Unjustified Claims

By Kaje Harper

~ His pack would've killed him for his kinks and desires, but his human lover might destroy his wolf. ~

Brandt Davis loved being part of his Michigan werewolf pack, until they found his stash of gay porn. He escaped their anger, running in wolf-form into the wilderness, but he can’t live that way forever. And he can’t hide in fur like a coward when an injured man needs his help.

Ethan Sjulstad knows life is making him crazy when a solo hike into the Minnesota Boundary Waters seems reasonable. Then a bad fall leaves him seriously hurt and facing death. Delirious, he hallucinates being rescued by a big gray wolf and a naked woodland godling. For a man who has always loved fantasy, it's worth surviving just to find out what the hell is going on.

(This is a lightly-edited rerelease of the 2014 original.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kaje Harper
• Release date: Apr 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005095321

Kaje Harper

I get asked about my name a lot. It's not something exotic, though. “Kaje” is pronounced just like “cage” – it’s an old nickname, and my pronouns are she/her/hers.I was born in Montreal but I've lived for 30 years in Minnesota, where the two seasons are Snow-removal and Road-repair, where the mosquito is the state bird, and where winter can be breathtakingly beautiful. Minnesota’s a kind, quiet (if sometimes chilly) place and it’s home.I’ve been writing far longer than I care to admit (*whispers – forty years*), mostly for my own entertainment, usually M/M romance (with added mystery, fantasy, historical, SciFi...) I also have a few Young Adult stories (some released under the pen name Kira Harp.)My husband finally convinced me that after all the years of writing for fun, I really should submit something, somewhere. My first professionally published book, Life Lessons, came out from MLR Press in May 2011. I have a weakness for closeted cops with honest hearts, and teachers who speak their minds, and I had fun writing four novels and three freebie short stories in that series. I was delighted and encouraged by the reception Mac and Tony received.I now have a good-sized backlist in ebooks and print, both free and professionally published, including Amazon bestseller "The Rebuilding Year" and Rainbow Award Best Mystery-Thriller "Tracefinder: Contact." A complete list with links can be found on my website "Books" page at https://kajeharper.wordpress.com/books/.I'm always pleased to have readers find me online at:Website: https://kajeharper.wordpress.com/Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KajeHarperGoodreads Author page: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4769304.Kaje_Harper

Book preview

Chapter 1

Brandt jolted at a sudden scream— clearly and shockingly human in the deep wilderness. The cry broke off abruptly. Brandt whipped around, his attention yanked away from the pack of timber wolves he’d been watching in the valley below. He pricked his wolf ears in the direction of the sound, listening intently. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a last flicker of gray as the wild pack faded silently off into the forest.

Brandt hesitated. He’d been following this pack in wolf form for a week, day and night. He was beginning to know them, and they were relaxing and letting him closer. But, truth was, he was bored stiff. He was sick of himself and his black fog of depression and his stupid impulse to go run off into the woods and live wild.

There were tales of werewolves who’d done that for years— men who’d fallen deep into their animal selves and lived simple, free lives. But either the stories were exaggerated, or the men involved had been even more messed up than he was. He’d thought he was ready to dump his stupid, pointless, warped-to-destruction human life and submerge in his wolf like they had. Run, hunt, sleep, howl. Not think. Not feel. Not remember.

But somewhere nearby a human was in trouble. With one last glance in the direction of the wolves, Brandt turned and headed in the direction of that scream.

There were no further sounds. He advanced slowly, all his senses on alert. The spring breeze soon brought the scent of human sweat and blood. Another hundred yards, and he could see the man, lying unmoving at the foot of a low embankment. He was on his back on the swampy ground, sprawled in a limp pose with his legs draped over a half-buried log. The sharp stub of a branch protruded through the meat of one thigh. The blood-smell was a vivid tang in Brandt’s nose.

He crouched, watching, waiting for the man’s hiking partners to come help him, but the woods were silent. The air held no hint of another human. The injured man bled slowly into the muddy water. Insects buzzed, bird song resumed. No one called or came out of the trees up above the crumbled bank.

Brandt whined under his breath. Stupid idiot. Hiking Minnesota’s Boundary Waters alone was a really stupid idea. Brandt might be new to the area, but even he could figure that out. The park was enormous, rough, and isolated. No handy paramedics, no ambulance. He’d bet any cell-phone reception would be fucking hard to find. Of course it was possible this man had been with a group and become separated and lost. In the best case scenario, there were people looking hard for him right now.

In the worst case, he’d bleed to death before they found him.

