If Michael was bound, which undoubtedly he would be, Paul wasn’t sure what he could do. Shift while still dressed and bound? And then they’d probably shoot him.
Hunter and his team couldn’t think about that. All they could do was pray that Michael could hold out.
“I still smell the scent of the female wolf,” Paul said. That added a complication to the rescue mission. Not only did Michael need rescuing, but a female might also need their help.
But was she a hostage? Or one of the rebels?
Twice, they’d encountered armed men who had quickly found themselves outmatched. No matter how good these criminals were at hiding like chameleons in the jungle, the SEAL team was just as familiar with the terrain and camouflage—and had the added advantages of their wolf sense of smell and their night vision.
When they came upon a lightly guarded camp at dusk, they smelled Michael’s and the she-wolf’s scent. Still crouched in the dense foliage, they considered the guards: four on the perimeter and three more sitting in front of a campfire. A large tent was behind them with no telling how many guards inside.
Hunter signaled to each of the SEAL team members about who would take out which of the perimeter guards. Paul and the rest of his team members quietly made their way to their targets, and without alerting anyone, Paul took out his guard, then waited for Hunter’s signal to go after the ones sitting around the campfire.
As soon as Hunter motioned to the team, Finn, Allan, and Paul moved simultaneously into position to take down their new targets, while Bjornolf stayed on perimeter watch. The others threw daggers, and each of the men targeted slumped over, no one having made a peep.
While Allan stayed on perimeter watch, Paul and the others rushed to reach the tent before anyone else arrived. Carefully, Paul pulled the tent flap aside. Inside, it was dark, but with the glow of the campfire nearby and their wolf night vision, they found three kidnappers inside, sleeping on mats. Michael and a dark-haired woman were tied up to the center tent pole. The team quickly took care of the remaining guards. Thank God, Michael hadn’t shifted into a wolf.
Paul hurried to untie Michael, who was scowling, while Finn removed the woman’s bonds. Her face was flushed and she appeared to be in pain, from the way she was grimacing. Her dark brown hair framed her face in damp curls, and her dark brown eyes were heavily lidded. She was barefoot, wearing a torn linen skirt and silk blouse, and had numerous scratches on her arms, legs, and face.
“They broke her leg,” Michael growled. “This is Cora Smith from San Antonio, Texas.”
“Are you all right?” Paul asked, considering both of their appearances. They looked starved and dehydrated.
“Yeah.” Michael was wearing a nice pair of dress pants, or had been. They were grungy and torn, and his cotton shirt was stained and exhibiting fresh tears. He was wearing sneakers at least, not dress shoes. But boots would have been better.
Paul had envisioned a similar scenario to the hostage situation on his and Allan’s last mission—the captives malnourished and dehydrated. He hadn’t expected the woman to be so injured.
“Were the two of you together when they grabbed you?” Hunter asked, and Paul knew he was trying to learn if Michael had made friends with her, or if it was just a random kidnapping.
“Yes,” Michael said.
“No,” Cora growled.
The guys smiled.
Their injuries healed more quickly than humans, so hers had to be very recent. “I’ll get something to splint her leg.”
Hunter was already pulling out his med pack. When Paul returned, Hunter had finished taking care of Michael’s and Cora’s cuts. They had to keep her quiet on the trek, so Hunter gave her a shot for the pain.
Paul had found a couple of straight and sturdy tree branches to splint her leg, while Allan got Cora to drink and eat a little. Hunter shared his extra rations with Michael.
“So what happened?” Hunter asked as he helped Bjornolf hold Cora still while Paul and Finn started to set her leg.
Michael ran a wet cloth over her face to cool her down. “She came to the art gallery to check out her competition.”
“I did not,” she gritted out, scowling.
“Okay, so she says she stepped into the gallery to talk to the owner about carrying her work. Then when it was closing time, we headed out at the same time, and we were both grabbed,” Michael said. “They thought I was famous and she was my girlfriend.”
