Once inside, she listened for Canyon and heard nothing. She entered the small bathroom just inside the door and found a first aid kit, then she gathered her courage and left the bathroom, passing through the kitchen to the living room.
Timber lay on the couch as a wolf, his left foreleg split open and weeping. Canyon stood nearby, his hand on the back of his neck, his eyes on his brother. Involuntarily Sage glanced out the front window to the yard, as if her aunts were at that moment coming down the driveway to raise hell, but no lights shone outside. It was just her and the Wheeling brothers.
Sage hurried to Timber, placing the kit and the paste down. She knelt, finding her purse and phone on the floor where she’d left them. She shoved her phone in her purse and pushed the purse under the end table, then turned to Timber. He panted heavily, long tongue lolling over sharp teeth.
First, she cleaned the injury, then pulled on gloves and applied the paste thickly. She covered the long wound and worked the paste into the joints above and below it. Timber relaxed and his breathing eased, letting Sage’s fear and worry ease also. She’d done this before. It was a rite of passage for teenagedfoxenmales to steal into the hole and antagonize Kiki. Sage wiped off the excess paste, carefully bagging it andthrowing it away. She covered the injury with gauze, suddenly hyper-aware of Canyon standing near her. He hadn’t said a word while she’d been working, only watched and stayed close. She stripped her gloves off, turning them inside out, bagging them, and throwing them away, then she found a temporary cover for the mortar full of paste. She turned to Canyon and handed him the mortar.
“Reapply the paste every 12 hours for 3 days. After 6 times, a shift will heal the injury.”
“What is that thing?” Canyon asked. “It’s no spider.”
Sage shook her head mutely, thrusting the paste at Canyon. Canyon took it from her and set it on the coffee table.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice serious. “You saved my brother’s life.”
Sage didn’t respond, didn’t even look him in the eyes. She nodded limply, the weight of their two different worlds weighing heavily on her, then she waited for him to do something.
When he didn’t move she motioned to Timber. “You can take him now.”
“Take him where?”
Sage shook her head, flustered. “Take him home I guess. Just… go.” She flapped her hands toward the door.
Canyon looked at the door, then he looked at Timber. He shook his head and faced Sage. “We’re not going home. We’re your guard.”
Panic swept through Sage. She backed into the kitchen. “Youarearresting me!”
Canyon shook his head. “Not arresting, protecting.” He swept his hand at her. “You’re a One True Mate. You’ve got the name, you’re the right age, you’ve probably got a pendant stashed around somewhere.” Canyon looked all around the room.
Sage closed her eyes and grasped her throat.Was this real? Was this happening?She moved closer to Canyon, studying him. Her dumb nose told her nothing, but he seemed sincere.
A One True Mate? Her?
She shook her head, running over everything she knew about thewolvenprophecy in her mind. Thewolvenhad lost virtually all their females in the poisoning 30 years ago. Rhen had promised them new mates. Trevor Burbank had found his mate, thedragenfrom Scotland had found his mate, and Crew Arcoal had found his mate. There were rumors that more mates were found and they were all living together, but only rumors. The mates were half-human, half-angel, and each of them had a unique power.No way.That wasn’t her. She was half-human, half-foxen, unable to shift, speakruhi, or go dim, and she had no power.
But then she remembered the smoke-slime stuff in the passageway, the door she’d revealed into the cavern, and thethingthat had called her name.
She looked at Canyon suspiciously. “I’ve got awhatstashed around here?”
Canyon held up his fingers an inch apart, his gaze boring through her. “You were gifted a pendant at birth. Small, gold, angel on one side and wolf on the other…”
He raised his eyebrows. “If your mate is a wolf.”
65—If Your Mate is a Wolf
Sage’s thoughts scrambled to understand.
If your mate is a wolf?
Sage couldn’t grasp what was happening, or what he was trying to say. It was all too much. She hid in the kitchen instead, drinking some water, musing, wondering if she could twist the situation, maybe glean information forfoxengain. Once she found her way out of this mess, she would be interviewed by the Vvyndicate, and they would want to know every detail.
She peeked around the corner into the living room at Canyon, and just the sight of him in his uniform reminded her that things had gotten far more complicated than that. Thevodwere in the living room at House A, not caring that she wasfoxen, insisting she needed protection, saying she had a fated mate and hemight be a wolf, or he might not. None of it made sense.
Canyon paced around the room. Sage took a moment to study him, noting the differences in him from when she’d last seen him—his hair was the same, a crisp military cut, teetering between blond and brown. His face was the same, masculine and college-boy friendly. His body was perfect with a flat, muscled belly. His gray and black uniform fit him well, snug across the chest, buttocks, and biceps. His belt was bare, with no gun, badge or handcuffs. He hadn’t aged, only hardened.
Drinking him in, she fell into the memory of that past time with him like she was going to Oz.
Sage wiped her mouth with the cloth napkin, her eyes on the big male across from her. He’d bought her lobster and caviar and she’d feasted. He’d ordered a massive steak and had already finished it. They hadn’t talked much, but they’d been eye-fucking each other over three courses. He hadn’t asked her name, but she hadn’t asked his either.
