She grimaced. “No. I didn’t put my lips on a wolf’s.”
He chuckled then winced from the pain. “You’re Valkyrie.”
She said naught, her face immobile. “What happened to my sister?”
“She’s safe.”
Her hands clenched into fists. Her jawline tightened. “That means nothing to me. You’re a stranger.”
“Pull this bolt out of my shoulder.”
She glared at him, unmoving. “My sister.”
“Listen. We’ll call her on my phone, as soon as you pull this thing out of my shoulder, for fuck’s sake. Why the hell did you shoot me, anyway?”
“It appeared you were aiming the pistol at me. Reflex.” Her face showed no sign of apology, nor did she offer one.
It came into focus for him, then. She was merely doing what she’d been conditioned to do. No more, no less, there were no feelings behind her actions. She was well trained and ruthless. And by damn, in so many ways, it reminded him of Eira.
He nodded toward the bolt. “Please.”
She leaned down, collected an item from the sofa, and held it up for him to see. “I can call her myself.”
“Phone’s locked,” he deadpanned.
She ground her teeth soundlessly, studying the phone. “It’s got biometrics. Seems I could kill you and swipe each of your fingers until one unlocked it.”
He smirked. “I don’t have it configured for biometrics. Only a fool with a death wish would set that up.”
She clenched the phone so hard it creaked.
“It won’t do you any good if it’s broken,” he reminded her. “The bolt, please, then we’ll call Eira. See if she wants to talk to you.”
Her complexion turned splotchy red with an anger she clearly couldn’t control. “Why the hell wouldn’t my sister want to talk to me?”
“Why hasn’t she told you where she is? Why hasn’t she called you?” He knew he’d struck home when she flinched. Probably didn’t even realize she’d given it away.
She turned from him and showed him her back. Instead, he found himself checking out the way she filled out the jeans, despite the throbbing in his shoulder. Her hair was long, cascading down half her back. Her legs not too long, just perfect for a compact body built with curves and muscles. The precise type of body he liked.
He noticed a silence then. His wolf, who typically would appreciate the female form and had shown a very definite interest in the woman known as Autumn Emerson, had gone deathly quiet. He’d also ceased trying to kill Asa, as well as sending subliminal commands for Asa to hurt himself.
But first, “What’s your real name?”
She gave him a double-take, large pliers in her grasp. Her eyes narrowed as she approached, then knelt down next to him, still not having said a word. He leaned forward so she could get to his back and pull the barb out without inflicting damage.
“Is it Emma or Em—something?”
She wrapped the pliers around the bolt.
“Ugh.” That fucking hurt.
“Emme.” She jerked swiftly, brutally, and without mercy.
A shout of anguish was wrenched from his gritted teeth. “Damn,” he uttered, turning her way. “Thanks.”
No sooner had that single word escaped him than his wolf returned with a vengeance. It snarled, pawing and clawing at his mind, pushing him to kill himself. It roared and bellowed, raked talons across his mind and soul, pushing, taunting, coercing. For minutes that were more like an eternity, he suffered the wolf’s torrential, incessant driving.
Holding the blood-covered, razor-sharp, dart-tipped bolt, Emme watched him, consternation in her face. “What is it? What’s going on?”
He looked about for a weapon, any weapon. “I need—” He rose to his feet, stumbled about toward the kitchen, seized a chef’s carver from the butcher block, and proceeded to knife-punch himself in the gut.
“Stop it,” she screamed at him. “What are you— Why are—”
He bellowed his agony, his wolf’s relentless efforts rewarded by the knife driving into his body again and again.
Chapter Eight
What in Freyja’s name was this man doing? He was trying to kill himself again. Blood splattered across the cabin. His clothes, already red and stiff from the dried blood from the day before now, had bright crimson crisscrossing it.
Was death the only way to stop the onslaught?
He whirled about, the knife still raised high. Not thinking he might try to hurt her, but more worried about losing the only one who had a connection to Eira, she lunged forward with the bolt.
He twisted, struck her wrist, sending her hand downward, the rod still grasped firmly in her fist. The bolt rammed into his thigh, embedding deeply into his quad. She released her hold on Freyja’s Redemption and swiveled out of his reach, bounding onto the sofa’s back, perched in a crouch, seeking purchase with her hands, poised to leap either direction, depending on his next move.
Panting fiercely, he froze, dropped the blade, studied his hand as though it were a foreign object. Then he stared at the bolt in his thigh. “This can’t be.” His tone was tortured. “What kind of witchery is in this arrow? You called it Freyja’s Redemption earlier. What does that mean?”
She couldn’t have said what prompted her to divulge, to open up to him, and yet, she found it almost instinctive she should trust this man who seemed hellbent on killing himself every other moment. “It’s a specialized metal created to contain the berserkers’ bears. It’s an ancient formula.”
“I think it’s keeping my wolf at bay.” He heaved a breath. “Thank you.”
“But, I thought shifters want their animals.” She gave him the phone and a handful of paper towels. “My sister, please. Call her.”
“You have a one-track mind.” He wiped his hands, took it, then placed his thumb on the button at the bottom to unlock it.
“I thought you said you disabled biometrics,” she accused.
“Hey, like I’m going to help the person who wasn’t helping me?” He swiped on the phone, then returned it to her.
She took the proffered phone and glanced at the screen. “Range? What’s range?”
“My brother. Her mate.”
She scoffed. “False. We don’t take mates.”
He snatched it from her. “Fine. Don’t believe me.”
She grabbed it back then put her other hand on the bolt. “I’ll pull this out backward.” Doing so would hurt like a sonofabitch, and the barb would pull tendons, sinew, and flesh with it.
He wrapped a large hand around hers. His face so close she could see the amber swirls in his light-blue eyes, every hair in the scruff that had grown thicker on his chiseled features overnight. She hadn’t been this close to a man since the last time she’d sought one for a bit of lust-release, and being so close to this man, in particular, was making her body respond, despite the circumstances, his injuries, her missing sister, and the fact she was threatening him.
“You won’t.” His voice was deep but not threatening. “That will release my wolf again, and the violence will continue.”