She rolled her eyes.
“So you’re a painter too?” Hunter asked, and Paul knew the ploy. Hunter was trying to get her mind off her leg.
“Landscapes.”
“Wolves,” Michael said. “I know my competition.”
Her eyes widened a bit, then she narrowed them. “And landscapes.”
“With wolves.”
Despite the dire situation, the guys were smiling.
“How are you doing as a wolf?” Hunter asked Michael.
“I’m fighting it.”
“Maybe he should run as a wolf,” Paul suggested. “We’ll carry his clothes.”
“He’s newly turned?” Cora managed to get out, looking aghast.
Paul assumed she wasn’t then. Which was a good thing.
“What about you?” Hunter asked.
“Royal.”
Which meant her lupus garou ancestry went so far back that she could control when she shifted any time of the year.
“Good,” Hunter said.
When Paul and Finn tightened the splint, her cheeks drained of color, her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she was out.
Everyone was silent while Paul and Finn finished strapping her into the makeshift splint.
“She’s okay, isn’t she?” Michael asked, concerned.
“Yeah, just passed out. Better for her until the painkiller kicks in,” Paul said. “Maybe you should run as a wolf. You can use my field pack for your clothes.” He wasn’t used to being around newly turned wolves, so he waited for Hunter’s take on it.
“Yeah, Michael, why don’t you do that?” Hunter asked.
Michael looked down at Cora, then acquiesced, quickly stripping and shoving his clothes into Paul’s bag. “Be careful with her, will you?”
“Yeah, you know we will.” Bjornolf gathered her in his arms.
Michael shifted into his gray wolf form and they headed out.
The trek was hot, buggy, and humid, and tropical birds sang in the jungle high above in the canopy as the team made their way to the quickest point where they could be helicoptered out.
They remained quiet, Paul and the others providing protection as they made their way through the jungle. They took turns carrying Cora and stopped to rest a few hours from the kidnappers’ campsite. Even Michael had shifted after hours of hiking, dressed, and carried her for a couple of hours. Cora had woken a few times, gritted her teeth, and passed out again, but despite the pain medication, she moaned from time to time. And had been irritated at herself for doing so.
Paul and the others were dying to know more about the woman, but for now, they had to keep quiet and keep moving.
They’d avoided any jungle villages, trying to keep from attracting anyone’s attention, afraid word would get back to someone that the hostages had escaped and were headed this way. They hadn’t encountered any predators of the two-legged variety, but when they crossed a stream and saw cliffs ahead, Paul felt an eerie chill sweep up his spine. He knew if Hunter had led them here, it was the quickest way to the landing site. They had no choice but to make the climb.
Since everyone had recently taken a turn carrying Cora but Paul, he would carry her on his back. Michael would be beside him on the climb, and the rest of the team would hurry to the top and provide cover. Not that anyone was able to hurry in this heat and humidity.
As soon as they started the climb, Paul fel
t this was too much like the last time. He fought replaying the last scenario, telling himself he’d be to the top in no time, that no one would see them or begin shooting at them.
It was different this time, he reminded himself. They had a hell of a lot more firepower than when he and Allan had freed the college students. And all of the team members were trained in combat, unlike the students.
Yet, because Cora was injured and unable to climb out on her own, the scenario was too similar to the last time. Michael was right beside him if he needed to grab Cora. Paul’s skin was sweaty, but despite the heat and humidity of the jungle, and the heat of Cora’s body, Paul felt ice-cold.
Then from the jungle across the stream, shouts ripped through the thick, humid air, sounds he’d hoped he wouldn’t hear on this trip. He was maybe fifteen feet from the top of the cliff, but no matter how much he told himself he had to move faster, with Cora’s weight and the fear of making a fatal misstep while climbing, he couldn’t ascend any quicker.
