'd ask him what had happened at their camp. Instead, she talked lovingly to the dogs and helped get them settled. Then, much to his surprise, she assisted him in setting up the tent. When they were done, they shared an awkward moment of silence. He wanted to kiss her and give her a hug, to reassure her that they'd all be fine. But before he could take her in his arms, she said good night, whipped around, and quickly escaped to Charles's tent.

He couldn't reproach her, although he couldn't stifle his desire for her, no matter how much he tried. Normally, if a woman wasn't interested in him, he wouldn't have followed up. Although no woman had ever acted afraid of him. Except for the case where he'd questioned a woman who had everything to hide—including a dead husband and stolen money from work—but he didn't think he would have anything to do with a woman who feared him. So what the hell was making him want Faith even more?

The need to prove he was the same person as before? The same man that she'd found as desirable as he found her? But he wasn't the same, either. He was some kind of aberration. And he still wanted her. Craved her as if she was his lifeline to reality.

Inside the tent, she asked Charles, "Are you going to be all right?"

Cameron hesitated to hear an answer. Charles didn't respond, much to Cameron's disappointment, then he ducked into his own tent.

His shoulder was throbbing with a deep ache and after settling into his sleeping bag, he tossed and turned, reliving the night's events. He thought about Kintail and his wolves and how they were not at all what they seemed. Which meant?

Hell, Kintail was probably one, too. And David and Owen?

Cameron raked his hands through his hair.

If they'd seen Kintail's people shapeshift, had he had them killed? Or were they now what he was?