Black Wolfe's Mate (Paranormal Shifter Romance) (4 page)

He howled again, this time a frantic call for help.

“S
he will not survive the night,” Silas said quietly, pulling the sheet up over her torn and battered body. Though the words were expected, the heavy pain that accompanied them was not. Her breathing was labored; her heart struggled valiantly, each pulse weaker than the last. Blood no longer gushed from the open wounds where the rocks had ripped her flesh even as the waves relentlessly crushed her bones against them. Derrick had closed them all as quickly as he could, the saliva from his wolf’s tongue sealing them almost instantly, but she had already lost so much. Her human heart had very little left to circulate, a pump running on empty.

Why?
The question slammed through his mind, over and over again.
Why was she out on the rocks? Why did she not heed the warning of the approaching storm? Why did she want to die?

It made no sense to him. From the moment she had arrived, she had captured his interest. He hadn’t
wanted
it to happen, but it had just the same. Her quiet, natural beauty appealed to the beast in him. In the limited time he had spent with her, he had found her to be intelligent and charming, with a naiveté that filled him with wonder.

When she had taken the initiative and boldly kissed him, he had tasted passion as well, untapped and potent.

As she lay before him, dying, his mind conjured a picture of the first time he had seen her.

He had been in his private office discussing something with Silas — something mundane he could no longer recall. He’d glanced out the window and saw her carefully making her way out to the cliffs, immediately garnering his attention.

It was such an odd thing to do. Most guests preferred the white, sandy beaches, the meticulous gardens, and artfully designed patios and balconies to the inhospitable black stone of the breakers. Step by step, he watched her slow progress until she reached the end, where she then proceeded to gracefully sit upon the unforgiving rock.

“Who is that?” he’d asked.

Silas joined him at the window and followed his gaze. “I don’t know. Steffen picked up the newest arrivals this morning.”

“What is she doing?”

“Sea gazing, I suppose.”

“It looks uncomfortable.”

“She doesn’t seem to mind.”

Minutes ticked by in silence until Derrick finally said, “I want to know who she is, Silas. Find out. Now.”

For a long time after Silas left, Derrick had remained by the window, oddly fixated on the woman. She sat as still as a statue, her golden hair the only thing moving as the breeze lifted and tossed it about. She remained there until twilight, when she finally rose and simply went back the way she had come.

Thus began his inexplicable fascination with Angelica Xanthopoulos.

He had arrived at the restaurant early each morning, hoping to catch a glimpse of her at breakfast. When those attempts proved unsuccessful, he had strolled about at lunch, mingling with his guests, always searching for her. Night after night, he had watched and waited, his interest growing each day.

She tended to distance herself from the other guests. Not once had she partaken in a meal in the grand dining hall. That was a shame, really, because the fare was quite spectacular.

A brief inquiry informed him that a special meal was packed for her each day. It had surprised him. His master chef, Antoine, made exceptions for no one, especially not a tiny slip of a human female. When questioned further, the centuries-old chef had merely shrugged.

And so, he had moved his search behind the safety of his floor-to-ceiling windows until he found her, unobtrusively exiting far below, skirting clear of the others, heading out far beyond the private beaches to the west. Without fail, she would return to the inhospitable breakers, where she would sit alone for hours on end, staring off into the distance.

He didn’t know what made him follow her that fateful day. Curiosity, perhaps. Her strange behavior intrigued him, and so very little did anymore. He had seen it all, done it all, a dozen times or more. The wonder of something new, something different, was a rarity for him.  Had been for a long time.  Derrick had resigned himself to being content. It had been enough.

Until
she
arrived.

Quiet. Alone. A shadow who asked for and expected nothing. And so damn invisible she had captured his attention like a flaming beacon.

He had surprised her that day when he joined her on the rocks. He did not ask permission. She was on his island and those rocks were part of his domain.