As soon as the deadly pops of gunfire filled the air, sounding like firecrackers, Paul knew he was once again in a bad place. “Go,” Paul gritted out. “Get up top and find cover.”
Michael wasn’t really helping, and with him hanging on the cliff beside Paul, he was every bit as much of a target as Paul and Cora were. Paul’s mission was to get Cora to the top, not to worry about anything else. If he worried about Michael…
He couldn’t help thinking how this could end badly though. And he couldn’t help thinking about Lori and how she’d tried so valiantly to be brave for him when she felt anything but.
Michael was near the top when Bjornolf and Allan helped pull him to safety, pushing him behind them while they continued to shoot at the rebels.
Rounds were pinging off the cliff face all around Paul, way too damned close. One nicked his cheek. He growled and looked up, realizing he was about to reach the cliff’s edge and praying Cora hadn’t been hit. He wouldn’t know until they made it to the top whether she was all right or had been injured.
Then strong arms, Bjornolf’s and Allan’s, were pulling him up and over the cliff’s edge, out of the gunfire’s path.
Bjornolf quickly untied Cora from Paul’s back and cursed. Paul felt cold all over as he turned, fearing the worst—Cora had been shot and was dead.
The men weren’t looking at her. They were crouched around him, appearing concerned.
“Why don’t you roll over and lie on your belly,” Hunter said. “You’ll be all right, Paul. You’ve got a pack to lead now and a wolf mate to get back to.”
“Cora,” Paul said, not understanding what the trouble was.
“She’s fine,” Bjornolf said, sounding relieved to an extent, but he was still tense. “They didn’t hit her.”
“You’ve been hit, Paul. Minor scratch.” Hunter pulled out his med pack, while Finn sliced open the back leg of Paul’s pants.
Then Hunter hurried to dress and bandage Paul’s leg wound while Bjornolf and Allan watched for any more surprise attacks. Michael was seeing to Cora, who was still passed out.
Paul hadn’t even felt the bullet hit him, which wasn’t all that unusual. The shock, adrenaline, nerves severed, all of that could numb the feeling. At least he hadn’t felt anything until he saw the bloody mess, and Hunter poured antiseptic on the wound, which stung to hell and back. Minor scratch, his ass. But he appreciated the guys acting like it was no big deal.
Even though he knew that they realized it was a big deal. Not only had he suffered some blood loss, but any open wound in the jungle, no matter how minor, could become infected. At least with Cora’s injury, the broken bone in her leg hadn’t torn through the skin.
“So you think there’s something there for you to build on with Cora?” Paul asked, trying to get his mind off his injury.
Michael frowned as he cradled her in his arms. “She was pissed to high heaven that the rebels took her hostage too, thinking she was my girlfriend.” Then he smiled a little. “I wouldn’t mind, really.”
The guys chuckled.
“I’ve seen her artwork. And she’s really good. But I don’t think she likes that I’m so newly turned.”
Paul glanced at Hunter. He saw the look of speculation on his face. If he could encourage the two wolves to hook up, he’d have a problem solved. Watching out for a newly turned wolf was a job. Someone in the pack always had to do it.
After they finished bandaging Paul, who was feeling the burning pain now, they headed out again.
They had two days of vigorous hiking left to reach the pick-up zone, but Paul was slowing the team down. Carrying Cora out was one thing. Michael couldn’t help. He had to run as a wolf all day because he was having trouble with the pull of the full moon. And two of the men had to assist Paul.
“Leave me behind,” Paul said as they had to take another damnable break because of him. “Get her out of here and come back for me later.”
The guys frowned at him. Cora was sleeping again, which was the best thing for her. Paul was in agony, every step killing him, and they only had one teammate ready for an attack. It was a recipe for a disaster, and more than anything, Paul wanted Cora evacuated to get medical treatment pronto.
“Are you kidding?” Allan said. “My mother and sister would never speak to me again. Lori would kill me. Emma would put a curse on me. If you stay, I stay. Lot safer that way. And you’re not talking me out of it.”