Brandt moved closer, his paws silent on the damp ground. The man’s right leg was neatly skewered through the thigh, with six inches of sharp branch protruding above it. Blood dripped out heavily, although there didn’t seem to be a major artery spouting. The guy had the beginnings of a tan, but under it his face was almost as pale as his white-blond hair. His eyes were closed, his nearly invisible lashes fluttering slightly. Brandt picked up the sound of the man’s racing pulse and his breath rasping fast and shallow.

That was a hell of a situation for the guy to get loose from. Lifting his own leg up off the snag would be a gymnastics maneuver to begin with, and he’d have to do it while bleeding and in major pain. But if he didn’t get free, the only question was whether he’d die of the blood loss, dehydration, or infection. Even Brandt with his werewolf healing and pain threshold wouldn’t have wanted to be in that fix.

As Brandt stood studying the situation, the man’s eyes suddenly opened. For an instant, startled light-gray eyes met Brandt’s gaze. Then the man began shouting a harsh, aggressive, Yah! while slapping his good thigh loudly with his hand. Startled, Brandt leaped back and to one side. As the man kept yelling, Brandt realized that his two-hundred-pound wolf form was probably not a reassuring thing to wake up to. No wonder the guy was doing his damnedest to seem scary.

Brandt backed up smoothly, not making any sudden moves, until he was hidden in the shelter of the trees. After a few moments, the man on the ground quieted. He breathed in short, sharp jerks, blowing out each breath through clenched teeth.

Brandt waited. If the guy would just pass out again, Brandt figured he could maybe use his teeth on the fabric of the pant leg, yank upward and unsnag him, and be gone before the guy came around again. Unfortunately, although the man was lying very still and swallowing loudly, as if nauseous, there was no sign he was about to pass out.

Eventually the man reached toward his leg, his shaking fingers feeling over his thigh, and then up the snag of branch that held him. He made small pain sounds, then grunted sharply. Dammit! Of all the stupid, moronic, imbecilic, ignorant, half-witted, gormless, crack-brained… About ten insults into it, the man stopped, took a deep breath, and fumbled around, his hand brushing futilely over wet weeds and muddy leaf-mold. Damn!

Brandt saw a backpack lying on the ground, well beyond the reach of even those long arms. The man turned his head, spotted it, and raised up on one elbow, straining toward it. His fingers couldn’t connect. He fell back with a painful groan, his eyes closed.

What to do, what to do?

Brandt could shift back to human, but then he’d be naked, and he was a long, long way from his old life and any clothes he’d ever owned. Appearing out of the woods nude… that would take more explanation than he could manage. Almost better to appear as a wolf, even if it scared the guy out of his wits again.

He could go for help. But odds were it would take hours to find someone, and then in order to speak, he’d have to shift, and he’d still be naked…

He could leave this idiot to his fate and go on his way. After all, anyone dumb enough to hike the deep wilderness alone could live with the consequences. Or die with them. There was no reason the man should expect to be rescued by a passing werewolf. Despite a touch of respect for the guy, who was still conscious and now trying to break off that fat branch-stub with his fingers, it really was none of Brandt’s business. Shit happened.

Ditching the man would certainly have been Charles’s pack-safe solution, back when Charles had been Brandt’s Alpha and Brandt had given a shit what he thought. That idea alone propelled him forward out of cover. He was never again going to care what Charles thought. To hell with Charles. His gut ached at that, an instinctive cramping he refused to acknowledge, so he narrowed his focus to the man on the ground.

He was only five feet away when the guy noticed his approach. For a frozen moment they stared at each other, then the man began yelling again. He scrabbled up a handful of mud and threw it at Brandt, his voice cracking as he shouted, Get away, mangy bastard, not dead yet!

Brandt ignored the throw, which missed, and the next one which spattered dirt into his ear. He bent over the backpack, grabbed a corner in his teeth, and pulled it over to the man on the ground. One brief tug, to move it the necessary two feet, and then he ducked back into the trees. He made his way around out of sight and found another spot to look out.

For long minutes, clutching handfuls of dirt and stones, the man stared at the place Brandt had disappeared. Off in the treetops, a woodpecker hammered a rhythm on a trunk and then stopped. A chickadee gave its distinctive call and was answered from farther away. The breeze picked up, rustling the new green leaves overhead. The man finally opened his fists, letting the mud trickle out. He patted the nylon pack, as if wondering if it was real. His hands shook visibly.

