Soul Bonded

chapter TWENTY-EIGHT



Katie got up and promptly slipped off the joist she’d been balanced on, putting her foot through the ceiling of what she suspected might be the guest room. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath. She was going to hear about that one later. At least she hoped she would.

Wrenching her foot from the hole she’d made, she rushed to the hatch as quickly as she could manage in the dark. The horrific sound of Shilah in full-out combat with a giant wolf scared her more than almost anything else that had happened so far. She was suddenly, keenly aware of just how badly she’d failed Rafe’s dog. If she’d stayed downstairs, she could have blasted the intruder with her shotgun and saved him from the injuries she was certain he was sustaining. And if she’d listened to Rafe, the wolf might not have broken in at all.

Katie made sure the safety was engaged on the revolver and tucked it into the back of her jeans, then grabbed up the shotgun with one hand while she wrenched open the attic hatch with the other. It sounded like Shilah and the wolf were fighting near the kitchen, so she figured she’d peek her head down and try to attract the wolf’s attention. Hopefully he would disengage with Shilah and come for her, and she could put a bullet in his head without putting Shilah in the line of fire.

She was comfortable with that plan until the moment she lowered her head through the opening and came eye-to-eye with a second werewolf who stood with its paws braced high up on the ladder. The wolf was so tall that its hot, sour breath washed over her face and triggered bile to rise in her throat. Jerking backward, Katie brought up the shotgun and clumsily aimed it down the hatch, but the wolf caught the barrel in its powerful jaw and tugged it from her hands with a single violent yank. Her best weapon clattered to the floor below, useless. Somewhere in the house, Shilah yelped and the dog fight fell silent.

Heart rending even as it exploded in terror, Katie grabbed the panel and tried to shove it back over the door. The wolf managed to shoot up the ladder, crashing into the barrier and breaking it into pieces. Adrenaline rushed through her body and took over her reactions. She couldn’t die. If she died after defying Rafe, she would have ruined his life for no reason other than her own stubborn stupidity. Determined not to let both of them down, she grabbed the revolver from her pants and scrabbled backwards a few feet, aiming at the illuminated square in the middle of the dark attic. She had to take them out as they came up to her. There was no other choice.

A flash of memory washed over her. Rafe standing beside her on the porch. Target practice. The safety.

She remembered to flick it off at the same instant that the wolf finally powered its way up the ladder and into the attic. Trusting her instincts, she aimed and fired at the dim shape that advanced upon her. The first shot was a hit, judging from the high-pitched yelp that coincided with the ear-shattering crack of the revolver discharging in such an enclosed space. Yet it barely slowed the wolf down. The beast slammed into her, all muscle and teeth and claws, knocking her backward so that she landed awkwardly with a joist digging into her spine. Pain radiated up her arms, but she forced herself to raise the revolver anyway and deliver a second shot directly between the malevolent eyes that stared down upon her.

She knew it was a kill shot because the wolf transformed into a man right on top of her. He was heavy and naked, and being trapped beneath his bulk atop an uncomfortable, narrow piece of wood threatened to send her into total panic. It was only the knowledge that there was at least one more wolf downstairs, possibly more, that allowed her the presence of mind to crawl out from beneath the dead werewolf. Turning where she sat, she aimed at the hatch and waited for more.

No one came.

She could hear something pacing in the room below, its breath coming in hot, heavy snorts, but for whatever reason, it didn’t seem able to pursue her as the other wolf had. Or maybe that’s just what it wanted her to think. Without taking her eyes away from the hatch opening, Katie planted her free hand behind her and tested her ability to stand. Her legs were shaking so badly she didn’t trust them to carry her. Lowering herself to the ground once again, Katie exhaled slowly and battled the tears that threatened to fall.

Shilah wasn’t barking anymore. He wasn’t even whining. He’s probably dead. Katie choked back a sob at the stark thought. And if he is, it’s my fault.

But there was a chance he was still alive, right? Until she saw his body with her own eyes, she had to believe he was alive. And until she knew otherwise, she had to do everything she could to help him. She may have failed him once tonight, but she wouldn’t do it again.

Steeling her nerve, Katie took a deep breath and got to her feet. She kept her gun trained on the hatch opening, ready to pull the trigger at the first sign of movement. Though she could still hear the battle raging outside, her focus narrowed to nothing but getting to Shilah. She had to trust that Rafe could hold his own—at least until she dealt with the trouble that she had caused.

