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Chapter Six
Andrade
My wolf’s alarm at the state of this female was far beyond anything I’d have expected from him at the sight of a stranger. He whimpered and whined and wanted out. Wanted to bring her inside and take care of her. But our mate was already lifting her in his arms and carrying her across the living room toward the big leather sofa.
“She’s cold,” he said. “Get some blankets for her, mate.”
“On it.” I charged into the master bedroom and gathered the soft, handwoven blanket that lay across the foot of the bed. I also grabbed a couple of the fluffy goose-down pillows for her head. Returning to the living room, I put the pillows at one end of the couch and, after Zion laid her down, I tucked the soft, blue blanket over her. “She isn’t wearing much for such a chilly night,” I observed. Her shorts and T-shirt were more appropriate for a sunny afternoon than a foggy evening. When she was all covered up, I stood beside my mate and looked down at her.
Even pale and shivering, she was beautiful by any description. Long dark hair was damp from the air outside but still shone in the lamplight. Her eyes were green and wide and heavily lashed, her lips rosy and full against her pale cheeks.
“She’s like some kind of fae, isn’t she,” I whispered, as if I might frighten her off if I spoke too loudly.
“Except she’s all wolf,” he asserted. “And my wolf is having a lot to say about that.”
“Yours, too?” Mine had not settled down much, although he was pleased when we covered her and made her comfortable. “Hi, there. I’m Andrade, and this is my mate Zion. Welcome to our honeymoon.”
“Oh no.” She struggled to sit up, but Zion pressed her gently back onto the couch. “I am so sorry to interrupt your honeymoon. You must hate me. I’ll go.”
My mate tucked the cover more closely around her and fixed her with the firm stare that melted me every time. And yet, I wasn’t jealous at all. I really should be jealous. But my wolf was happy to see our alpha taking care of her. “You’re not going anywhere until we know you’re all right. Is there someone we can call?”
She blinked at him but didn’t say anything.
“Does talking hurt?” I asked, wondering if perhaps she’d had more injuries than we could see or if maybe that knot on her head was worse than it appeared. “You can just nod or shake your head?”
“No, I can talk.” But her voice was soft and hoarse. “I just don’t know who you should call.”
“You don’t?” Zion’s puzzlement matched mine. “Where did you come from? Did your car break down nearby and maybe you fell and hit your head?”
“I don’t know that, either. Any of it. And what’s that about wolves?”
“Why don’t you know who to call or where you come from?” I asked.
“I found myself on the side of the highway, or rather a road leading down to it, and that’s all I got.”
“Did you fall and hit your head?” Zion examined the knot on her forehead with careful fingers. “I guess you must have.”
She shrugged, her eyes half closed as my mate continued to examine her injuries. “One more thing I don’t know. But my head really hurts and so does the rest of me, so unless that’s normal, it’s the result of whatever happened to me.”
My heart squeezed. I’d always thought amnesia was the stuff of old sitcoms, but here we had someone right in front of us who, if she was telling the truth, had no memories beyond when she awoke from unconsciousness on the side of the road. And while that two-laner didn’t see a lot of traffic, much of those who did access it were known to speed. At the market, earlier, we’d been cautioned about the drivers who paid no attention to the posted limits and instead used it for bragging rights. In extreme cases, there had even been downhill drag racing resulting in more than one serious or fatal accident.
This poor innocent could have been hurt much worse.
She went on, “So, while I would like to tell you how I ended up here, I can’t. I’ll understand if you want to call the police and have them get me out of your hair.”
“Why would we call the police? Do you think you’ve committed a crime?”
She gave a headshake then groaned. “Oww. I need not to do that. If I did rob a liquor store or something, I also managed to lose whatever I stole. Honestly, I don’t feel like a criminal, but I do in general feel like crap.”
My wolf gave a snarl, and it must have been audible because she jumped. “What was that?”
“My wolf doesn’t like that you’ve been hurt. He wants to kill whoever did it to you.”
“Ahhh, you’re going to have to explain that. Is your wolf how you refer to your protective side or something? I have to admit the third person thing is a little disconcerting.”
