14: Storm

Darby    

Nearly unbearable pain throbs in my leg, blood streaming down it and over Ian’s sleek coat. I’m grateful for his smooth gait, because I don’t think I could take the jarring otherwise, but nevertheless I shudder with relief when he halts at the packhouse.

I don’t know where he learned to do it, but as Ian shifts, I wind up in his arms. Carrying me as easily as a beloved small child, he rushes up the steps just as the door opens from inside. Looking over his shoulder, I see a timber wolf position itself outside, guarding, and two leggy but more finely built tan and black ones start their shift.

The desert pack brothers. I recognize the deep honey colored eyes, one of them boring directly into mine.

“Townsend—.” Ian shouts, working his way around t