She approached the hatch with an overabundance of caution, creeping centimeter by centimeter through the dark. When she finally got close enough to the opening to peek downstairs, she found the ladder lying on its side and a frustrated-looking wolf staring up at her. She noted the blood on the wolf’s fur as she put a bullet into its skull. It crumpled to the ground, a limp, dead man that she didn’t recognize. All too aware that her gunshots had to be catching the attention of every wolf within a half mile radius, she waited silently for another one to appear. But nothing stirred downstairs.

Not until she heard a pitiful cry. Shilah. Alive.





All thoughts of caution flew out the window. She lowered herself to the attic floor and stuck her head through the hatch opening, scanning the den for any sign of intruders. The room was trashed—couch cushions torn open, the coffee table overturned—but everything was eerily still. Another weak cry pulled her attention toward the kitchen, where she thought she caught the barest hint of movement out of the corner of her eye.

She looked down at the floor of the den, a good eight feet below where she crouched. If she hung on to the edge of the hatch and dropped straight down, she would only fall a few feet but would almost certainly land on either the leg of the fallen ladder, her shotgun, or the body of the dead wolf. She could easily twist her ankle with this maneuver, and that was assuming she wasn’t going to be ambushed by a hidden enemy while she hung there unarmed.

The memory of Shilah’s cries spurred her on. She fumbled in her pocket for ammo and reloaded the revolver, happy to buy herself a moment of mental preparation for what she was about to do. Tucking the gun into her jeans yet again, Katie wiped her palms on her shirt and carefully stuck her feet through the opening in the ceiling. She waited to see if anything reacted to her movement, then—when all remained quiet—she turned and got on her knees so she could try and lower her body through the hatch without releasing her iron grip on the edge. It wasn’t as easy as she’d hoped. She was halfway down, stomach pressed tightly against the edge of the opening, when a rustling sound, then a low growl, set her adrenaline racing.

Afraid to take any more time—and aware that the only way she could easily go was down—she slipped off the edge and swung wildly for a moment before letting go. As predicted, she landed awkwardly, one foot on the dead man’s thigh and the other on the barrel of the shotgun. Her ankle rolled and she fell hard on her ass just as a dark shape sailed over her head. Without conscious thought, she grabbed the shotgun, swiveled it around, and blasted the scrappy wolf who had already turned to charge her again. The impact threw him backwards against the wall, and he slumped over, suddenly a very dead man.

Katie stood up, wincing at the sharp pain that shot through her ankle. She’d sprained it in the very least, which was scary as hell. She still had hours left to go. From here on out, she had to try and avoid further injury. That meant not taking unnecessary risks. Chastising herself for her carelessness, she limped to the kitchen with the shotgun held out in front of her chest.

Shilah lie motionless under the kitchen table. A streak of red across the wooden floor made it clear that he’d crawled there after the fight ended, either to seek safety or die alone. He wasn’t dead, but his wounds seemed serious. Far more serious than she felt capable of treating.

“No,” Katie whispered. She sank her fingers into a clean patch of fur on Shilah’s neck, eyes glued to the blood that oozed from several deep lacerations on his chest, sides, and face. His back leg was mangled and hung limply from his body in a way that chilled her to the bone. Despite his battered state, his eyes were open and alert, and he gazed at her with so much loyalty and trust that Katie’s composure shattered and she burst into tears. “Shilah, you’re okay. You’ve got to be okay.”

His tail thumped weakly against the floor, reassuring her that even if he was down, he wasn’t ready to give up. She wasn’t, either.

Drawing a breath, Katie got to her feet and took stock of the situation. Cold air filtered in from a window at the far side of the den, where the boards Rafe had nailed down had been smashed to pieces. She decided her first priority had to be blocking off the opening. She couldn’t concentrate on caring for Shilah until the cabin was secure. With that in mind, she limped to the large oak bookcase that sat against the wall next to the window, propped the shotgun on the floor at her side, then used both hands to sweep books off the shelves and onto the floor.

Afraid that she was making too much noise but unsure what else to do, Katie kept one eye on the window as she emptied the bookcase. She fully expected another group of wolves to burst through at any second, but although she could clearly hear the fighting continue to rage out front, there was no sign of movement in the jagged slice of outdoors she could see through the hole the intruders had left. Once the bookcase was clear, Katie planted her hands on the side and shoved with all her might.

