close enough to offer aid if he needed it. “Let me know if you need my help,” she said.
Squinting at her, he didn’t respond. Instead, he lurched another three or four steps toward the kennel, then rested. Though he held his shoulders up, he kept one hand pressed against the bandaged wound in his leg. From what she could tell, the makeshift tourniquet had been effective. Only a little blood seeped from under his hand to run down his wet and muscular leg.
He healed like a full-blooded shifter rather than a Halfling. Or, she reflected, maybe that was because she’d taken him under her protection.
As they made their way slowly toward the kennel, her dogs, still stunned from the explosion and gunshots, swirled around them, agitated and nervous. Though she was far from calm herself, she spoke soothingly to them, working at projecting a serene attitude, knowing it would help relax them.
Once inside, she dried him off as best she could, taking care to touch the still-healing wound gently. Though he must have hurt, his stony expression gave nothing away. As he watched her, his blue eyes were hooded.
Waiting for him to ask why she’d saved him—a question she didn’t know the answer to herself—she had to fight to keep from being all thumbs, which was not normal for her. She’d tended lots of wounded creatures in her time, though none of them had been so blatantly masculine, nor as beautiful.
When she’d finished her ministrations, he lay back on the futon and went to sleep. Kelly wrapped him in a soft blanket, attempting to make him as comfortable as she could.
Once Mac was taken care of, she rounded up the other dogs that still roamed outside, wanting to bring them in before full darkness fell. As soon as she had them all accounted for, blessedly unharmed, she returned with them to the kennel apartment where Mac still slept.
Peeking at the wound, she was pleased to see it had healed even more. As if it had been sutured, the jagged tear in his skin was beginning to close. His body had already brought itself back from the brink of death and was well on the road to healing, much faster and less painfully than she’d expected.
Suddenly exhausted, Kelly dropped into her office chair. Eyeing the handsome shifter, she knew she had one more task ahead of her. Once Mac recovered, she would have to explain that the gift she’d given him came with strings. By telling him that they were one, and by his acceptance, they were now bound together for life. Kelly was pretty darn sure he wouldn’t be happy about that. Hounds, she wasn’t entirely thrilled herself.
But what had she been supposed to do? Let him die in front of her? She who had trouble killing an in sect? So in an impulsive moment, she’d said the sacred words—only to protect him—and the thing was done.
Would she have regrets? Only time would tell.
And, she couldn’t help but wonder if he already knew. He’d been married to a Tearlach. Surely he and Maggie had undergone the ritual. Or had they? After all, Maggie had died and he had lived. Still, she’d never heard of a Tearlach marrying without performing the necessary binding. But could a shifter be bound to two women, even if one died? She didn’t know.
Again she eyed Mac. At the rate he was going, it shouldn’t take him more than a good night’s sleep to heal. For his sake, she hoped he’d spend most of that time unconscious. Less painful that way.
Chapter 3
As the afternoon drifted into evening, Kelly remained in her chair, watching him. She found herself tracing the lines of his rugged face with her gaze, pondering the strength of his profile and the breadth of his shoulders.
He’d been married to her cousin Maggie. Though Maggie was dead, that made him family. She’d sworn the oath with him, bound him to her, and he was hers now.
This feeling—it had to be desire. She’d read about it, heard songs about it, but until now, she hadn’t been touched by it. It felt like a small flame building inside her; she felt a longing to touch him, to press her lips to his bronze skin, for an unspeakable, unthinkable more.
Shaking herself back to her senses, she pushed to her feet. Perhaps her lonely exile was finally getting to her. She’d never met a man who affected her the way this one did. Of course, living out here in the wilds of Wyoming, she met few men, other than her neighboring ranchers. And they certainly didn’t make her want what she couldn’t have.
She reminded herself that he’d mentioned trading her sister for his children. Though she doubted he actually had her sister, he might know where she’d been taken. His kids were a different story.
Even if he brought Bonnie back, Kelly couldn’t guarantee the return of his twins. While she hadn’t heard anything about his kids being taken, it sort of made sense. Any child born of a Tearlach must be protected, and with their mother dead, her mate should have died also. That was the way of things. Once Maggie had died, the children had to be protected. Their gifts were too highly valued, too much of a temptation for someone merely after the prize a Tearlach’s gift could bring.
If they’d been allowed to remain with Mac, their lives would have been in danger from the moment they hit puberty.
That night, she made a pallet on the floor and slept, drawing her dogs around her like a shield. The kennel had a functioning alarm, which, though not monitored, would at least alert her to any intrusion. If the attackers came back, at least she’d have some kind of warning.
But the night passed uneventfully, and she woke in the morning feeling rested and completely healed. The man—Mac—still slept, though his color had improved and she judged that he was very close to being one hundred percent improved.
While waiting, she purified the area, drawing the ritual from instinct and memories. She set up an altar, a small replica of the one she’d had in her home, using some candles she’d dug out of a drawer and a half-burnt stick of incense.
Then, she bowed her head and offered up a prayer, though to what god, she couldn’t say. In the end, she supposed it didn’t matter to who or what she prayed. She—and her family, as well as this man who was now bound to her—would need all the help they could get.
First, she had to take care of her dogs. In the closest town, she had one person she trusted. Ben was human, without any knowledge of shifters or vampires or, most important, Tearlachs. He’d come forward two years ago, wanting to volunteer for the dog rescue group she’d founded. He often helped her save a doomed dog, both fostering and helping to transport them, often from across the country. He’d even stayed with Kelly’s personal dogs once or twice when she’d felt the urge to travel. She often called him her big brother, only half-jokingly. She knew if she ever really needed him, he’d have her back, just like a real brother.
Ben answered on the third ring. “Kelly! It’s been a while, way too long. What’s up?”
She could picture him, the eternal hippy with his too-long gray hair pulled back in a thick braid and his uncombed beard going in every direction. Ben was retired career military and she supposed his wild appearance was his way of rebelling at years of being told what to wear and do. He was also a former sniper and a crack shot.
“I need your help.” Briefly, without giving too many details, she outlined the situation. Years ago, she’d hinted vaguely to Ben that she’d done a stint of undercover work, highly classified, and she called on this cover story now.
“Call the police,” Ben advised. “See if they can send a few
