She lies there still, her breathing ragged, shallow, blood soaking the new bandages around her neck in spite of my herbs, my careful stitches. I feel a twinge of desperation.

We don't have a healer. I only know a few tricks and herbs to help in a time of need, but our wolves do most of their own healing.

I shouldn’t worry about her.

She was attacked by a wolf. I would want no less from the Blackwood pack if they found one of our own caught in their forest. 

But if that was the case, I should have left her in the glen outside their territory for their pack to find and take back. 

No, something drew me to her. I couldn't leave her alone. My energy called to her, and I had to bring her back. 

Who is she?

My heart twists inside my chest, and I back away from her again. My energy senses her pain, just as it sensed her presence when I came into the house, and it draws me to her. 

I'm feeling soft, and I don't like it. 

But she is a wolf. And something about this girl tells me she means something to my life. 

So I won't kill her. 

But I need to get out of here. 

I turn and leave the cabin.

***

The next few days pass in a blur of activity as I dedicate myself to nursing the she-wolf back to health. I gather herbs from the forest, crush leaves and petals into poultices, and boil water to cleanse her wounds. I prepare simple meals, broth and tea, and force it down her throat.

I try to spend as little time with her, inside my cabin, as possible, but her presence draws me near like a moth to the flame. 

I don't even know her name. 

I change her bandages regularly, checking the wounds to make sure there's no swelling, no infection. I turn her from one side to the other, trying to avoid the bedsores that will make a difficult recovery even worse. 

She's silent, her eyes closed, and for the most part, she's unresponsive. But sometimes she whimpers, her body reacting to the pain of her injuries, and she whines in her sleep. 

I watch the sunlight through the window, the moonlight through the rafters. I rarely leave her side. A sense of protectiveness over her has taken root in me. It's a strange feeling, one I'm not used to, but I can't deny it.

I gather yarrow and comfrey, crushing the leaves and mixing them with water to create a paste. I spread the mixture over her wounds, watching as the herbs work their magic, speeding up the healing process. My fingers glide over her fur, feeling the heat of her skin beneath. I keep the fire burning, its warmth seeping into her body, helping her to heal. 

I pay attention to the animals in the forest, to the sounds of my pack meeting outside. I have to give excuse after excuse for why I haven't left the sanctuary of my cabin for three days, why no one's allowed inside.

And I watch her. She's no longer breathing in gasps. The swelling has gone down. It's a slow process, but it's happening. She's healing. My eyes trace the lines of her face, the curve of her jaw, the rise and fall of her ribcage.

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I can't let my emotions get in the way. I can't let my feelings for her cloud my judgment. I have to stay focused. I have to stay strong. 

But it's hard. 

It's so hard.

And then she shifts.

I'm not expecting it. I'm sitting by her side in the puddle of blankets, shirtless because my cabin is hot and humid, watching over her, my mind wandering as I think about the moments I've spent with her, tending to her, caring for her. I think about the way her eyes flicker open, the brief glimpses of awareness I’ve seen before she slips back into unconsciousness. I think about the way her body reacts to my touch, her muscles tensing and relaxing.

Her body shudders, and then her back arches, her chest heaving, her limbs stretching.

There’s a flash of light, and I draw back with a cry of surprise. Her fur recedes, her features morphing and contorting. Her limbs stretch and reshape, her snout shortening, her ears rounding. Her body trembles as the transformation takes hold. I watch in awe as she becomes human.

And then she's there, lying on the floor, her dark hair spread out around her, her pale skin glowing in the firelight. I stare at her, my breath catching in my throat.

She's beautiful, delicate, like a porcelain doll. I feel a surge of emotion, a wave of love and protectiveness.

My eyes take in her form, from the delicate arch of her eyebrows to the curve of her lips. Her skin is pale, almost translucent, but there's a hint of color in her cheeks. Her hair is dark, a stark contrast to the rest of her, and it spills across the pillow like a waterfall of ink. 

My breath catches in my throat as my eyes travel down her body. Her legs are long and lean, her hips wide, her waist slender beneath breasts that swell gently. And a face that could move the gods. Her lashes are long and dark, fanning out against her cheeks, and her lips are full and pink.

And she's completely naked.

My cock stirs, and I curse myself for even thinking such a thing. Here she is, vulnerable and barely clinging to life, and I can only imagine what her body might feel like against mine, what her lips might taste like, how her cunt might squeeze my cock, bringing me to heights of ecstasy.

I can't look away. I'm captivated by her. 

"Shit," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. "What is wrong with me?"

I turn away and go to the shelf where I store the bandages. I bring a stack of them to the bed and find one of the T-shirts of my pack members. It's small on my giant frame, but it should cover her satisfactorily.

I turn back to her, my eyes zoning in on the wounds. They're still raw, still bruised and bloody. Her shifter magic helped her more than I could, but she still needs time to heal.

I cradle her limbs in my hands, moving her gently, trying not to disturb her rest. I wrap her head carefully, adjust the clothing to cover her breasts. I wrap the shirt around her shoulders, tucking the ends around her lean frame. Then I lift her gently from the ground and carry her to my bed.

When I finish, I step back, inhaling deeply. Her scent is strong. Arousing in ways I haven't felt in a long time.

Not since Elara. And look what happened to her.

My gut clenches, and I have to close my eyes, breathe out slowly. I can't think about that right now.  

But this. . .this person. 

This wolf.

She can be different.

I reach out, my fingers brushing against her hair, tucking a strand behind her ear. Her skin is soft, smooth, and I feel a shiver run through me at the contact. I trace the line of her jaw, my thumb brushing against her cheek. She's so delicate, so fragile. I don't know what this bond is. I don't understand it. 

A knock on the door has me spinning around. A growl escapes my throat before I can hold it back, but then I sniff and relax. 

It’s just Cassie.

“Kalen,” she calls. “I know you’re there. I’ve brought food.”

I cross to the door and open it a sliver to peer down at her. 

“Cassie,” I say, keeping my voice gruff. “Who said I needed food?”

Though barely past the age of a pup and in her early adult years, Cassie’s gray eyes show a wisdom beyond her days. 

“We haven’t seen you at the lodge for days,” she says quietly. “I know you like your solitude, but this is more extreme than usual.”

I grunt. “Has anyone else noticed?”

She doesn’t respond, which I take as an affirmation.

“You want to tell me why you’ve secluded yourself up here?” she asks.

“No.” My eyes fall on the basket of food she offers, and my stomach growls. I’ve sustained myself on kills and berries, but I smell fresh bread in there. “Thank you.”

I take the basket and start to close the door on her face, then I pause and reopen it slightly. “And thanks for . . . Watching out for me.”

“Someone has to, Kalen.”

I don’t respond as I close the door and rip into the basket.

Ironic. She could be my little sister. Maybe that’s why she’s the only wolf in the pack I let get close to me.

I tear into the bread, biting out a chunk with my teeth, then return to my chair and resume my vigil, only this time I’m holding a loaf of warm bread in my hands. 

I keep my eyes on her as I eat. I want to be near her, this woman who is still a stranger and yet somehow not. I want to hear her name. I want to be with her when she takes her first steps, when she eats her first meal. I want to be the one she confides in, the one to hear her thoughts.

I want to know what happened to her.

I want her to heal. I want her to wake up, to look at me with those eyes, to speak to me with that mouth. I want to know her, to understand her. To be with her.

I want her to love me.

And I know, in that moment, that I will do anything to make that happen.

Even if it means going against my pack. Even if it means betraying everything I know.

She makes a strangled noise, utters a gasp, and opens her eyes.