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Zan hustled her from the room and Calla sat back with a sigh. It could be ages before she got in to see Nick, and it made her nerves coil in anxiety. Selene had every right to see him first, she reminded herself. Besides, if Calla acted more worried than a concerned friend, people would start asking questions she wasn’t ready to answer, as her brother had already done.
After what seemed like hours, Selene returned and poked her head in the door, giving them a tired smile. “Dad’s resting. They said he’d probably sleep until the morning, but you’re welcome to see him if you’d like. You did save his life, after all.”
“Thank you.” Calla stood. “I’d love to check on him before we have to go home.”
“He’ll appreciate it when he wakes up. Just go down the hallway on the right, fourth room.”
Taking Selene’s hand, Zan led her away. Calla stood, and looked at her brother, but he opted to wait for her. She was glad he was giving her time alone with Nick. Maybe some of what she’d said to her overprotective sibling had gotten through.
At the doorway to Nick’s room, she paused and took a breath before pushing inside. The sight that greeted her was definitely not what she had expected.
Instead of Nick, the man, lying on the bed, a huge white wolf was sprawled on the sheets, head on the pillow. She came to a halt, hand over her pounding heart, and stared. His fur was thick, as pure as the driven snow, not one other speck of color to be seen except for the black gumdrop nose on the end of his snout. She’d seen lion shifters with smaller paws. His head was big and so were his jaws, which looked strong enough to crush someone’s bones as though snapping a toothpick.
Moving forward as quietly as possible, she took a seat beside the bed. Without a doubt, this wolf—Nick—could easily take down any opponent. And yet he looked so gentle, lying with his fluffy tail curled around his legs, snoring slightly.
Tentatively, she reached out and stroked the top of his head. Then his ears. He gave a soft rumble of unmistakable pleasure and nosed into her hand in his sleep, seeking her touch. Wanting comfort. She gladly gave it, rubbing all over his face and ears, the scruff of his neck. He was simply majestic, and being able to touch him as a wolf was a privilege she figured few had been allowed.
“Aren’t you beautiful?” she whispered. “I’ll bet shifting helps you heal, huh? Just sleep, Nick. I’ll stay for a bit, and then I’ll come back tomorrow.”
The wolf let out a sigh, and slept on.
He never knew when she rose later and reluctantly slipped from the room.
* * *
Nick came awake gradually, blinking, eyes adjusting to the gloom. The sun was apparently just coming up, and the room was so dim he couldn’t see where he was. Couldn’t think straight.
It came back in snatches—the call to save the vampire coven from hunters. The Huey. Flying low, shooting.
Being shot.
He was alive then, if damned slow and stoned on whatever the doctors had pumped into him. Lifting his head, he saw white paws stretched in front of him. He didn’t remember shifting. That was good, though, since it would help him get back on his feet much faster.
Just then, a sweet scent tickled his nose. It was faint, whomever it belonged to no longer around, but it drew him all the same. Instinctively he whined, snuffling the covers on one side of the bed to try to make out more of the delicious scent. It seemed to be on his fur as well.
Both the man and the wolf knew the owner of it. Calla. She’d been here?
He wanted her to come back. His wolf wanted to leap from the bed and track her down. The man had more restraint. Barely. Besides, his strength wasn’t up to par just yet.
Concentrating, Nick focused on his human form and made the change. The transformation wasn’t quite as seamless as usual, and was a bit painful given his healing injury, but at least it was quick. Once the change was complete, he took stock of himself.
Lifting his hand, he carefully explored the puckered scar on his chest, and frowned. The fucker who’d shot him must’ve used silver, so the scar might never totally disappear. However, while that pissed him off to a degree, he had more important things to worry about.
As a distraction to said worries, the television mounted on the wall wasn’t much, but it would have to do until they sprung him. He spent a while flipping back and forth between Good Morning America and the Today show, and knew he’d reached a sad state when he found himself engrossed in a story about Miley Cyrus’s tongue and whether she’d donate it to science one day.
“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, shutting off the TV in disgust.
“That bad?”
His gaze jerked to the doorway, where Calla stood smiling at him. He sat up straighter, or tried. Still quite sore, he winced. “Worse. Thank God you’re here to save me, or I might have started with Jerry Springer next. I think th
ey’re discussing ticking internal clocks and exploding ovaries or something. Hell if I know.”
She laughed, wrinkling her nose adorably. “Then it’s a good thing I arrived when I did.”
He studied the vampire, drinking her in like a man dying of thirst. She was gorgeous, as always, dark hair falling around her face and shoulders. A snug pink T-shirt with a V-neck emphasized her breasts, and nice jeans encased her long legs. She wore high-heeled strappy wedge sandals and her toes were painted to match her shirt.
He’d like to get a closer look at those toes. While kissing his way up those long legs. His wolf rumbled in agreement, and he cleared his throat to mask the sound.
