Page 10 of Forged Alliances

Chapter Five

Sierra reached the car first, padding around to the passenger side before shifting back into human form. The second she did, she wished she’d remained in the stronger form since pain radiated all across her side from the cat bitch’s vicious gouges. She sucked in a deep breath, blood leaking from her wounds at a pace she didn’t like. Had to get something to stop up the flow.

The car door clicked open, and a second later a towel flew her way. She wrapped it around herself, pressing her hand against the oozing cut before she slipped into the passenger seat. Even though Dax had tossed their crumpled clothes in the back, she preferred to clean bloodstains off a towel than destroy yet another pair of jeans. Dax already settled into the driver’s seat, blood staining the leather. He turned on the ignition and glanced her way, his blue eyes scorching with concern.

“My place isn’t far from here. We’ll clean your wound there, and you can borrow some clothes,” he said, not quite meeting her eyes. The guilt was a new look on him, one she didn’t quite like seeing.

“I’m not the only one dripping blood all over the seats,” she mentioned, keeping her palm pressed against the wound. The bloodstain spread across the tan towel she wore. Dax hadn’t bothered to drape himself in anything or even try to stop the bleeding from his scratches as he tore down the gravel path. Not like she minded the view—the coiled muscles, the lethal frame, and his lickable, sun-kissed skin fueled the reminder she hadn’t gotten laid in far too long.

His truck soared along the highway, pine and oak trees surrounding them on either side as they headed into the next town over, another half-mile strip of shops visible in the distance.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice gruff as his gaze focused on the road ahead. His jaw tightened at the same time his grip on the steering wheel did. “You shouldn’t have gotten hurt back there. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this mess.”

“What’s this? Didn’t think you feline types had apologies in you,” she responded, forcing a smile. “I didn’t expect this to be a skip through the meadow, and I’ve gotten my share of scratches before. Quit beating yourself up and make sure when I cash in my favor you’re in a position to help.”

He snorted, pressing harder on the gas as they whizzed past a beat-down pharmacy and the sort of dive bar promising stale, watery beer and stained wallpaper. “Are you actually being nice, Kanoska?” he teased, his gaze lighting up. “All the blood loss must be messing with your head.”

She shot him daggers, but his response didn’t stir her irritation as it had a mere day ago. Witnessing his serious side gave her a glimpse into his constant needling—all a distraction to keep his distance, and probably for sanity’s sake given his current situation. The highway shifted into narrower roads, the asphalt less taken care of as he turned onto a rambling side street, one degraded to gravel. The sun winked overhead, glancing over every chrome curve of his truck.

As they both lapsed into silence, she stole another glance. Despite his distracting body, she found herself staring at the light scruff along his angular chin, the thick brows furrowed in concentration, and the nick of a scar on his cheek. He had the long, sweeping lashes to place him in the “pretty” category, highlighting eyes that glowed blue when he shifted.

He turned down another side road, this one in the thick of the woods and not even making a pretense at civilization. His earlier words and the glint of interest in his eyes slithered down her spine, causing heat to flush through her despite the pain in her side. Her wound throbbed, but she’d received worse in her day. If she fainted over a couple of scratches, she’d lose any cred as an alpha. He wasn’t the only one who had pride to uphold.

At the end of an unpaved driveway lay a small cabin composed of flat, tan panels, wide windows, and a stone chimney rising in the back. A wide porch stretched across the front, strewn with a few wooden rocking chairs over the cherry-stained wood, and a couple of steps led to the door. He sprayed gravel as he pulled in to park before switching off the ignition. She didn’t miss the way his hand swung to the leaking scratches at his side as he slid out of the driver’s seat.

Sierra hopped out, hiding her wince as she kept her palm pressed tightly to the slices refusing to clot. The tan towel turned into full-blown period horror mode, a growing splash of red that wouldn’t come out anytime soon. Dax sauntered to the front of the house, keys jangling in his hand with his steady strides. He cast a glance at her, those blue eyes flashing with concern again.

“Come on in,” he called as he fiddled with the door. She walked up the steps behind him, his tight, muscled ass on full display.