She had said nothing, acknowledging his presence with nothing more than a slight nod. He had found that intriguing as well. More often than not, people sought him out. Females were especially drawn to his extraordinary good looks and the primal allure of his beast. Their conscious, educated minds might not comprehend what he was, but deep down, their primitive, carnal natures did. It was why he and his sentinels remained behind the scenes, limiting their exposure to brief periods or necessary interactions with the guests.

But this woman seemed immune to his charms from the very start. He was not offended, just fascinated.

They’d sat in silence for a long while that day, her watching the ocean, Derrick watching her. When she reached into the small picnic basket and offered him half of what appeared to be a stuffed croissant — he believed the modern term was “sandwich” — he accepted. Just as he accepted half of her chocolate-dipped strawberries and sipped from the same petite bottle of champagne.

“I am Derrick Wolfe,” he said, finally. “This is my island.”

For the first time, she seemed to look at him. Really look at him. Her eyes traveled the full length of his form, from his glossy black hair to his size fourteen custom-made leather boots, pausing only twice — once at his eyes and once at his hands. Not the usual places a woman’s gaze lingered, but he had fought the urge to preen.

“Angelica Xanthopoulos,” she replied thoughtfully. “I am a visitor to your island.” Her voice was nothing like he had expected. Petite women tended to have high-pitched voices that made the wolf in him shudder, but hers was much lower. It was not clear and cutting, but muted rather, as if it had been wrapped in something soft and silky. A purr. Like a she-wolf. But then, he knew as well as anyone that she-wolves were next to non-existent. And she smelled inherently human.

He had wanted to hear more of it. “Are you enjoying your stay, Miss Xanthopoulos?”

“It is a very beautiful island, Mr. Wolfe,” she’d answered.

“Yes, it is. But that is not what I asked.”

“No, I suppose it isn’t.”

Derrick had waited for an answer that never came. The waves continued to crash below. The occasional spray of ocean mist reached up and around them. As the sun began to set, she carefully began to pack the remains of her meal back into the small hand-woven basket.

“Thank you for the pleasure of your company, Mr. Wolfe,” she had said politely as she got up to leave.

He had risen as well, more fascinated than ever. “You are quite welcome, Miss Xanthopoulos.”

When they had reached the far side of the castle where the back entrance to the first floor kitchens was located, he’d offered to return the basket for her. “No, thank you,” she had said, almost distractedly. “I wish to personally thank Chef Antoine.” She’d paused as a look of worry crossed over her face. “That is allowed, isn’t it? I haven’t gotten him in any kind of trouble for breaking the rules, have I?”

Derrick had been genuinely amused over her concern for Antoine, though that amusement became tinged with a realization that was not quite as pleasant: Antoine had obviously taken notice of her before he had. Then again, he was the one who just spent the last several hours in her company, not Antoine. That thought pleased him.

“Yes, it is allowed. And no, he will face no recrimination for his actions. I do suggest, however, that you not share this personalized service with the other guests.” Her eyes clouded briefly, but she nodded. He hadn’t given it another thought until the next day when a very annoyed Antoine cornered him in the kitchens.

“What did you say to her?”

“Who?”

“An-gel-i-ca,” the chef had said, rolling her name off his tongue with an affection Derrick was unused to hearing. The Frenchman held all of the smug arrogance for which his countrymen were known, and was an expert at seduction; he simply did not “do” affection.  

“She requested I no longer prepare a special lunch for her because she did not wish to...how did she put it?
Get me in trouble
.” He leveled an accusatory glare at Derrick.

Derrick had frowned. “I clearly remember telling her there would be no recriminations for your unusual behavior, although I did request that she not flaunt such special treatment before the other guests.”

Antoine had thrown up his hands and muttered a string of curses in Old French, all of which Derrick understood quite well. Some terms, like ‘idiot’, would have translated clearly, even if he hadn’t known the language.

That was how Derrick had found himself out at the breakers again, toting a heavily laden, hand-woven basket. He sat down on the rocks and, without a word, pushed the basket toward her.

