Wild Wolf (Shifters Unbound, #6)(59)

Reid and Neal exchanged a glance. “You sure?” Neal asked.

“You want me to rest. I’ll rest with her. But I won’t sleep.”

Another glance. Goddess, they were like nannies. Finally Neal took up his sword and buckled it onto his back. Reid gave Graham a last look, and the two men left the room together.

“Thought we’d never be alone.” Graham sat on his big bed, swinging his legs onto the mattress and adjusting himself to lean against the headboard. He wore only jeans, his feet bare, the bandage squeezing his side in an annoying way.

Misty didn’t respond. Her hair was sweaty and damp, still in the ponytail. The first night Graham had met her, at Coolers, she’d worn her hair in a softer style, with wisps curling around her forehead. She’d regarded Graham with her dark brown eyes, unafraid, and asked him if he was a Shifter.

And look what he’d done to her.

Misty should have run from him that night and never come back. But she had come back. She’d met him the second time by chance on top of a parking garage at the county courthouse, and then she’d sought Graham out in Shiftertown to tell him a bad man had asked her to spy on Shifters. That night, Graham had kissed her for the first time.

He’d never been able to forget the taste of her. Graham had drunk her last night as well, finding an even sweeter taste between her legs.

If she died, Graham would force his way into Faerie, hunt down Oison, and chop him into a million tiny pieces.

Misty’s wound wasn’t very deep, so Neal had said when he’d cleaned her up and bandaged her. But with Fae wounds, it didn’t matter how deep they were. A scratch could be deadly.

“Stay with me, love.” Graham took her hot hand in his and caressed her limp fingers. “I can’t let you go.”

Graham had lost everyone in his life. His father and mother, his sister—Dougal’s mother—all dead in the wild. Graham and Dougal were the only ones left of the pack. And Rita had died, Graham’s one cub with her.

Alone, always alone. Graham had found more Shifters in his clan, then they’d been rounded up into Shiftertowns, practically living on top of one another, but it made no difference. A wolf without a pack was nothing.

But a wolf could start a pack. He needed a mate, and cubs. When Dougal mated as well, there would be many little ones running around.

The idea of being alone forever terrified the hell out of Graham. He’d never told anyone that.

“Stay with me, Misty.”

He leaned down and kissed her hair, squeezing her hand. Misty never opened her eyes, never acknowledged him. She was here next to him, but Graham was still alone.

No, not quite. Kyle and Matt pushed the door open, concern in their wolf-pup eyes. They preferred staying wolf these days, Graham noted, unless they wanted to chatter to Misty.

Now they put their paws on the bed, looking up at Graham’s high mattress. Graham lifted them both. After wagging tails and pushing noses into his palm, the two cubs lay down at Misty’s feet, one on either corner of the bed.

Guarding her, Graham thought. Guards who closed their eyes almost immediately, and started to snore.

? ? ?

Misty swam toward consciousness, but that way lay pain. She thought she heard her brother’s voice . . . Paul, I need to take care of him.

She was twelve again, and sick in bed with the flu, fever making her delirious. Her father was off pursuing one of his wild schemes, her mother was in Newport Beach in her new house with her new life. Only Misty was there to take care of Paul. I have to get up. I have to look after him.

But Graham was there too. She heard him rumbling something and relaxed. If anyone could take care of Paul, it was Graham.

She heard other voices, ones she didn’t know. A woman with low, almost velvety tones, a man with an Irish accent. What were they all doing here?

Present reality caught up to her. She’d been stabbed, with a wound that seared, and Graham had been hurt. Where was she? Was Graham all right? Were the cubs?

She started up to find a heavy hand pressing her back down. “Stay still,” Graham said.

Misty subsided. Graham sounded as strong as ever, though she heard the weakness in his voice. Faint, but there.

The pain returned. Pain had seeped through the darkness of her dreams, but it had been muffled, like sounds through a thick blanket. Now it raced over her, spreading through her body from one hot core.

“The cut isn’t too deep,” the woman’s voice said. “But deep enough. I can try.”

“What is that?” Graham’s voice held great suspicion.

“Something my father gave me. He thinks it will help.”

“Your Fae father.”

The Irishman spoke. “You knew that when you called us.”

Graham growled something wordless. “You’re a Guardian,” he said. “Why do you have to be in here? You make me nervous.”

“The sword helps,” the woman answered in soothing tones. “Sean and I do this together. If you want her to get better, you have to stand over there and be quiet.”

Misty wanted to laugh, but it hurt too much. Graham hated being told what to do, especially by a female.

The Irishman, who must be Sean, gave a low chuckle. “I’ll let no harm come to her. Andrea knows what she’s doing. Now I’m going to draw the sword, but I promise, I’m not stabbing anyone with it.”