Wolf from the Past: Salvation Pack, Book 4 Page 8

  “What?” Armand hurried over to her. “What is he talking about?” Tension radiated from her brother.

  “I’ll go get your things and let you two talk.”

  “Coward,” she muttered and was instantly appalled at herself.

  Gator just chuckled. “Not a coward, just smart.” He patted her shoulder and headed out, leaving her there to face Armand.

  “You said you had a job and a home.” His tone was almost accusatory. She knew the others were listening from around the dining table.

  She mentally girded herself for his reaction. “I did have both, but I gave them up before I came here. I figured I could always find another waitressing or cleaning job. I wanted to be closer to you.”

  Armand’s face softened and he reached out his hand to cup her chin. “Oh, Sylvie.” He took a deep breath. “Can I hug you? I promise I’ll keep it light.”

  She wanted that too. So much. “I’d like that.” She forced herself to relax when he put his arms around her. He smelled so familiar. Like home and love. She buried her face in his neck and inhaled.

  “You’ve got a home here with me, with us. You don’t ever have to be alone again.”

  Home. The word was almost foreign to her, but it sounded heavenly. And why Gator’s face popped into her head when she thought about the word was a mystery. A person couldn’t be considered a home. Could they?

  Armand eased back and smiled even though she could see the worry in his eyes.

  “Everything will work itself out.” Sylvie automatically found herself falling into the role of older sister, wanting to soothe his hurts and concerns.

  But he wasn’t a child any longer. He was a fully-grown man with a mate of his own. “We’ll make it work,” he assured her. “You’ll stay.” He brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face. “You’ll find your way.”

  She wished she were as confident as he was. Then Gator was back through the door with several boxes. He quietly set them by the door and went back for the rest of her things.

  Pierre LaForge stared out over his pack. They were a large group, but not as large as they’d been. He’d lost a lot of good men in the war with his son’s pack, a fact that galled him no end. He wanted revenge. No, he needed it.

  Only when the blood of the other misfits in Jacque’s pack flowed and his sons were beaten would he allow them to come home. He might be better off killing Jacque. He’d never say it aloud, but his son was strong, maybe too strong to be controlled. Louis would be easier to handle.

  Yes, that was a good plan. After all what use was a second son except to take the place of the eldest if it became necessary.

  The murmurs grew louder. He let them grow and then raised his hands in the air. They immediately fell silent. He reveled in the power he held and knew he’d never give it up.

  There were few women present. Most of the men would have told their mates and daughters to stay at home, a sign of the recent unease in the pack. Well, he had something that would unite them all in righteous anger.

  “I’ve received some disturbing news.”

  Several of the men in the front glanced at one another but no one spoke. For a moment, he almost missed his brother at his side. Remy had been an idiot but he’d had his uses. And Andre Dubois had been his right hand for more than a decade. He missed Andre more than he did his brother.

  “It seems that Sylvie Dubois is alive.”

  There were several gasps from the crowd and some angry muttering.

  Pierre continued to stoke the fires of discontent. “She faked her death and ran from her mate. From this pack. She deceived all of us.”

  “How do you know?” someone yelled.

  “Where is she now?” asked Joseph Blanchard. The bastard was almost as big as his son.

  “With your son and mine,” Pierre answered. “She is with the Salvation Pack. They have given her sanctuary.”

  He let them talk among themselves and was surprised that more of them didn’t seem angered by this turn of events. He pushed them harder.

  “What’s next? What if one of your mates decides she wants to leave? What of your daughters? Should we just let them all go wherever they want? Should we ignore the hierarchy of the pack?”

  “No!”

  “She must be brought back,” shouted Jean Paul Dupointe. “She must pay for her deceit.”

  Pierre barely managed to suppress his smile. This was what he’d wanted. The suggestion had to come from someone else. This way, he got what he wanted while seeming only to be listening to the concerns of his followers.

  He held up his hands again and waited until they fell silent. “I agree with your decision. She must be held accountable.” He paused for effect. “We will watch the Salvation Pack and when the time is right we will attack and bring Sylvie home once and for all.”

  Some of the men cheered. Others looked unsure of his decision. None spoke out against it. Not even Joseph Blanchard. The big man simply shrugged, turned and walked away as if it were no concern of his. Maybe he’d written off his son. Pierre couldn’t blame him for that. It was too bad Joseph only had one son.

  Pierre turned and went back into his house. Luckily for Pierre, he had two.

  Chapter Seven

  Gator sprawled on the sofa with his feet propped up on the arm and his head on one of the many pillows the women insisted they needed to make the room look nice. He didn’t think the place had looked too bad without them, but he did enjoy making use of them at times like this. Not that he’d ever tell them that.

  He’d settled down an hour ago but was still wide awake. And why was he still awake? The reason was down the hallway lying in his bed. His bed.

  Did she sleep naked? Probably not. He didn’t think she’d like the idea of being that vulnerable. Maybe she wore some cute little nightgown. He reached down and adjusted himself. He usually sprawled naked in his bed, but out of deference to the ladies in the house he was wearing a pair of track pants.