Eventually, eyes darting back and forth between his backpack and the edge of the clearing, the man opened a side pocket and took out not a phone or radio, but a short tool. He unfolded a saw blade, and curled up painfully, bracing himself on one arm. At first he tried to slide the blade between his leg and the log, at the base of the snag. It took just a few minutes before he abandoned that and dropped back down with a deep groan. For long minutes he lay flat, breathing painfully.

On the next try, he pushed up on one elbow while sawing at the wood just above his leg. After a few strokes he was forced to drop back again, panting with pain and effort. The scent of new blood and sweat rose in the air, but there was a hint of fresh sawdust too. Brandt saw the light on the saw blade shimmer, as it trembled in the man’s grip. His arm sagged, but he braced and tried again. A minute later he took a long slow breath and managed another few strokes. And again. And again.

Brandt winced in sympathy. The guy’s progress was slow, but cutting the extra six inches off that branch might let him lift up and get free. Eventually.

And then what?

Even when he got loose, he’d be alone, injured, and far from help. If there was someone around he could call, he’d be doing it now. Getting to safety with that bad leg would be a bitch and a half.

A werewolf would heal easily from that sort of wound, but Brandt knew that dirty punctures in humans weren’t good news. Humans were much more fragile. Not that any of it was Brandt’s problem, but he was developing a sneaking admiration for the man’s determination.

He crouched lower, nose on his paws. There wasn’t much more he could do in wolf form, but he couldn’t make himself leave.

As Brandt watched, the man sank back yet again, his eyes closed. This time the blade dropped from his fingers and he didn’t pick it up. His heartbeat slowed. Brandt whined under his breath. As the minutes went by, the injured man didn’t wake again. Shit.

Getting involved is a really bad idea. But bad ideas seemed to be his thing lately. Brandt backed away well out of sight. He dropped onto a bed of dried needles under a pine tree, gathered himself for the effort, reached out for energy, and began shifting to human.

Transformation was oddly difficult, maybe because he’d stayed wolf longer than ever before in his life, maybe because his subconscious knew it was a risky choice. He held back a groan of pain as the reshaping of muscle and bone grated through him. His body shuddered, scattering pine needles, and the crushed-resin scent filled his nose.

He sneezed. Sneezed again and curled around his knees, arms hugging his shins, eyes shut. Hands, not paws. Skin, not fur. He lay still, becoming aware of the cold air on his back, the stickiness of pine needles under his shoulders, and the lumpy pressure of roots and rocks against his hip and ribs. Damn. Naked and human in the great outdoors totally sucked.

After a moment he rolled over, crawled out from under the tree, and stood carefully. He felt dirty and vulnerable, and stupid, and a week’s worth of unwashed. Not at all like himself, although the injured man wasn’t likely to complain about his rescuer’s smell. Or lack of grooming. Or lack of clothes. Actually, that he might notice.

Walking gingerly over the rough ground, Brandt returned to the clearing. The man still lay there. In Brandt’s human form, he couldn’t hear a heartbeat at this distance, but he saw the man’s chest moving in slow shallow breaths. Still alive.

Get in, help him, get out.

As silently as he could, Brandt crept forward out of the trees. He’d reached the man’s side and squatted down beside him when those gray eyes opened again. And closed quickly. Damned hallucinations, the man muttered, past his quickening breaths. He clenched his teeth, his eyes squeezed tight shut.

Brandt was fine with being a hallucination. He picked up the saw blade and attacked the snagged branch. With decent leverage and a steady hand, it took only a minute to get through it. Once the end had come off, he slid a hand under the man’s impaled leg and lifted carefully. The man groaned, but didn’t move, as the remaining stub slid out of his flesh. Blood welled from the wound in a thicker stream, dark and wet as it spilled over the leg of his pants, and dripped between Brandt’s fingers.

Brandt eased the man away from the worst of the mud, laid him flat on the drier ground, and carefully straightened his leg. There didn’t seem to be broken bones, although who knew what else the guy might’ve done to himself in that fall. The man turned his head, blinked, and their eyes met again. This time he didn’t look away. You’re real. Who are you?

The guy who just unshishkabobbed you, Brandt muttered.

Thanks.

You’re still bleeding like a stuck pig.

The man fumbled downward, clamped his hands around his leg and grunted painfully. Yeah.

Brandt figured he could turn and go now. Or he could say fuck it and do whatever else he could to help. He’d already been seen as wolf, and now naked, but maybe he’d figure out some kind of damage control by the time the guy had energy for questions. He rubbed the worst blood off his hands on his bare thighs, pulled the backpack over and opened it. You got a first aid kit in here?

Lower pocket.

