Page 69 of Wolf's Fate

“Lots more.”

“And you haven’t been in communication with any of them?”

Frowning, I looked over at her. “What makes you think that?”

“The others,” she admitted. Her gaze shifted from me to the window, and I knew she was struggling to find the words. “They are worried that you are too alone, so I assumed that you had no contact with anyone of your kind? Isn’t that why they think you’re dangerous?”

I let out a breath, my jaw tightening. She had no idea how close to the truth she was, how much I had isolated myself after my pack was destroyed. It wasn’t until Willow, in her innocence, asked questions I’d been avoiding answers to for a long time, that I realized why the shaman was letting her know things she ordinarily wouldn’t be allowed to know.

But did my self-imposed isolation mean I was dangerous?

“I’m not?—”

“You are,” she interrupted. “My drawings, they’re loaded with violence.” Her voice was a low whisper, and if I didn’t have shifter hearing, I may not have heard her.

“Shifters run a bit more violent than most,” I said casually. “We’re men, but we have a natural instinct of the wolf, the hunter. We tend to lean towards bloody a lot.”

“Bollocks.”

Her expletive made me look over at her. “Bollocks? Not your everyday curse word.” Thinking about it, I remembered the way she’d date stamped one of her drawings. “Your foster parents, one of them was British?”

Willow looked over at me, a thin frown line showing as she studied me. “Yeah, Jan. You got that frombollocks?”

“You date stamp wrong.”

“One could say I date stampright.”

“One could, but one would be wrong.” Fighting my smile, I heard her giggle and was pleased that the tension had eased once more, knowing the next thing I said would probably make it worse. “You need to sleep.” Placing my hand on her leg, I squeezed lightly, cutting off her protest. “You just got out of the hospital, remember?”

“I’m painfully aware.” Willow’s dry tone made me smile.

“Then sleep, because you’re going to need your strength.”

“Are you going to Vulcan death grip me?” She saw my confusion and made a claw with her hand. “You know, the pressure point thing you do.”

“I was hoping you would just sleep?” I offered openly, hearing the tiredness in my voice. “With no argument.”

She started to say something and then changed her mind. “Okay, can we pull over so I can lie down in the back?”

“You’re hurting?” I asked, kicking myself for not stopping sooner and letting her walk off her stiffness.

“I was in a truck that rolled,” she deadpanned. “Pretty sure I’ll hurt for a long time yet.”

“And you want to climb a mountain,” I scoffed.

“And you’re going to help me,” she shot back, wearing that determined look I was too familiar with.

Pulling over, I helped her move from the front seat to the back. It took her a few tries to find a somewhat comfortable position, but when she did, I knew that she’d be sleeping as soon as I was back in the driver’s seat. She’d been holding it off too long, and I’d been too self-involved to notice.

“When I wake up, will we be there?” Willow asked from her curled position behind me.

“Probably.”

“You okay?” Her voice was heavy with fatigue, but I could still hear her genuine concern.

“Not sure.”

“It’s okay, Caleb. I’m here.”