A Wolf in Hiding - Charlie Richards Page 0,3

tried to search for a thicket or thick stand of trees to hide in. Instead, the undergrowth he’d chosen had hidden a cliff.

Between one step and the next, Elroy had fallen right over it.

When Elroy had landed, he’d screamed as his left leg snapped under him. He’d buckled, his right arm catching some of his weight and scraping over rocks. That pain caused him to twist, and he’d slammed his head against the cliff.

Elroy didn’t know how he’d managed to stay conscious, but he’d done it. He slowly, carefully, eased to a sitting position, fighting the waves of nausea caused by the agony shooting through his leg. Having broken his arm once in the past, he recognized that kind of pain.

Leaning against the cliff face, Elroy panted softly. The spots increased even as the rain slacked off and stopped. Every shudder of his body brought fresh waves of debilitating throbs.

Elroy whimpered upon seeing the blood seeping through the left leg of his jeans. With a shaky left hand, he pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket.

The cracked screen told him all he needed to know, but he tried waking it anyway.

Broken.

Taking a deep breath, Elroy used all his strength to bellow, “Hello?”

No answer.

Elroy gritted his teeth for several moments, then tried again.

Still nothing.

Unable to help himself, Elroy felt his eyes water as fear slithered through his veins.

“I’m gonna die out here,” Elroy whispered, his heart clenching in his chest. The spots across his vision intensified as a wave of dizziness swept over him, caused by either blood loss or fear. He wasn’t certain which.

Movement to his right caught his attention, and he blinked, barely able to focus on it.

“No way,” Elroy mumbled as his heart rate spiked for a new reason.

A medium brown and tan wolf padded toward him.

At least I won’t die of exposure.

That was Elroy’s last thought as he gave in to the pain, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he passed out.

Chapter Two

The mixture of agony and fear in the human’s voice had called to Dermot Reever on a visceral level. Running back toward his cabin in wolf form, intending to get out of the sudden spring downpour, he’d immediately changed directions. The canyon made pinpointing the source of the call difficult, but Dermot was determined.

When the masculine cry of hello came again, Dermot had a second point of reference, aiding him in his search.

The rain had stopped by the time Dermot reached the human, and the scent of his blood perfumed the air. The delicious aroma caused him to salivate. He wanted to lick the human’s wounds and give him pleasure.

Mate!

The word reverberated through Dermot’s instinct-driven brain, and excitement flooded him.

So did arousal.

For the first time in almost a hundred years, Dermot popped a boner in wolf form.

Damn, he smells good!

Except, considering the heaviness of the iron-rich scent, Dermot realized his mate must have lost a lot of blood.

Get your head out of your ass, Dermot!

Padding toward the human, Dermot spotted the instant the guy’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. He lunged forward, barely managing to get his furry body under the man’s torso before he smacked his head on a rock. From the smell of his blood originating from different locations, Dermot figured his mate had already done that once.

Ever-so-carefully, Dermot slithered sideways, lowering his mate gently to the ground. When he didn’t even moan, a healthy dose of worry slammed into him.

Dermot backed up a step and shifted. His muscles popped, bones crackled, and his skin rippled. After a handful of heartbeats, he peered at his mate with human eyes for the first time.

Unfortunately, Dermot didn’t have time to admire the human’s medium-brown skin or toned and lean runner’s build. The amount of blood soaked into his mate’s left lower leg, as well as it’s slightly unnatural angle, told Dermot where most of the fragrance was coming from. He gently lifted the man’s arms away from his torso, searching for any other injuries that would make moving him difficult.

To Dermot’s relief, the only other blood he found was seeping from a gash on the flesh of his right hand and wrist. Even the blood on the back of his head had clotted. When he gently moved his hands along the man’s torso and ribcage, everything was firm and as it should be.

Gods, I wish I were feeling up my mate for an entirely different reason.

Even as the thought entered Dermot’s mind, he dismissed it.

Get my