“Is this where you invite me in for a drink?” she asked, unable to help the grin curling her lips.

He cocked a brow, a rich smile returning to his face. “Sure, if that means you’ll be joining me in bed later.”

Even as irritation warmed her chest, it mingled with a heat spreading between her legs. He entered the cabin, and she followed, eager to clean and bandage her wound. The musk of cedar descended the second she stepped in, from the carved table and chairs in the center of the expansive gathering room to his kitchen countertops. An assortment of bowls cluttered his sink, and a couple of jagged hunting knives dried on a towel along the countertop.

Overhead, a lighting fixture framed by antlers accented the woodsy home, and more than a couple of woolen blankets draped along the tan futon and long chestnut couch stretching the length of the back wall. Dax disappeared into one of the side rooms while she wandered over to the couch, hoping the dark fabric wouldn’t collect the stains her towel had. She assumed he wasn’t dicking around in there and had snagged some bandages. Despite the act he put on, Dax proved to be a lot smarter than most might give him credit for.

He emerged from his room, arms laden with gauze, antiseptic, and a crumpled ball of clothing. He’d tossed on a pair of loose flannel pants but hadn’t bothered with a shirt. Not like she minded. Blood trickled from his scratches, but he swiped his side, making the liquid smear across his skin, as he took a seat on the ottoman in front of her.

“Take off your towel,” he said, unscrewing the antiseptic. He then tossed the ball of clothing on the couch beside her, a grin lighting his face. “You can join us civilized folks once you listen, like a good girl.”

Sierra ground her teeth, her hands balling into fists and the urge to punch him rising. His gaze darkened for a microsecond, telltale of more brewing beneath the surface with him than the flirty persona he presented.

“Pass over the antiseptic and I’ll do it myself,” Sierra challenged.

He shook his head. “I got you into this mess. The least I can do is take care of you now,” he said, lapsing into seriousness for once. “But as it stands, I can’t get to the wound.”

She heaved a sigh and undid her towel. Pain flared fiercely as she peeled the towel from where she’d been pressing on those scratches. The tinny tang of blood filled the air, and the shredded skin throbbed. Dax pulled a chair up, his brows knitting together in concentration as he splashed antiseptic on a smooth gauze pad. She settled her bare feet flat against the hardwood floor, bracing for the sting. He glanced to her, and she nodded.

When the soaked gauze descended, Sierra let out a hiss. She focused on Dax, trying to ignore the pain. This close, his woodsmoke smell wrapped around her, so similar to the cedar of this cabin. Despite her bravado, she was quite aware of her own nudity and how her body awakened around him. His lips pressed together as he tended to the wound. Like this, she glimpsed the Silver Spring alpha side of him, someone lethal and strong enough for part of his pack to split off to follow rather than indulging in his late father’s corruption.

His hands remained steady as he cleaned her wounds, the tendons of those corded forearms bulging with each swipe. Heat pooled between her legs despite the pain. Her body reacted to him with a thrill she hadn’t experienced in a long while. Those years before when she thought she’d found the one, the bastard had fucked off when she became alpha, unable to accept her dominance. After that, she’d closed the door on relationships, sticking to tried and true flings.

With a few deft swipes, Dax attached a swath of gauze over the wound with pieces of medical tape. He placed a hand on the top of her bare thigh, the contact a jolt. Heat flooded through her, and her body pulsed with need from the single touch.

“You’re all set,” he said, rising off the couch. She snagged the ball of clothes he’d given her. Sierra tugged on the black T-shirt, which dwarfed her, and a gray pair of sweats she had to tighten the drawstrings on. Her nose wrinkled on instinct, and her wolf paced inside her in protest. His scent marked these clothes so strongly she was drowning in it, stoking her predatory need to dominate and establish her own space. She’d forgotten her own clothes in his truck. The sound of running water came from the kitchen, and minutes later Dax emerged with a matching gauze patch.

Her heart pounded in her ears from the thrill of the fight, the blood pumping hot through her veins. The sarcastic alpha in front of her wasn’t helping diminish the blaze. Sierra perched on the edge of the couch, her elbows braced against her knees.

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