“We stay together,” Hunter said, glancing at the rest of the team.
That was what Paul loved about Hunter’s way of doing business. He ultimately made the decisions, but he was always open to everyone’s suggestions. That’s just how he wanted to lead the pack with Lori.
“Hunter and Allan are damn right, Paul. You saved the woman’s life. We’re not leaving you,” Bjornolf said.
Finn agreed. “We leave no one behind.”
Still a wolf, Michael growled and shook his head.
Paul was glad they hadn’t wanted to, in truth, but he hated how much he was holding up the mission. They took turns getting some sleep and pulling guard duty, then headed out again.
The men had been worried about Cora. She had been running a fever, but Paul heard the relief in their voices when it abated on the last day of their journey. Michael had been able to stay in his human form the whole day too. They’d only had one further skirmish—no injuries on their side—before they reached the landing zone, called in the helicopter, and all made it out of there in one piece.
Paul heard Hunter telling Wes Caruthers, his police officer who’d stayed in São Paulo, that they’d rescued Michael and to go home.
Now Paul was fighting a fever, and he felt disoriented and sicker than a wolf.
Allan finally got a call through to Lori as he cast a worried look at Paul, though he smiled at him when he caught his eye. “We’re all fine. Michael’s got a few cuts and bruises and such, but he’s healing on his own. His”—he paused and glanced at Cora, who was bundled up in blankets—“his friend, Cora Smith, also was taken hostage, and she has a broken leg. They’ll have to re-break it to set it right if the bone has started to knit together.
“Paul has a bullet in his leg and it needs to come out, but otherwise, he’s fine. Paul said to tell you he loves you. He’ll be home soon. We’ll be home after Hunter’s doctor sees to him.” He paused, raised his brows, and then grinned at Paul. “Hot damn. You go, girl. I’ll let him know.”
Paul was having a hell of a time following the gist of the conversation with the way he was burning up and chilled to the bone at the same time.
“Um,” Allan said, “he’s unable to talk right now. But we’ll get on a flight for home as soon as we can. Call you later to let you know when we’re coming in.”
Chapter 19
Lori knew something had gone wrong when Allan called her instead of Paul. She let her grandma know to alert the
rest of the pack. When she called Catherine to let her know her son—well, both sons—were coming home, Catherine said Allan had already called.
Together, the pack had bought a used ambulance at an affordable price. They thought it might come in handy if Rose needed a ride to the new clinic that Dr. Christine Holt had set up and outfitted. Or any other pack emergencies. Like this one. The ambulance was already stocked with all the first-aid equipment they should need. The vehicle had a lot of mileage, but when the pack brought in more money, they could eventually replace it. It was good having their own clinic for pack members.
Paul would probably kill her when they arrived at the airport to pick him up in an ambulance, but having an open wound in the jungle, she assumed he’d need quick medical attention—from their kind.
Their new doctor was so eager to have her first real, important medical case—wolf type, not strictly human, not to mention the prestige of working on one of their pack leaders—that she couldn’t wait to get Paul to her clinic.
It was ten in the morning when Paul and Allan arrived at Glacier Park International Airport. Emma was holding up a sign that said: Cunningham Pack. Lori was holding two dozen roses, one from each member of the pack.
When she saw Paul in the wheelchair, his face flushed with fever, she fought tears and rushed forward to greet him. Hopefully, Paul wouldn’t be too upset with her for all the changes to the pack in the month and half that he’d been gone. But that was the way it would be, she decided, whenever he was away. Her pack. Her way.
When he was home, it was their pack.
“I missed you so much,” he said and wrapped his arms around her, giving her a SEAL wolf’s hearty hug.
“Oh, Paul, you’re so hot,” she said, worried about his fever and kissing his forehead, his cheeks, and then his lips.
He gave her the devilish smirk that said he hadn’t lost his sense of humor. “I’m so glad you think so.”