Her Wolf King

le sauvetage

THE RESCUE

Everett raced across the rocky, ashen pathway, uncaring of the black rocks that had formed on the path as if a volcano had erupted instead of a faerie scorching the earth. All he could see was the flash of blonde hair, that man standing over her, a gun in his hand.

All he could see was his wife, about to be killed.

As the gun went off, he dove in front of the bullet, uncaring that he was still in his wolf form, uncaring that every step felt like more and more of a labour, uncaring that his breath came in shallow pants and that his pulse seemed to die down from a roaring thunder to a barely beating undulation.

Just as the blinding, white-hot pain burrowed into his side, the bullet digging into his flesh once–then twice–then a third time as the man emptied his gun into his body, Everett gasped. Blood covered him, hot and sticky and unreal. The man tossed the gun onto the scorched earth and stared down at him with an expression like a dying man.

Yet he was dying. Everett would doubtless not survive these injuries.

Lenore made a noise much like a sob. Then, she raised her arm, which until now he had not seen held a knife, and she sank the blade into the man's chest.

The man thudded onto the path, his gray eyes vacant as they stared unseeingly up at the blue sky. That cursed blue sky.

He gave a shuddering breath and stared at the ivory handle sticking out of the man's chest. Who was he? It didn't matter. All that mattered now was that he had saved her.

If he lived to do nothing else, let her be alive.

"Everett!" Lenore gasped as she stared down at him. "You... you came."

He realized that the ground beneath him became more and more painful, his skin more and more sensitive when it was no longer coated in thick fur, but mere linen and muslin clothes. The blood had that had coated his side and haunches now ran in rivulets across the hollows of his ribs, making his white shirt cling to his chest.

"For you..." He struggled to breathe. But why should he? He didn't need breath. He only needed her.

She pressed her hands to his torso, where the bleeding was greatest. "No... NO, don't speak... It'll be alight. Please... You can tell me why you came, why you did such a foolish thing, later. When you are well."

Tears made her eyes glassy as she stared down at him. He felt one drip onto his cheek, before rolling down into his beard.

"I may not... live that... long..." He gasped. "I love you, Lenore."

"Don't say it like that," she snapped, and more tears slid down her cheeks. "I shan't say it back. Not unless you promise you shall live. Please."

"I didn't... kill... Butterscotch," he whispered. "Don't worry."

"You think I care about a horse?" she retorted, applying more pressure to his wounds. "I care about you! Damn it, Everett, I love you."

"I didn't promise to live." He coughed.

"You will. You have no choice. I need you to live, Everett Dunstan. Live, and be my husband. I shan't care if you are a wolf. I shan't. I love you, and I need you, and you are all that–you are all that I want." Her body shook with sobs and she fell onto his chest. "Please..."

He wanted to raise an arm, to stroke her hair, to cup her cheek to pull her into his side and kiss her. "I love you..."

Then, the blue sky above them went dark. The last thing he saw was a robin, flying overhead, veiled by the strands of Lenore's hair falling softly over his face.