Got it. Brandt dragged out a zippered plastic pouch with a faded red cross. You’ll have to tell me what to do. Telling this human to shift a couple of times to prevent infection wasn’t going to help. The smell of his blood was one hundred percent vanilla human.

I think… The man took a few short breaths. The puncture probably should be washed out first. There’s probably dirt and bark in it. Unless it’s bleeding enough to do the job of cleaning that shit out. Damn it to hell!

Brandt found the man’s canteen and shook it. The contents sloshed lightly. There’s not much in here.

Aargh. Okay. Water first. There must be a stream or something. The man turned his head painfully, and his gaze caught and stopped on Brandt’s naked leg, moved upward. He blinked and jerked his attention back to Brandt’s face. Were you… swimming?

Yeah, Brandt agreed. I was. If the man could overlook his dry hair, Brandt was all for that explanation. It’s not far. He could in fact hear the sound of a stream only a hundred yards away— no doubt the source of the muddy bog. It might actually work better to take you there, put your leg in the water, get it really washed out. Or no? Would that worsen the bleeding? Which was more important? Damn, he should’ve taken that human first aid course in high school.

We can try. The man struggled to sit up. Brandt slid an arm under his shoulders and raised him. They both looked at the ragged puncture site beneath torn fabric, the flesh raw and oozing.

Better keep pressure on that, Brandt said. I’ll get you upright.

It took some figuring out, but eventually Brandt was able to lift while the guy pushed up to stand on his good leg. He swayed, though, pressing his fingers harder into his thigh as the blood flowed faster. You know? His voice was thin. I think I’m gonna call blood loss over infection right now. You might have to catch me. Things are spinning.

Over here. Let’s at least get you farther away from the mud. Brandt slid an arm around the man’s waist and used his whole body to brace the guy a couple of stumbling steps away from the boggy cliff-base onto more solid ground. There he eased him down and went back for the supplies. Now what?

Pressure wrap for now, I guess.

I’ll try.

Rip the damned pants off first.

Got it. A knife from a side pocket worked to open the hole in the camo fabric, baring a lean thigh dusted with blond hair and liberally streaked with blood. The man tipped his head back, pale and breathing hard. Brandt worked with gauze and padding to replace the guy’s clutching fingers with a suitable bandage. Tell me if it’s too tight.

Pull more.

Brandt snugged the top layer in.

Damn, damn, motherlovin’ ouch!

How’s that? Brandt used white tape to hold it. The result was lumpy and bloodstained, but looked secure.

I guess we’ll find out…

Hey. Brandt got an arm behind the guy before he could crash backwards, and laid him down on the leaves. Don’t pass out on me.

Not trying to. The man peered upward, blinking hard. Whoo. World’s going around.

Brandt got up and found a spot where the swampy mud held a pool of brackish water. He crouched to scrub the blood off his fingers.

Hey? You still here? The man on the ground twisted, looking for him.

Good question.

The longer he stayed, the more complicated this would get. He was starting to kind of like this guy, for the stoic effort he’d made and for not seeming fazed about Brandt’s naked state. But that lack of curiosity, or politeness, or whatever it was couldn’t last. Best not to have to invent lies. Or worse, think about the truth. He should leave now.

Fade into the brush, shift back to paws that don’t attract every thorn and splinter for miles, and go on my merry way. Following a pack of dumb beasts who wanted nothing to do with him. Or hanging out in the swamps brooding. Or whatever other brilliant and cheerful activity he could come up with. Wondering how the injured guy was making out…

Oh. There you are. The blond guy had rolled enough to catch sight of him again. Y’know, I’m really grateful for your help. My name’s Ethan.

He hesitated one more minute and then gave in to his damned boredom and curiosity. I’m Brandt.

§ § § §

Ethan Sjulstad had been in scary situations before. But lying on the forest floor, miles from the nearest doctor, with a skewered, bleeding, throbbing, messed-up leg was definitely top of the list. Ex-skewered leg, at least, thanks to the gorgeous naked guy crouching ten feet away. If that was really what was happening, because despite the pain in his thigh and the nausea and the smell of mud and blood and pine needles, Ethan was half-convinced he was dreaming. Or maybe hallucinating.

He’d only had a second’s warning, a hint of instability, before the edge of the ridge gave way under him. He’d plunged into a jumble of falling, a vicious pain in his leg and his head, dizziness and fear. And then giant wolves and naked dark-haired men, which was where the probably hallucinating part came in.

He slid his hand down his thigh and pressed there, slightly reassured of reality by the intense pain that arrowed through his leg. The unlikely vision in front of him didn’t change, though.

