Stroke of Midnight (Nightcreature #1.5)(98)

Clay yanked off what was left of his shirt and pressed it to my cheek, then sat back to stare at me solemnly. Poor guy, if he hung around me much longer, he wouldn't have a stitch left to wear.

"It's over," he murmured.

I glanced toward the two shadowy bumps lying a few feet away, then got to my feet, slowly. Once there I was steady. The world no longer shook and neither did my knees. My stomach was steady and so was my head.

One lump was nothing but skin. The other appeared to be what was left of a thirty-something Navajo male. I guess skinwalkers exploded just like werewolves when shot with silver, but…

"I thought a silver bullet wouldn't work."

"If I remember correctly, it wouldn't work once he completed the ceremony."

"I'm not dead, so he is." I lifted my gaze to Clay's. "He was going to murder me, and you too."

"I nicked your cheek." Clay's head lowered. "Another centimeter to the left and—"

He didn't have to finish. Another centimeter and the world would have been Joseph's, not ours.

Once upon a time the realization of how close to death I'd come would have paralyzed me. Now it made me act. I crossed the short distance between us and slipped my arms around Clay's waist. He stiffened in my embrace, but he didn't pull away.

"You had to take a chance, Clay."

"I'm too reckless. Always have been. That's how Serena died."

"But I lived. Because of you."

Hope lit his face, until he saw mine.

"You need a doctor. Preferably a plastic surgeon. And your wrist." He yanked off the dirty bandage, then cursed some more. "Doesn't look good."

I'd forgotten about the wolf bite. Compared to our other problems, it was minor, but Clay was right. The torn skin was red and warm to the touch.

Clay opened Ahkeah's saddlebags. "That son of a bitch." He lifted a cell phone from inside.

"Like he'd let us use his phone and waltz off before we got to Canon del Muerto."

Clay turned on the phone, frowned at the display, then glanced up at the towering stone walls. "I'll be right back." He headed toward the center of the canyon.

The instant he was gone, the whispers returned. Indistinct, they rippled across the air like wind across calm water.

I cast an uneasy glance at the skin and the body, but neither one moved. When the skinwalker spoke to me, I understood his words. When the spirits of this canyon murmured, I could make no sense of them at all.

But they'd heard and helped me, causing me to create a diversion so Clay could come to the rescue.

"Thank you," I said aloud.

As if a great switch had been thrown, they were gone. The night was still and I was alone.

A short while later, the distant whir of a helicopter filled the canyon. Clay, who'd been on the phone the entire time, ran toward me just as the searchlight burst over a stone wall.

"Let's go." He grabbed my elbow and pulled me toward the hovering craft.

"How did they get here so fast?"

Clay lifted a brow. According to him, J?ger-Suchers were everywhere. They must have a budget that just wouldn't quit.

I climbed into the helicopter and less than an hour later I was being stitched up by the best plastic surgeon in Phoenix. The ER doctor wanted to keep me overnight, probably because I appeared as if I'd had the crap beaten out of me. Besides the crease in my cheek, kissing the dirt far too many times had given me a fat lip and black eye.

I had countless other scrapes, bumps, bruises, but my wrist wasn't infected. If the wolf that had bitten me turned out to be rabid upon testing—Clay had already made arrangements to have the body brought in, along with what was left of the skinwalker—I'd get a rabies shot. Not exactly pleasant, but not the life-threatening occurrence it had once been.

I wanted to sleep in a clean bed—with Clay. All I had to do was convince him that he wanted that too.

Clay took one look at me when I walked out of the emergency room and winced.

"It only hurts when I laugh."

He didn't answer, and I wished I'd kept my big mouth shut.

We stood in the waiting room, the silence stretching between us for far too long. I had to say something. "Now what?"

As soon as the words were out, I wanted to take them back. I'd given him the perfect opportunity to say goodbye, and I wasn't ready.

"I want champagne," I blurted. "A shower, food, not necessarily in that order."

"I can arrange that." He whipped out a new cell phone with the speed of a gunslinger at high noon. Minutes later a limo slid to a stop at the entrance of the hospital.

Champagne peeked out of an ice bucket. Crackers and cheese lay on a crystal tray. I'd never seen anything so wonderful, or tasted anything so wonderful either. Sitting back, I let my gaze wander over the car and the driver.

"J-S sent him. He's trustworthy."

My eyes widened as I realized Clay's life was in danger from every monster on the planet. There was a leak at J?ger-Sucher headquarters.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"The Biltmore."

"Really?"

The Arizona Biltmore was a landmark designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. Nestled at the foot of Squaw Peak, the place was gorgeous—and expensive. I'd never be able to afford a night there on my own. But on the J?ger-Suchers? What the hell.