He doubted her resolve to tend to his injured shoulder had everything to do with it. His hang-dog expression had upset her, and she'd been feeling badly about abandoning him. Come to think of it, no one had ever nurtured him so far as he could recall, which endeared her to him even more.
Then he had to change into the blasted wolf again, and worse, bite her. He'd tasted her blood, knew he'd broken the skin. He prayed he hadn't infected her with the magical wolf's virus, or whatever the hell it was.
Damn the change and his lack of control over it. He jerked the sleeping bag to his chin, and slammed his eyes shut, but sleep wouldn't come. Not with the way his mind kept working over all that had occurred since he'd first met her. All he wanted was the siren curled beside him, her head resting on his chest, his arms wrapped around her bundled body, listening to her steady heartbeat, breathing in the fragrance that was all Faith—a hint of something floral, and definitely something sexual. More than anything, he desired her acceptance. And now what? Had he changed her also? Annoyed with himself for his lack of restraint, he curled his fingers into fists.
Unable to sleep, Cameron wanted in the worst way to look for David and Owen and search the area to ensure none of Kintail's wolves lurked nearby. Or Kintail and his men either. Which now he wondered if they were all one and the same.
But he needed to rest, too.
He rolled onto his side, then his stomach, the pain in his shoulder giving him fits. He tossed onto his back and stared at the tent ceiling. "Hell," he growled.
He stripped off his clothes and willed himself to shift.
It didn't happen right away. He thought of claws and teeth, of fur and a long menacing snout, of ears sitting atop his head that twitched back and forth, listening to sounds. And then he felt the heat circulating through every blood vessel.
This time when his fur coat covered his bare skin, and he was standing on the bedding as a wolf, a new sensation filled him with an uncontrollable need. The urge to howl.
Faith woke with a start, unsure what made her stir. She hadn't thought she'd ever fall asleep, as upset as she was about Cameron biting her. Well more than that, that he was whatever he was and Kintail's wolf had turned him that way.
She thought back to when she was in the camp alone—most of the dogs had run off with the wolf that had killed the others. Fearing the dead wolves' blood would attract a predator, she'd meant to bury the wolves. But when she'd found the two naked dead men in the wolves' places, she'd nearly had a stroke. It didn't dawn on her that Cameron was the wolf that had killed them either, just that he'd vanished. Even when he'd pounced on her, then began talking to her in his human form again, trying to reassure her, her brain had a hard time assimilating the information. He was human, a bit of a rogue, dangerous even, if someone threatened his safety, but a man who could turn into a wolf?
She ran her hands through her tangled hair. Even now, it seemed more like a dream, well, nightmare, especially once he'd bitten her. Although the bite wasn't hurting any longer. Hopefully, it was only that—a small bite that wouldn't amount to anything.
Charles mumbled something. That's what had woken her. She sat up and touched his cheek. "Charles? Can you hear me?"
He didn't respond.
His temperature appeared normal, his breathing also.
Glad he wasn't in distress, she sighed. But they still needed to get him to a doctor.
Not wanting to leave her warm sleeping bag, Faith finally crawled out, the call of nature too great. The worst part of winter camping in the middle of nowhere, besides the constant cold, was that there were no outhouses. She slipped out of the tent, glanced at Cameron's tent and the dogs, but Cameron must still be sleeping. The dogs lifted their heads. She shushed them, then walked away from camp. She headed deeper into the woods, but not too far, perfect for privacy in case Cameron exited his tent. Although she was surprised he wasn't up already, tending to the dogs. But then again, she was the morning person, and he seemed to be more of a night owl.
Then she worried about his new wound. Hell, what if the bite had made him terribly ill? No way could she manage taking two injured men back to Millinocket, maneuvering two sleds and all the dogs. Planning to check on Cameron as soon as she took care of business, Faith found the perfect spot, a huge spruce shielding her from the campsite. She was about to get on with business when something moved in the woods off to her left. She jerked her head that way. A big white wolf with light brown eyes stood watching her. Don't run, she warned herself, the image of Cameron flattening her against the snow in his wolf form flitting across her brain. Yet the instinctive urge was there—to flee the danger.
On the other hand, maybe it was just Cameron in a magnificent ice white coat, same tall stature, longer legs and healthy body, unlike the scrawnier wolves he'd fought. She folded her arms and faced him down. He paused some distance from her, panting, his ears twisting back and forth, probably listening to sounds only he could hear, his tail slightly wagging, and his mouth almost smiling.