The guy who called himself Brandt was tall and fit, his skin golden and unblemished, his shoulders wide, his arms as strong looking as they’d felt. His features were regular, but not extraordinary; his mouth was a little big, his dark eyes shadowed by heavy brows. And he was definitely naked, in the middle of the BWCA wilderness, and amazingly unselfconscious about it.

For a moment, Ethan let himself imagine Brandt as some kind of woodland god, naked in the primordial forest. Then Brandt swore under his breath and bent to pull a thorny twig from the sole of one foot, and the illusion was broken. Woodland gods didn’t usually say fuck. Unless they were talking to a dryad or… Ethan blinked, wondering if maybe he’d done more damage to his head than he realized. Brandt flicked the thorn aside and gave him an embarrassed look. Hate pricker-bushes.

Yeah. Me too. The air of unreality hovered. The throbbing of his leg combined with the pounding in his head to make it difficult to think. Ethan searched fuzzily for something else to say. Godling, madman, or hallucination, he still didn’t want to be left alone out here. Come here often?

Brandt laughed. The man had a good laugh, warm and sane. It sounded real. No. And definitely not naked.

Ah. I didn’t want to mention it.

Well, you’re the politest fucker I’ve met in a long time. You have to be wondering.

Wondering, yes.

I figured I was alone, went skinny-dipping, wandered a bit, and then I heard you. Brandt came closer and sat down, looking at him. Ethan was grateful not to have to crane his neck. His vision was a bit fuzzy, but Brandt looked just as good close up as he had at a distance.

And you came running to help me without getting dressed. There was something odd there, but Ethan wasn’t looking a gift godling in the mouth. He breathed through his nose, trying to focus on the man and not his own pain. Say something. This guy might’ve saved your life. If he made it out, of course. I’m grateful. What else? Ethan fought the urge to clutch Brandt’s ankle and beg him not to leave. If you, um, want to go get your clothes now, you’ll know where to find me.

Even if Brandt never came back, Ethan was free of the log. His leg was bandaged and he’d make it home somehow. Infinitely better than where he’d been before Brandt showed up.

Still he was relieved when Brandt sighed and looked embarrassed. Problem is, I’m not sure where I left my things. I got a bit turned around in the river, even before you screamed. I’d waded along a ways, kind of in a hurry, because there were, um, wolves.

Ethan had wanted that part of his memories to be a hallucination. Really? Damn.

Yeah. There’s this pack. I’ve been studying them. I’m a, uh, naturalist. I’ve been following these wolves for a while, but when I went swimming I didn’t think the pack was that close. They got between me and my clothes and I, kind of, left. Quickly.

Oh. Understandable.

Yeah. There was a thread of amusement in Brandt’s voice that Ethan, in his present muzzy-headed state, couldn’t begin to untangle.

That’s… not good. Ethan tried to think. You could borrow some of my stuff. Until you find yours. You don’t really want to be wandering the woods naked-assed. Pricker bushes and all. He choked because even in this state, his mind went to naked ass and prick and wanted to make the obvious connection. Jesus, that fall must have scrambled his brains. He added, We’re about the same size.

Brandt hesitated, then nodded. Makes sense. If you really don’t mind.

I really don’t. Take anything you like. They wouldn’t have been much use to me dead. The sudden realization of just how bad a death it might’ve been, impaled and slowly rotting in a swamp, made Ethan’s stomach heave. Ugh. Excuse me. He rolled onto his elbow and the lance of pain that shot down his leg finished the job. He vomited convulsively into the leaf mulch, gasping for breath as each spasm tightened his muscles and set off another round of pain and dizziness and puking.

An arm came around his shoulders, supporting him, while his forehead was braced by a damp hand.

Gah. He tried to breathe through the nausea. The spasms of vomiting backed off enough for him to realize that his face was less than a foot from the nicest uncut cock he’d seen for a long time. And unfortunately, his sole goal right now was not to puke on it. He puffed a few breaths, heaved again, and shuddered, grateful for the support that kept him from collapsing into his own filth. Slowly his dizziness receded, although the pain was still there, shooting in oddly variable waves from his leg throughout his body.

Brandt asked, What do you think? Done? Can I set you on your side?

Yeah.

Brandt eased him down onto his shoulder, farther away from the puke, and bent over him, uncapping his canteen. Here. Drink.

Ethan reached out shakily, but Brandt held the canteen up to Ethan’s lips. He took a small sip, rinsed it around, tasting the foulness of his mouth, and then spat as far away from Brandt’s naked foot as he could.

Warn a guy, Brandt muttered, but he held the canteen close again so Ethan could get another mouthful he actually wanted to swallow. You have any medications in that kit?