She’d glanced at it briefly and shook her head before returning her gaze to the sea. Derrick had nudged it farther. He did so, several times in fact, until the basket lodged against her side. Then he’d given it one more nudge with his toe, just for good measure. He could be stubborn, too.

He had seen her lips quirk and pushed it again.

“Okay, I get the point,” she’d said finally, the quirk becoming a full-fledged grin. “Will you join me?”

As if he had intended anything else.

That’s how it had been for the next three days. They had shared a meal together, enjoying each other’s quiet company. Sometimes he would ask her a question or make some innocuous statement, just so he could hear her voice again.

Until that fateful day when she kissed him and he turned tail and run.

Now, she lay before him, her immortal spirit readying to flee her failing mortal body. Silas waited expectantly for him to give the command to mercifully end her suffering.

It should have been an easy decision. Her injuries were mortal. She could not possibly survive. To allow her to suffer was cruel.

“Derrick?” Silas prodded when her small body began to seize.

Derrick looked helplessly at her. Her face, so beautiful only hours before, was no longer recognizable. Her light honeyed skin was pale beneath the great number of colorful bruises, adorned by jagged tears and swollen tissue. Her eyes were shut tightly, a purely physical response to the brutal pain she had to be feeling. Bones were broken, internal organs damaged. Her brief time on earth had come to an end.

Too brief
, he thought. He needed more time. More time to understand why this odd bond existed between them. And in that instant, he knew he could not lose her. Not yet. Not when he had yet to discover the secrets of the woman who had beguiled him so.

“No,” he said firmly, his jaw clenching as he ripped the sheet from her body. “She is mine.”

He shimmered into his wolf form long enough to bite a mark of claim upon the tender skin between her neck and shoulder. Then he returned to human form and used his still-protruding fangs to score his wrist. Placing it over her mouth, he let his blood drip into it, willing the flow to continue until she began to gag. Then he covered her nose and mouth, making it impossible for her to expel it.

“
Derrick.
” Silas watched, horrified.

Derrick ignored him. “My blood is strong, Silas. She will survive this, because I wish it. Now, grab her legs and hold her still.”

“Derrick, you must not do this.”

“If you refuse to help me, Silas, then leave. I will not hold it against you.”

Silas hesitated, clearly torn. Then, making his decision, he leaned over her legs to keep them from thrashing.

“Thank you, Silas,” Derrick said gratefully, meeting his eyes. “I shall not forget this.”

Silas nodded.

Several tense moments passed as her human body fought the transformation. Derrick let the power build within, then suffused his voice with compulsion. He attempted to reassure her, to tell her it would all soon be over, but there was no way to know if the words made it through. The two men used their significant strength to hold her in place so she would not exacerbate her already grievous injuries.

Wolf’s blood had some healing power, but it was the transformation itself that would heal her body and make her whole again. If she survived long enough, it would reform her at the molecular level. The Were DNA would incorporate itself into every last cell, forging it into something new, each one akin to a two-sided coin — one side would hold her human code, the other, lupine.

Eventually, she began to calm. Her thrashing limbs stilled. Her lungs, damaged by the infusion of salt water beneath ribs that had been crushed against the rocks, no longer capable of filling themselves with life-giving air, collapsed. Her mortal heart beat for the last time.

The human Angelica was dead. Now, all they could do was wait — wait and hope the wolf’s blood would be absorbed by her tissues and begin working its miracles.

“Y
ou have never Made another.” Silas’ observation, quietly spoken, was loud in the silence that followed.

“No,” Derrick admitted. “Have you?”

“Once,” Silas answered.

Derrick would have raised an eyebrow in surprise had he not been so weary in heart and mind. Males could only Make females, not transform other males. It was a biological necessity to continue their race, because female pups were extremely rare. Once a male transformed a woman, he was expected to mate with her. And once a male mated, he mated for life. It was a daunting prospect, given their incredibly long life span. So daunting, in fact, that most males took centuries to choose their perfect mate. Some never did.

“You have never spoken of it.”