The gunman couldn’t kill her with regular bullets, but she had to heal up some before she could move again. Getting the gunman away from Tom had helped him, but now she didn’t have the strength to move an inch in the direction of Hastings Bed and Breakfast. Worse, she had no idea where she was.
Footsteps crunched on fallen leaves maybe a half mile away. The gunman’s or Darien’s and his men? She made out only one set of footfalls, most likely the gunman’s.
Her chest hurt like it was on fire, and she stifled another groan. Don‘t pass out! If the gunman found her, she’d make a horrendous racket, but if she passed out, he could move her somewhere else and kill her. Snapping her neck would do the trick, when regular bullets wouldn’t.
Her thoughts shifted to the tavern, and she could imagine Darien racing out with half his people or more in hot pursuit if Torn had been able to call for help. Too late, she’d seen the gunman hiding in the shadows of Hastings, and she berated herself again for not being more alert.
Would the grays waste their time searching for her if they discovered Tom was hurt? Maybe not, but they’d continue to look for the gunman who’d shot Tom.
She tried to concentrate on the bullets seated in her heart. Tried to envision her body working miracles to expel the foreign substances, stop the bleeding, and seal the wounds. But she’d lost too much blood and felt weak, nauseous, disoriented. It would take some time to rebuild her blood. She groaned again.
Footsteps trudged closer, stopped, moved again.
No one spoke any words. Friend or foe?
She looked up through (he tree branches shuddering in the wind. A sprinkling of twinkling stars littered the dark night sky. Star light, star bright... Sharp pains coursed through her body, down her arms and legs, and up again, sending blinding pain into her skull. Her vision blurring, she clenched her teeth to keep from fading away.
Where was Ural? Originating from one of the purest lines of the first lupus garou, she was a royal like him and could change into the wolf despite it being a [noon- less night. Being a wolf in this condition wouldn’t help, however. Except the gunman wasn’t looking for one. Yes! Then she could howl and return Ural’s call. He’d come to her then and protect her.
She fumbled with her jacket buttons, but didn’t have the strength to unbutton even the first one. As weak as she was, she wasn’t sure she could even shapeshift.
Where the hell was Ural? He could rip away the gunman’s life in a flash. She’d be safe—or safer. But she didn’t trust Ural’s motives either. If he found her weak and unable to resist, he could return her to the pack. Damn him.
Wincing, she closed her eyes, trying to will away the pain.
Had the shooter targeted Lelandi because she looked like Larissa? Or did he assume she was here, trying to discover who had killed Larissa?
She swore a gray had murdered Larissa, angry that the leader of the grays had mated with a red. Or had her ruthless pack leader Bruin located Larissa, pretending that he hadn’t? Now Lelandi wasn’t so sure.
Then she thought she smelled Ural. Please. Ural. come and bite the bastard! But he didn’t show himself, didnt attack the gunman. Maybe it was powerful wishful thinking.
“Larissa!” Darien shouted from a good half mile away.
Here! No, not Larissa... Larissa was dead Lelandi! Here.
Lelandi closed her eyes. A whisper of a breeze caressed her face and strands of hair tickled her cheek, but she couldn’t gather the strength to shove them away. And the pain. Oh, god, the pain.
Someone shuffled only feet from her. She squeezed her eyes tighter and barely breathed. How had he gotten so close without her hearing? Her mind drifted. Keep alert! If he was wolf and downwind of her, he could smell her spilled blood. He could hear her heart pumping at a furious rate.
She heard his beating rapidly, his heavy breathing, the grinding of his teeth, his fingernail scraping the metal of the gun. Then he moved farther away from where she curled up in a fetal position, trying to conserve energy and the heat of her body, trying to make herself smaller and unnoticeable.
Others took up the call, shouting Lelandi’s name as they spread out and drew closer. She frowned. How would they know her name? Larissa would have kept her family a secret so the grays wouldn’t learn she already had a pack—and a mate.
The gunman tromped farther away, stealing her attention, but he was still too close.
The breeze suddenly shifted and Darien’s brooding brother Jake shouted, “This way!”
She watched for them, nearly quit breathing in anticipation, not to mention the pain grew so sharp she could barely focus on anything else.
But her rescuers didn’t come.
Darien paced back and forth in the thick of the woods in front of thirty of his men, every one of them now armed. Although normally they hunted in their wolf coats, the pack had always kept guns—their way of dealing with human troublemakers over the last one hundred and fifty years in the area.
“We thought we smelled her perfume several times, but the damned wind isn’t cooperating! So where the hell is she?” Darien asked.
“We need to turn wolf,” Jake said.
“Can’t for three more days,” Sam reminded him.
“Hell, I know that, Sam. I was just saying...” Jake didn’t say anything more. Just poked the toe of his boot in the pine needle—covered dirt, his hands shoved in his pockets, his face dark with a mixture of concern and annoyance.
“We’ve searched for hours. Where the hell is she?” Darien asked again, voicing his own irritation.
They hadn’t found anything—her hat, glasses, nothing—as if she’d vanished in thin air like a puff of mist on a hot, sunny day. He rubbed the pounding in his temples, the thought stirring his blood that she was Lelandi, wounded, hurting, waiting for him to come to her aid, and not her sister. For now, she was one and the same, and he’d protect her with his own life. For now.
Once he found her and she’d healed, he’d send her home to her pack and out of his life for good.
“She doesn’t know these woods. She could easily get lost without her wolf senses,” Jake warned.
Darien stared into the wilderness, remembering a time when he dashed with his mate through the woods as wolves, running until they were exhausted, mating, then collapsing like two half-spent dogs. He shook free of the immobilizing memories.
“What if he got her?” Jake asked, a question Darien was sure everyone else was thinking. “What if he took her body in a vehicle and planned to dispose of her somewhere else?”
Darien wouldn‘t consider that scenario.
Mason rubbed his bearded cheek, his hair whipping in the breeze. ‘We’ve searched all night. We’re dog tired. If they’re just regular bullets, she can’t die from them. Why don’t we get some rest and try again in a few hours?”
“She saved Tom’s life.” The muscle ticked in Jake’s jaw like it did when he was on the verge of striking someone. “I’ll keep looking until some of you get rest and relieve me.”
Having every intention of hunting for her until he dropped from exhaustion, Darien slapped his brother’s shoulder with approval. “We’ll do it together.”
If she’d been one of the pack, his men would have continued searching for her. Without her being one of them, he couldn’t ask them to give up any more of their energy without getting some rest. He was glad his brother had offered, despite the fact he had distanced himself from Darien the last couple of weeks. Probably because of the foul mood Darien had been in since his mate died.
The smell of Sliva’s feminine scent wafted in the air, and the men turned to see her stalking toward them dressed in tight jeans, hiking boots, gloves, and a short-waisted corduroy jacket. “I’ll help ya.” Her expression and tone of voice were as determined as Darien felt.