Werewolf in Alaska

He gave a little sigh of resignation. Admitting his weakness, even to someone who wouldn’t judge him, wasn’t easy.

Jake? Are you badly hurt?

Bullet lodged in my shoulder. Need you to take it out so I can heal.

Oh, my God. Are you mobile? I can come there.

Making his way back to her would cost him through loss of blood, but he’d rather be in her cabin for the bullet removal and recovery period. I’ll come to you. Watch for me by the back door.

I’ll be there. Be careful.

Thanks. That warning comes a little late.

I know. Just get here, Jake. Her concern reached across the distance between them.

He rose from the blood-soaked bed of pine needles. Then he had another thought. Where’s Lionel? If the kid showed up with a gun, Jake was too weak to outrun him.

He promised not to search for you today. You have time to come to me.

Thank you. He was amazed that she’d been able to keep Lionel from tracking him down. The kid’s instincts were good. He sensed that Rachel was in some kind of danger from this wolf she’d been hanging out with, although he didn’t understand the nature of the threat. Lionel was worried about a broken neck, not a broken heart.

Jake thought about Lionel as he made his slow and painful way through the trees. He wondered if Rachel had considered Lionel when she’d dreamed up her plan to run off and live with the wolves. Lionel couldn’t do that, so what did she imagine would become of him? He wasn’t launched on a career of his own yet. He needed a boost from Rachel before that could happen.

Obviously Rachel hadn’t taken all the issues into account when she’d blithely announced that she was ready to mate with Jake. Her suggestion had been an impulse, and like so many impulses, it would be discarded when reality allowed her to see the impossibility of that dream.

Still, the idea that she’d even have that thought was surprising. He’d assumed she wouldn’t want to mate with a werewolf any more than he wanted to mate with a human. He’d underestimated her ability to adapt to a changing situation.

Her flexibility was far greater than his. But then, she wasn’t dealing with such high stakes. By choosing to mate with a Were, she’d have some personal challenges, but she wouldn’t be paving the way for a potential assault on her entire species. He would. Or at least that’s how he saw it.

The trip back to Rachel’s cabin seemed five times longer than the hike out, but at last he saw her place through the trees. He paused and sniffed the air. He didn’t smell anyone’s scent but hers, but he wasn’t at his best right now.

He’d lean on that telepathic connection again. I’m close to your cabin. Are you still alone?

Jake, thank God. Yes, I’m alone. Do you need help?

No, I’ll make it there under my own power. With one more check of the perimeter, he headed for her back deck. He’d never expected to climb these steps again as a wolf, yet here he was.

She stood with the door open. Although she was in shadow, every line of her body communicated anguish. Oh, Jake.

It’s only a scratch. He couldn’t resist acting like a hero from an old Western.

That’s what they all say. Once he was inside, she lapsed into regular speech. “I’ve made up your bed like it was before. Go on in and lie down. I have water boiling.”

Tension eased out of him the moment he stepped into her cabin. He would be okay. Rachel would make sure of it. He could relax now and concentrate on recovering from this latest insanity.

Padding over to the bed she’d created with her quilt was like coming home. He was careful about how he climbed onto it, though. He suspected last time he’d stained it with his blood. Sighing, he settled down on his right side, leaving his bloody left shoulder accessible.

He didn’t fool himself into thinking this would be a lot of fun. Digging out a bullet was a serious proposition. But his trust in Rachel was absolute, and without a single reservation, he surrendered himself to her care.

Her almond scent preceded her into the bedroom. “I’m ready to do this, Jake, but I don’t have any anesthetic.”

I know.

“I do, however, have a bottle of Grandpa Ike’s Wild Turkey.”

Jake considered that. Might work.

“I don’t want to give you anything that will cause you more harm. Can a werewolf drink alcohol?”

Absolutely. Remember that I’m not really a wolf.

“All right. Then let’s try a little painkiller.” Crouching by his head, she poured a generous amount of Wild Turkey into a bowl. “Lap it up.”

Easing to his stomach, he tasted the booze and choked.

“Maybe not.” She started to take the bowl away.

He put a paw on her arm to keep her from doing that. The stuff was strong, but he needed strong. Steeling himself against the bite of the whiskey, he drank the entire bowl. It burned all the way down his throat to his gut. But then the alcohol hit his brain, and he ceased to give a shit about . . . anything.

Rachel sat back on her heels. “Wow. I’ve never seen a drunk wolf before.”

Take a good look, little lady.

“Little lady? Jake, are you channeling some rhinestone cowboy?”

Rhinestone cowboys don’t get shot. I took a bullet. Show some respect. But the pain of the bullet had receded with every lap of the Wild Turkey, and now it was a dull ache that he could easily ignore.

“You did take a bullet, Jake.” Her voice was soothing as she bathed his wound with warm water. A lovely voice. He hadn’t appreciated how melodious that voice was until now. Melodious. Good word. He should remember it. Perfect description of Rachel’s voice.

“Well, Jake, from the way you’re lying there as if you didn’t have a care in the world, I’m going to assume the Wild Turkey has done its work. So now I’ll do mine. But the Wild Turkey aside, this is going to pinch a bit.”

Jake remained in his don’t-give-a-shit daze until searing pain ruined it. He howled.

“I know. It hurts.” She continued to work.

Hurts? That’s like saying the Grand Canyon’s a ditch! He howled again, louder this time.

“Hang in there, buddy.” She sounded as if she might be gritting her teeth as she said that.

He had a choice of gritting his teeth like a hero or howling like a wuss. He’d lapped up a bowl of Wild Turkey. He howled.

“Almost got it.” She swore. “There! It’s out!”

Jake howled some more, just because he could.

“I suppose now you can do your thing. Shift and make yourself better.”

He thought about that possibility, even tried to work up the energy. Can’t.

“Why not?”

Just realized. Can’t shift while plastered.

“Oh. Well, I guess it’s a trade-off. Without the Wild Turkey, you would have suffered more. I’ll apply a compression bandage for a while. You can shift later on.”

Yeah. I’ll shift later. Don’t shave me.

“I won’t.” She chuckled.

Thanks. He winced when she first pressed the gauze pad to his wound, but then it wasn’t so bad, especially when she began stroking his fur with her other hand.

Relieved that the bullet was out, he relaxed against the soft quilt. The booze was still working on him, thank God, so the pain was bearable. That combined with her gentle touch made him drowsy. Maybe I’ll