On the Prowl

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    DOMINANTS were touchy about taking suggestions from lesser wolves, so she left Charles to make up his own mind while she stirred the beef stew to keep it from burning. Not that burning would make it taste any worse. She’d bought it on sale about six months ago, and had never been hungry enough to eat it. But it had protein, which he needed after being wounded, and it was the only meat in the house.
    The wound had looked painful, but not unmanageable to her, and none of the EMTs had seemed overly concerned.
    She took the metal ball out of the pocket of her jeans and felt it burn her skin. While the EMTs had been working on his back, Charles had caught her eye and then looked at the small, bloody slug on the sidewalk.
    At his silent direction, she’d pocketed it. Now she set it on her counter. Silver was bad. It meant that it really hadn’t been a random shooting. She hadn’t seen who fired the shot, but she could only assume that it had been one of her pack mates, probably Justin.
    Silver injuries wouldn’t heal in minutes or hours, and Charles would have to go wounded to Leo’s house.
    Claws clicked on the hardwood floor and the fox-colored wolf who was Charles walked over and collapsed on the floor, near enough to rest his head on one of her feet. There were bits and pieces of torn cloth caught here and there on his body. A glance at the futon told her he hadn’t bothered to strip out of his clothes, and the bandages hadn’t survived the change. The cut across his shoulder blades was deep and oozing blood.
    He seemed more weary than wild and ravenous, though, so she assumed his fears about how much control he’d have had not been borne out. An out-of-control werewolf, in her experience, would be growling and pacing, not lying quietly at her feet. She put the stew in a bowl and set it in front of him.
    He took a bite and then paused after the first mouthful.
    “I know,” she told him apologetically, “it’s not haute cuisine. I could go downstairs and see if Kara has any steaks or roasts I could borrow.”
    He went back to eating, but she knew from healing her own wounds that he’d be better off with more meat. Kara wouldn’t be home, but Anna had a key, and she knew Kara wouldn’t mind if she borrowed a roast as long as she replaced it.
    Charles seemed to be engrossed in his meal so she started for the door. Before she was halfway there, he’d abandoned the food and stalked at her heels. It hurt him to move—she wasn’t quite sure how she knew that, since he neither limped nor slowed visibly.
    “You need to stay here,” she told him. “I’ll be right back.”
    But when she tried to open the door, he stepped in front of it.
    “Charles,” she said and then she saw his eyes and swallowed hard. There was nothing of Charles left in the wolf’s yellow gaze.
    Leaving the apartment wasn’t an option.
    She walked back to the kitchen and stopped by the food bowl she’d left him. He stayed at the door for a moment before following her. When he had finished eating she sat down on the futon. He jumped up beside her, put his head in her lap, and closed his eyes with a heavy sigh.
    He opened one eye and then closed it again. She ran her fingers through his pelt, carefully avoiding the wound.
    Were they mated? She thought not. Wouldn’t something like that have a more formal ceremony? She hadn’t actually told him that she accepted him—no more than he had really asked her.
    Still…she closed her eyes and let his scent flow through her and her hand closed possessively in a handful of fur. When she opened her eyes, she found herself staring into his clear gold ones.
    His phone rang from somewhere underneath her. She reached down to the floor and snagged the remnant of his pants and pulled the phone out and checked the number. She turned it so he could see the display.
    “It says father ,” she told him. But evidently the wolf was still in control, because he didn’t even look at the phone. “I guess you can call him back when you’re back to yourself.” She hoped that would be soon. Even with silver poisoning, he ought to be better in a few hours, she hoped.
    The phone quit ringing for a moment. Then started again. It rang three times. Stopped. Then rang three more times. Stopped. When it rang again she answered it reluctantly.
    “Hello?”
    “Is he all right?”
    She remembered the werewolf who had brought out a chair for Charles to sit on while the EMTs worked on him. He must