At the bottom. Pain meds and antibiotics. I should probably take both.

You want to wait a bit longer and make sure you don’t just puke them back up?

Probably. Ethan lowered his head onto his outstretched arm.

There was rustling, as Brandt presumably dug around in the pack. Ethan roused himself enough to say, Take whatever clothes you like. The sight of Brandt, naked and gloriously unconcerned, was a sin to cover up, but Ethan wasn’t in any shape to really appreciate it and the afternoon was getting cooler.

Thanks.

Ethan let his eyes drift shut, trying to center himself against the pain, trying not to think about what came next, miles from any kind of civilization. The next few days were not going to be fun. Ethan was a master at ignoring facts, though. By now he had a PhD in reality-avoidance with a minor in wishful thinking. Sometimes that was the only way to survive the present. So he put practical thoughts away and let himself speculate about the origins of his woodland god.

A skinny-dipping naturalist was far too mundane. Brandt could, with just a little imagination, be turned into an alien, dropped to earth without clothes because aliens didn’t wear them. Or the spirit of the swamp, brought to life by the offering of Ethan’s blood on the soil. Or the ghost of a young man, lost in the woods a century ago… That one cut a bit close to home, and the throbbing in Ethan’s thigh was making his favorite game hard to maintain. He opened his eyes.

A couple of feet away, looking very ordinary in Ethan’s own T-shirt and spare shorts, Brandt was going through the first aid kit. He looked like any camping buddy. Well, other than the bare feet.

There’s a pair of heavy sandals at the bottom of the pack, for when my boots get wet. You’re welcome to them.

I wear a fourteen. Brandt flashed him a grin.

If they’d been in a gay bar, Ethan would have taken that wicked look as commentary on the relative sizes of feet and dicks. As it was, it was probably just one-upmanship. He said, They’re thirteens. Should work.

Oh, sure, thanks.

Things got fuzzy next. Time obviously glitched somewhere. When Ethan opened his eyes, Brandt’s sandal-clad foot was planted a few inches from his face. Brandt leaned over him, touching his cheek with a surprisingly gentle hand. Are you still with me?

Yeah. Mostly.

Here then, let’s sit you up so you can take the pills.

Pills are good, Ethan agreed.

He tried to tell himself this was a stupid little injury, just a puncture wound, so there was no reason he should feel so woozy. But he was glad of Brandt’s help to get him up on his ass. Brandt supported him with a knee behind his back and handed him the pill vials, holding the canteen ready. All I found for pain was ibuprofen.

That’s all there is.

Pretty skimpy supplies for someone hiking alone. Or did you get separated from the rest of your group?

No. No group. Ethan managed to swallow several painkillers and an antibiotic, grabbing the canteen to wash them down.

You do know you’re crazy, hiking out here all by yourself, right? Especially, without a satellite phone or any way to call for help.

I like hiking alone. I’ve done it for years. Probably before you could lift a pack. Because with clothes on and that amazing muscular body covered, Brandt looked younger. Early twenties, maybe even nineteen, and Ethan was thirty-one.

So a stupid risk stops being crazy, once you’ve been crazy long enough?

Ethan snorted with laughter, then winced. Something like that.

I call bullshit.

From the guy who was skinny-dipping alone. Closer to a bunch of wolves than to his co-workers. His brain tried to do something with nudist/naturalist and music, but it sounded more like an advertising jingle than a real composition. He blinked away oddness and the first music that had come to him in months. That’s crazier than hiking alone.

No it’s not.

Why?

Brandt coughed. It’s a research thing. Just take my word for it. So now what? You need to get to a doctor ASAP.

Yeah. No way around it. Even for someone with Ethan’s avoidance skills.

I’ll give you a hand, but I have no clue which trail will get us out of the park fastest. Do you know where you are right now? Can you take the lead?

Yes. Thanks. Absolutely, thank you. Ethan clenched his teeth at a flood of relief that Brandt wasn’t just going to immediately head off. Or disappear. Imagining Brandt was a spirit who would mysteriously vanish into thin air and leave him behind as wolf-food was his damned weirdness at work.

Well, I can hardly ditch you now.

Not a ghost, not a spirit, stupid fuzzy brain. Ethan tried to focus. It might be best to find the rest of your team first. The nearest trailhead is two days off, and I’m not likely to manage any kind of speed. Do they have a sat phone? I’ll be okay here for a bit, if you want to go meet up with them. I will be okay. Will be. He hadn’t been afraid to be alone in the woods since he was ten. The creepy feeling of being watched from the shadows was surely his newfound insecurity. Not wolves. Probably not wolves.