  He glanced toward the picture window and narrowed his gaze. It was dark outside and had been for hours. He’d patrolled their land for the early part of the night before coming home. Armand was taking the middle shift. That way he was able to be with Sylvie for the evening and also be here when she woke in the morning. His buddy would be tired tomorrow but he could always catch a nap. Louis had the last shift.

  Meanwhile, Gator needed to get some sleep. He turned on his side and punched one of the pillows under his head to make the shape more comfortable. He settled back down with a sigh and lasted about sixty seconds before he rolled off the sofa and padded to the window.

  It was beautiful outside tonight. The moon was about half full but it was visible in the sky, along with a smattering of stars. There was a light breeze and warm air filtered into the room through the screen.

  He raked his hands through his hair and then rolled his shoulders. Why was he so damn tense?

  Because he wanted to be down the hall in his own bedroom with Sylvie.

  “Fuck.” He turned his back on the night and stalked to the kitchen. Maybe he’d cook something. It had to be two in the morning but that didn’t matter much to him. He’d never needed much sleep to be able to function.

  Usually when he had an excess of energy he ran it off. Tonight, that wasn’t an option. He wanted to stay closer to Sylvie.

  “You’ve got it bad,” he muttered. He silently apologized to both his buddies for the ribbing he’d given them about their own women. Not that he’d ever say it out loud. No, he’d had too much fun teasing Armand and Cole. But he now understood them a lot better.

  Women messed a man up. No doubt about it. Otherwise he’d be sound asleep rather than contemplating making brownies. He didn’t get to bake much anymore now that Anny was whipping up all kinds of sweet and tempting delights.

  He started to pull out a mixing bowl but stopped and co
cked his head to one side. Had he heard something?

  Leaving the bowl in the cupboard, he padded on silent feet toward the hallway. He heard the sound again. Like a whimper.

  Sylvie. He knew it was her. He didn’t question how he knew it but acted on instinct and hurried to his room. He opened the door and quietly shut it behind him. She was curled into a little ball under the covers. He stood there wondering if he’d been mistaken about hearing anything. Maybe the sound had been coming from outside.

  Then she whimpered again. Her hand slapped the air in front of her. She was dreaming, a nightmare from the looks of it.

  Gator didn’t stop and think about the consequences of his actions, he simply went to her side, sat down on the edge of the bed and lightly pressed his hand against her shoulder. “Sylvie.” When she didn’t wake, he shook her lightly. “Come on, mon ange. Wake up.”

  He rubbed his hand over her shoulder, wondering if he was going to have to take more drastic measures. The nightmare had her caught in a firm grip and didn’t seem willing to let her go.

  “It can’t have you,” he muttered and shook her again.

  Sylvie sucked in a deep breath to scream. Andre was coming at her, his face set in a disapproving expression she knew so well. There was malice in his eyes but pleasure too. He enjoyed her fear and the pain he gave her.

  She knew it was useless to run. There was nowhere to hide from him. And she couldn’t fight him. She’d tried early in their sham of a mating. All that had earned her was a more severe beating.

  Still, she had to do something. If she yelled, maybe someone would hear here.

  Then she thought she heard her name on the wind. Whoever it was called her an angel. She was far from that, but she clung to the hope that there was someone out there, someone who would help.

  Andre drew closer but now she had the will to fight. “No,” she yelled. She struck out at him but he caught her hand in his much larger one. For once, he didn’t squeeze it tight, breaking one or two of her bones. He held it gently. She didn’t understand.

  Then she heard her name being whispered again.

  The fog of her dream dissipated and it wasn’t Andre holding her hand at all. It was Gator.

  Sylvie gasped and sat straight up in bed. Gator released his hold on her and she wrapped her arms around herself. Her long cotton nightgown was stuck to her body with sweat. She shivered, cold in spite of the heat.

  “Here, chère.” Gator pulled the top blanket off the bed and draped it over her shoulders like a shawl.

  “You’re always covering me up.” It was a silly thing to say but she was still caught in the fog between dreams and reality.

  He smiled and she forgot what she was going to say. The room was dark, but with the moonlight shining through the window and her heightened sense of sight, she could see him perfectly. His broad shoulders, his muscular biceps and the slabs of muscles that covered his abdomen. No doubt about it, Gator Rollins was a handsome man. Rugged and untamed. And kind.

  “Not my preference,” he teased. “But I don’t like the idea of you being cold.”

  No one had ever worried about her in that way. Maybe her mother had, but that was so long ago she couldn’t remember. Her mother had been a quiet, scared woman. It shook Sylvie to realize just how much like her mother she’d become.

  She only wished her mother were still alive so she could talk to her and tell her she understood much better now how a person could become that way. In her youth, she’d often felt disappointed in her mother when the older woman hadn’t fought back against her mate. Sylvie now knew there had been no way out and her mother had done the best she could in the circumstances she’d had. There were no safe houses, no laws to protect a female werewolf from a brutal mate. They were on their own. None would interfere between mates. Not in their pack.