But then the sound of one of the dogs running up behind her caught her attention. She turned slightly to see another white wolf. Her heart nearly seized. The two wolves were matched in size and looked very similar.
If the one coming from camp was Cameron—must be because the dogs didn't react—then—
She glanced at the other.
He'd vanished. Her heart racing, she stared at the trees, the snow piled up against them. Anyone of them could be hiding the white wolf.
The wolf behind her nudged her hand, and she swal lowed a scream. "Cameron?"He bowed his head.
"Jeez, I thought the other was you." She rubbed her arms, her whole body trembling. "I need some privacy."
Instead of returning to camp, he took off to check out the woods in front of her, and then she wished she hadn't wanted him to leave, fearing he'd find the other wolf and tangle with it.
After taking care of business in a hurry, she waited for Cameron to return. But when he didn't, she hurried back into camp. Once she'd retrieved the gun and pepper spray—which she scolded herself for not carrying with her all along—she rushed back to the woods.
Silence greeted her. Not even a whisper of a breeze. Her heartbeat now pounded in her eardrums, the can of pepper spray in her gloved hand as she took a few steps in the direction Cameron had taken.
What if she found a wolf? What if it was the wrong one? She pushed forward, her boots sinking knee deep in the soft snowdrifts. If she had to run, she'd be in a world of hurt. But she wouldn't abandon Cameron either.
Growling pierced the frigid air and she stood stock still. And then another sound, snowmobiles? The engines' roar in the distance… headed their way?
Rescue? Her heart lifted. Or Kintail's men? Her hopes took a dive. She stared at the spruces, figured she'd better get back to protect Charles and the dogs, and prayed Cameron would be all right.
With no sign of the snowmobiles yet, although they were headed this way, she raced to feed the dogs, who pranced and danced around her, eager for breakfast.
Hurry back, Cameron. Now, she silently pleaded.
After putting food out for the dogs, she returned to Cameron's tent to get the first aid kit and change Charles's bandage before the snowmobiles arrived, three of them, she thought. They continued to roar toward them and as they drew closer, the dogs let out a chorus of wild barking.
Listening to the noisy snowmobiles, she loved how much quieter and in tune with nature dog sledding was. Then as she saw the three machines in the distance, she felt the heavy metal gun in her pocket and held onto the can of pepper spray.
The three men drove into camp, wearing ski masks and snow goggles, their fur-trimmed hoods hiding their faces so she couldn't see their expressions. Then Cameron, or at least she hoped it was, loped back into camp as a wolf. He eyed the newcomers, sniffed the air, moved in closer to her in a protective mode, bumping her leg, nuzzling her. She was glad to have him on her side.
"Where's Charles?" one of the men asked, climbing off the snowmobile. He glanced at the wolf, but he didn't seem surprised.
He knew Charles? Had to be a friend the way he sounded worried. Which would have eased her concern but the fact he didn't act shocked to see a wild wolf in camp meant he knew Kintail and his wolves. But then again, it seemed everyone knew of Kintail and his wolves.
"He's been injured. How do you know him?"
"I'm his cousin. He didn't tell us he had paying customers for an overnight sled ride, and he's late arriving home. His sister is worried sick about him. How was he injured?"
A cousin. Relieved, Faith motioned to the tent. "It's a long story. We became separated from him and when we found him, he'd been hurt. He was struck in the head and appears to have a concussion."
"Separated?" The man frowned at her, then stormed inside the tent and spoke in French, but she couldn't understand what he said.
At once, she felt as though they thought Cameron and she were party to a crime.
The other two men dismounted and began taking care of the dogs, putting on their booties, packing up the sleds. The dogs' barking was nearly deafening.
His brow deeply furrowed, Charles's cousin exited the tent. "I'm Michael Roux. Charles is conscious and said you need to return to the cabins, pack your bags, and leave for Millinocket at once. You and my brother, George, can take the snowmobiles in. The rest of us will follow with the sleds when we've finished packing."
Cameron loped past them into his tent and after a few minutes, reemerged in his human form, dressed for the weather. Faith closed her gaping mouth. Guess he had the wolf change business under control.
Michael and the others took notice, but didn't say a word. They knew. She wondered how many other local area residents knew about Kintail and his wolves. Or were Charles and his cousins also some of the same kind of creatures?
Cameron hauled out his sleeping bag, and Faith's and his bags, avoiding looking at anyone, appearing uncomfortable as hell. Faith hurried to help him.