Unfortunately… that’s not going to work.

They can’t be far.

Ethan felt Brandt tense up. They, um, they had to head back unexpectedly, um, yesterday. I stayed to track the pack on my own for a while. So it’s just me and you, until we reach somewhere more civilized.

Crap. Ethan slumped against Brandt’s supporting knee. But then he had to laugh, no matter how it hurt. So you’re really just as crazy as me. Crazier, since you’re not familiar with the area.

I’m very good in the wilderness. Although I admit my sanity’s been questioned once or twice. There was a tight, dry note to Brandt’s voice. Either way, it’s just us and one long freaking walk. Or I could make you more comfortable here. Then I could walk out myself and come back with help?

No! Damn. Spending an hour incapacitated and alone while Brandt went for his team was one thing. But it would be fully dark soon and for all that he’d camped alone for years, he didn’t have the guts to do it now. Panic rose to choke him, weird and new, with a memory of that strange wolf’s burning eyes and pricked ears and wild strength. New, and more than he could handle, however feeble it made him sound. Really, I… I’m sorry, I don’t want to sit waiting in the woods at night with a bleeding leg and a pack of wolves around.

They won’t bother you, Brandt said, with a certainty that Ethan was far from feeling. They’re pretty shy of humans.

I saw one extremely close though. Too close. Unless that had really been a hallucination from his fall, but he didn’t think so. The wolf was so sharp in his mind, a sense-memory with smell and sound and the weight of fear. A huge male. Right over there. He pointed. It was just a few yards away and it stared at me. I guarantee you, it wasn’t the least bit intimidated. He had a vivid recollection of those eyes boring into him, oddly-colored and intent. He made an effort to keep his voice steady. A massive gray wolf with gold eyes.

Not likely, Brandt said. This pack’s all females. They’re pretty small, although one of them’s really pregnant. You were knocked out, I bet, having a nightmare.

Ethan wanted to protest. He considered insisting that Brandt go look for giant paw-prints in the mud. But perhaps it was better not to antagonize the only human help for miles.

Maybe Brandt was right. The memory was a pain-blurred jumble. He almost believed the wolf had dragged his backpack… Yeah, maybe not. Ethan wasn’t sure what would be worse— a hallucination that vivid, or finding out the giant, helpful wolf was real. I’d still rather try to make it out of the park on foot myself, and not sit around for days, waiting for rescue.

Fair enough. Start now or in the morning?

Ethan thought about standing up, but walking wasn’t close to being possible yet. He temporized, Shouldn’t you go look for your gear first? Do you have a phone? A rifle? Anything useful? What about your research stuff?

I travel light. No sat-phone and I don’t like guns. All I have is clothes and camping shit. My research notes are all in here anyway. Brandt tapped the side of his head.

Seriously? Ethan figured a naturalist would have cameras, instruments, samples, but then he didn’t know a whole lot about research. If you want to go look, I’d be fine for an hour. He sat up straight, pushing away from Brandt’s support to show he meant it, and then breathed fast through his nose as the action shot pain from his thigh all the way up into his groin. Damn, that hurt!

Brandt grabbed his shoulder. Yeah. You look fucking fine. Here, why don’t you lie back down. I’ll get your bedroll out.

Ethan let himself be eased to the ground. He watched from that angle as Brandt bent over his gear and unstrapped his pad and sleeping bag, brushing mud off the bottom of the pad. Brandt knelt, moving with the grace of a dancer or maybe a martial artist, and lifted Ethan to slide the pad under his shoulders and then his hips. Ethan managed not to scream at the motion. Go me. Instead he got out, I’m really sorry about being such a nuisance.

Not your fault. Brandt tucked the sleeping bag over him. His nose wrinkled. You’re still bleeding.

No doubt. Ethan let his eyes drift closed and pretended he could feel the medications kicking in. He should really rinse out the wound, before infection set in, but he was scared to unwrap it again. Maybe the bleeding would be enough to clean it. Amoxicillin was a good antibiotic. It hurt too damned much to care. It’ll stop. Eventually. One way or the other.

Ethan heard Brandt snort, and the sound was followed by a new stab of pain, as Brandt closed his hands around Ethan’s thigh. Let’s put pressure on it a bit longer.

Ethan grunted some kind of assent, and things went dark and blurry around the edges again.

Chapter 2

Brandt knelt with his hands locked around the bandage on Ethan’s thigh. He could smell fresh blood soaking the gauze and feel it against his fingers. Too much blood. He didn’t know how much Ethan could survive.