  “Hey.” Gator rubbed his hands over her shoulders. “Everything is okay. You were just dreaming.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Did she? She’d never told anyone about her nightmares. Of course, that could be because there’d never been anyone around before. She was always alone.

  “It was Andre.”

  Gator’s hands tightened but his expression remained calm. “What about Andre?”

  “He was coming for me.” She shivered and pulled the blanket tighter. She really needed to get up and change nightgowns. Wearing the damp shift against her skin wasn’t helping her warm up.

  He ran his thumb gently over the curve of her jaw. “And what was he going to do?”

  Sylvie shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about the past. Intellectually, she knew it wasn’t her fault. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop her from feeling ashamed.

  “Sylvie?” Back and forth, the rough pad of his thumb caressed her jaw. She leaned into his touch. “Was he going to hit you?”

  She gave a jerky nod.

  The tension in the room ratcheted up several notches. The muscles in his torso tensed and flexed. “Did it happen often?”

  It shamed her to answer, but she couldn’t lie, not to Gator. She simply nodded again, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

  The litany of curse words that came out of Gator’s mouth would have made her blush at any other time. Instead, shame threatened to choke her.

  Before she realized his intent, Gator plucked her off the bed and perched her on his lap. With the blanket swaddling her, she couldn’t get her hands out fast enough to ward him off.

  He wrapped his arms around her, buried his face in the curve of her neck and took a deep breath before slowly releasing it. “I’m so sorry, chère. So sorry he hurt you. And even sorrier it wasn’t me who killed the bastard.”

  Sylvie stopped trying to extricate herself and allowed Gator to comfort her. It was a strange sensation. The longer it went on, the more she liked it, the more she relaxed and released the tension that held her in its grip.

  He rocked her slowly in his arms and she rested her head against his shoulder. “That’s it. You just let go of the bad dreams. No one is going to hurt you here.”

  Funnily enough, she believed him. Gator had a reputation of being meaner than well…a gator. When they’d all lived in Louisiana, other men had given him a wide berth, especially when he and Cole were together. That was one pair no one wanted to tangle with.

  Although Cole was a big man and the largest wolf in the pack, she’d always thought that Gator was the one that the others should fear most. There was something almost feral about him behind his easygoing exterior, something that told her he’d never give up in a fight, never back down.

  Gator had always liked going into human churches and staring at the stained glass windows that depicted saints and other biblical stories. Right now, he felt as though he deserved to be sainted for what he was going through. He deserved one of those damn windows.

  Oh, it wasn’t the comforting part. He liked holding Sylvie, liked being the one she talked to. But it wasn’t easy not to take it further than just comfort. He ached to strip the blanket from her and then her nightgown. He wanted to use his lips and tongue to touch and taste every inch of her smooth skin.

  His cock jerked and Gator prayed Sylvie didn’t notice his rather noticeable hard-on pressing against her hip.

  Of course, he wasn’t likely to get sainted, as his thoughts were anything but pure. He not only wanted to strip Sylvie, he wanted her under him, over him or any way he could get her as long as he was inside her.

  He also wanted to kill her former mate, even though the man was already dead. He swallowed back a growl, not wanting to frighten Sylvie now that she was beginning to relax.

  When she squirmed in his arms, he eased his grip and she pushed off his lap. He wanted to howl and grab her back but curled his fingers into his palms and allowed her to do as she wished. She stood in front of him and simply sta
red.

  “What?” He reached out and brushed a damp lock of hair away from her face. He wanted to unwind her hair from the habitual braid she kept it in and sift his fingers through the long, silky mass.

  Sylvie released her hold on the blanket. It clung for a moment before sliding over her shoulders and arms and pooling around her feet.

  Gator swallowed hard. The thin cotton gown she wore was molded to her body, leaving nothing to the imagination.

  “You need to get out of that damp nightie.” His voice was even lower, more guttural than before. His wolf was howling inside him, demanding he claim the woman in front of him.

  She nodded, her gaze solemn. “I do.”

  When her hands went to the thin shoulder straps and pushed them downward, Gator thought he’d lose his mind. The material caught on the swell of her breasts and his breath caught in his lungs. He exhaled on a loud whoosh when she pushed the fabric lower, exposing the creamy swells topped with pretty pale nipples. And when she shoved the gown over her hips, letting it fall to the floor, he was shocked his head didn’t explode on the spot.

  Her legs went on forever. They were slender and strong. Her hips were gently curved. But it was her pussy that riveted him. A neat covering of silky black hair hid her most secret treasure. Gator wanted to delve between her thighs, part her slick folds and explore every inch of her.

  But that would be wrong. She’d just had a nightmare and obviously didn’t know what she was doing.

  “Chère.” He started to reach out to her and then stopped. His cock throbbed in time with his racing heart. Every instinct inside him was driving him to take what was his. It was only sheer will and stubbornness that kept him from dragging her back down onto the bed, shoving aside the flimsy track pants he wore and mounting her.

  The longer he stared at her, the more uncomfortable she became. She wrapped her arms around her upper body, covering her pretty breasts and turned away from him so he couldn’t see her pussy.