She managed to move the heavy piece of furniture a couple of inches before she had to rest. The scuffle in the attic and her fall from the hatch had definitely taken a toll. Her ankle throbbed and it was difficult to catch her breath—from exertion or panic, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she would give anything for Rafe’s strength right then. She closed her eyes briefly, reaching out with her mind to try and latch onto their connection. She was certain he was still alive, if only because she hadn’t experienced the gut-wrenching pain she sensed would come with his death. His presence within her was still strong despite their separation—by distance and species—and his energy centered her and gave her renewed focus.

Opening her eyes, she gave the bookcase another shove. Three more inches. Then she pushed again, straining and struggling until she managed to move it directly in front of the broken window. Without allowing herself time to breathe, she hastily refilled the shelves to provide extra weight to the obstacle she’d created. She doubted it would keep out a determined wolf all night, but at least she would hear it coming.

Living room secured, Katie snatched up the shotgun and ran back to the kitchen. Her heart stuttered at the sight of Shilah lying with his eyes closed, but he opened them as soon as she knelt by his side. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered to him. His tail wagged weakly at the sound of her voice. His obvious happiness at her mere presence tugged at her guilty conscience. “I’m so sorry, boy. So sorry.”

Shilah nuzzled her hand with his nose, snapping her back into focus. She knew what to do. She had to clean his wounds, just as Rafe had cleaned hers the night before. As long as she did everything that Rafe had done—short of healing Shilah with her hands, of course—there was a chance that he would survive. She just needed to keep Shilah alive until Rafe returned in the morning. Then Rafe could fix him.

That’s what she had to tell herself. Rafe could fix him.

The first thing she had to do was move Shilah to the bathroom. Not only would it be difficult to bring first-aid supplies to him, but they were too exposed in the kitchen. Here they could be rushed from all sides. The bathroom was a somewhat fortified position. At the very least, she could shut the door and hopefully have time to pick up her weapon before anyone broke through.

Unfortunately, moving Shilah to the bathroom required picking him up. There was no way to do so without hurting him, she knew, but her bigger concern was the possibility that she could make things worse. Some of the lacerations on his body were deep. She was scared to death that she would lift Shilah up and find herself fighting to keep his vital organs inside his body. But what other choice did she have?

“No choice,” Katie murmured. She also had no other option but to leave the shotgun behind as she carried Shilah to the bathroom. Using both hands, she very carefully eased her hands beneath him and attempted to lift his limp body to her chest. He was a big dog—sixty-five pounds at least—so she only managed to raise him a few inches off the floor. He left behind a small pool of blood, but mercifully, his only reaction to being moved was to whimper in the back of his throat. “Sorry, boy.” She glanced around, looking for options, then set him on the runner below the sink. It would be far easier to drag him than carry him.

She moved him to the bathroom as quickly as she dared, afraid to waste any more time before addressing his wounds. She had no idea how much blood a dog his size could lose before needing more, but she wagered he was already pushing the limit. She was pretty certain that blood loss and the potential for internal injuries were her biggest concerns. There wasn’t a lot she could do to address internal injuries, but she could sure as hell stop his bleeding.

Luckily, she’d left the bathroom door open earlier and was able to drag him right in. His front paws twitched after she stepped away, as though he wanted to jump up and follow her. She held out her hand to stop him. “Stay.”

He lay his head on the floor and stared at her with plaintive eyes. Heart breaking, Katie backed out of the bathroom and ran down the hallway toward the kitchen. Her singular focus was on getting the shotgun so she could examine Shilah more fully. So far she hadn’t observed any obviously fatal wounds. It was almost unbelievable that Shilah was alive at all, and that he’d been able to hold his own against a larger and more powerful opponent. What a tough dog.

As she approached the kitchen table, the hair-raising sensation of being watched swept over her. She slowed her pace and looked around, unsettled by the feeling that she wasn’t alone. After moving around unhindered since killing that last wolf in the living room, she’d simply assumed that she’d taken care of all the intruders. Now she wasn’t so sure. Perhaps she wasn’t giving these wolves enough credit. One of them could be biding its time, stalking her and waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

No sooner had she thought it then something heavy slammed into her from behind. Already reaching for the shotgun, the barrel slipped out of her grasp as she fell to the kitchen floor. Determined not to get pinned on her stomach, she rolled onto her back and saw two things simultaneously: the yellow eyes of the wolf that had bitten her twenty-four hours ago, and the tantalizing shape of the stock of the shotgun hanging over the edge of the dining room table.