A wolf with this injury would wash the wound, shift a couple of times, limp for a few more days, and then be fine. He’d opted for auto mechanics over the first aid class. Back home, he’d had human friends, even girlfriends, but in an emergency he would’ve offered them a lift to the nearest hospital. He wished he could do that now, only the nearest damned ER was days away.

He clenched his fingers inadvertently and Ethan whimpered, so he obviously wasn’t completely out cold. Brandt muttered, Sorry, but didn’t relax his grip.

For the first time in days— in over a week actually— Brandt was thinking further ahead than his next meal. It sucked that the reason he cared about tomorrow was trying to bleed to death on him.

Staying in skin, in his worrying, planning human mind, pretty much sucked, regardless.

Living in wolf form made it easy to go by his instincts. The wolf didn’t care about tomorrow, or yesterday. It wanted food and safety and fun, right now. Brandt had taken to fur, not just for the speed and ease of it, but because being wolf faded hard memories and kept the future at bay. Thinking like a man while in fur was an effort he didn’t have to make. He could fall into the pleasure of running and hunting, of senses so sharp that a scent or a sound could be ecstasy or agony.

So he’d wolfed up and run.

He’d traveled alone for more than a week. In the daytime, he’d been careful, keeping to the shadows, napping curled up in dark hidden corners. Then he’d given himself to the nights. April had begun and the days were lengthening, but there’d still been hour after hour of velvet skies and cool winds, hour after hour to let his body stretch into a gallop and then slow to a trot, moving to the rhythm of his pulse in his ears, and the demands of breath and blood.

Once his cuts had healed, he’d felt strong and well. He didn’t look back. Didn’t think back. He missed his pack, but even his wolf could tell that the pack emotions over the bonds in his head were not welcoming. He didn’t consider turning around.

Each mile he’d covered had thinned those bonds, slowly fading the clamor of fury and alarm and disdain he sensed from one and all. He’d felt his Alpha summoning him, demand and loathing confusingly mixed. Charles’s ambivalence let him resist the call. He’d closed himself off to his pack and just run. Deep inside his wolf, he could flow through the unknowing world on four silent feet. If instinctive obedience started to make him turn back, there was just enough stubborn man left to keep him heading the other way.

Now all that remained of his links to his pack was a little fuzz of energy, a faint mind-light when he closed his eyes and looked, that was his bond to Alpha, pack and all. The light helped keep him from feeling completely hollow and alone. His pack was still out there. He hadn’t been cut off yet. But he was never going back, either.

He’d expected some packmate to come after him. Then he’d expected Charles to destroy his Alpha bond and throw him out completely. He’d braced for the knife-cut of being severed from his pack. Neither had happened. Staying wolf kept him from going crazy wondering why not.

He’d hit the open safety of the wilderness park days ago, and quickly come across the scent of the timber wolf pack. They were his first wild wolves, his lesser relatives, so to speak. He’d followed out of curiosity and some vague idea of keeping himself busy. He’d been doing fine as a wolf among wolves until Ethan had managed to fall off a cliff…

Well, maybe not fine. But stalking the pack had been better than the mountain of regret he knew was waiting to fall on him, as soon as he let himself think back and remember. So think forward instead. Figure out what to do next. Ethan? You still with me?

Yuh.

I’m going to wrap another layer on this bandage. He could feel wetness under his hands. He dug into the pack, coming up with another roll of gauze and a couple of T-shirts he folded for padding. The makeshift wrap was ugly but by the time he’d finished, the scent of blood was less fresh. Ethan hadn’t opened his eyes. Brandt taped off the gauze and sat back. So after this thing stops bleeding, I figure we’ll spend the night here and then what? Head back in the morning? Wait it out?

Depends. On what I can do. Sorry.

Quit apologizing.

"I never wanted to be anyone else’s problem."

Brandt blinked at the vehemence of that. That’s why you hike alone?

I guess. Ethan’s eyes were still closed.

Too bad. I’m here now.

And I’m too damned chicken to let you go.

What does that mean? Brandt stared at him. Ethan’s hair was very fair, his skin fine and pale. With the blood-loss he looked almost translucent in the evening light, but he didn’t look afraid.

Ethan took a couple of slow breaths, and his voice was stronger when he said, Just that you should be doing whatever you need to. Not sitting here worrying about me and my crazy hallucinations about giant wolves.

"It’s the bleeding to death that’s keeping me here, not the

Reviews for Unjustified Claims

[denny sargent · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I like her work a lot, aside from the hot werewolf sex the characters an plots are well done