The biter held her down with his front paws, lips drawn back in a feral grin. Saliva dripped from his wicked jaw onto her face, turning her stomach. Before he could sink his teeth into her for a second time, Katie did the only thing she could think to do. She drove her fist into the center of his throat. The wolf let out a satisfying yelp, so she punched him again. He swiveled his head and caught her wrist with his teeth as she drew back her fist for another go, tearing her skin as she snatched her hand out of his jaw. Visceral emotion surged through her—anger at this wolf and his buddy for creating this whole mess, fear that Shilah was bleeding out at that very moment—and she jammed her thumb into one of the wolf’s yellow eyes with a ferocity that shocked even her.

The wolf roared in pain and turned his head to the side, trying to get away. Unconvinced that she could reach the shotgun from her position beneath him—not without getting chomped in the process—Katie pulled her thumb from his eye socket and scrabbled to reach the revolver that dug into the small of her back. Wrenching it out from beneath her with a cry of relief, she disengaged the safety and pointed the muzzle directly at the wolf’s head. Then she pulled the trigger, sobbing as the wolf’s remaining eye went blank and he transformed into the man who had traumatized her so badly the night before.

Having his naked, dead weight on top of her was almost too horrific to bear. She pushed at his shoulders frantically, rolling out from beneath him with a tremulous whimper. Uneasily aware that she was on the verge of a genuine emotional meltdown, she set the revolver on the floor beside her. Then she grabbed the shotgun from the table and cradled it to her chest as she tried not to lose her composure.

Four wolves had descended upon the cabin after finding the two bodies she’d left outside, and now four corpses littered the floors of Rafe’s home. There was a good chance that she’d just killed the last of the intruders, but she wouldn’t put money on it. The biter had lain in wait for a good ten minutes while she barricaded the window and carried Shilah to the bathroom, biding his time even when she’d been vulnerable to attack, so it stood to reason that yet another wolf could be doing the same thing now. Maybe they enjoyed toying with humans just as much in wolf form as they did when they were human. In any event, she had to search the cabin before she could focus on Shilah. She needed to be certain they wouldn’t be ambushed again.

She struggled to her feet only because she knew Shilah’s life depended on her not shutting down completely. It took every bit of her courage to walk into the den, shotgun at the ready, and check the closets. She was nervous about finding another wolf lying in wait. Frankly, she couldn’t believe she was still alive. She’d killed six werewolves tonight. Six. Even if she’d made a mistake in leaving Shilah to fend for himself, those were six wolves who wouldn’t join in an attack on Rafe. That had to give him a better chance of survival. Maybe something good would come out of her stubborn impulsivity, after all.

She conducted a cautious search of every room before concluding, gratefully, that she had managed to kill every werewolf that had broken into the cabin. Trudging her way back to the bathroom, she tried to guess just how much time had passed since she’d left Shilah. It felt like hours. Perhaps it was only ten minutes. It was impossible to tell—time had lost all meaning. Wolves continued to fight outside, but for now, no one else seemed interested in breaking in. Hopeful that she would finally have time to work, Katie went to her patient, nervous about what she would find.

Shilah’s ears perked as she entered the room, but he betrayed no other sign of movement. Closing and locking the door behind her, Katie leaned the shotgun against the sink and sank to her knees for her first good look at Shilah’s wounds.

He was a mess. There was no other way to describe it. His coarse brown fur was matted with tacky blood, pink tissue peeked out from deep slices on his chest, and the corner of one ear had been torn clean off. She blinked back tears as she searched through the medicine cabinet for supplies. “We’re going to fix you up, boy. Then when your daddy gets home, he’ll really fix you. I know he will.”

The quiet thump of Shilah’s tail against the floor encouraged her that she wasn’t just being overly optimistic. Shilah was a strong dog, clearly, and if he’d held on this long, surely he could make it until morning. Pleased when she found a first aid kit that included needles and suture thread, she only hoped she could successfully close the wounds that required stitches. Of course, before she could do that, she would have to wash and disinfect them. She grabbed the antibiotic ointment, disheartened to find half the tube gone. She hated to use all the medical supplies on Shilah when she was worried that Rafe would need them tomorrow morning, but she couldn’t not treat Shilah’s wounds.

She would just use the ointment sparingly—and hope that Rafe’s ability to heal himself would come into play when this long, hellish night was over. Because she needed him back with her.

Now.