Natural Evil (Elder Races #4.5)(7)

The sound of someone racking a gun slide yanked the dog awake. Adrenaline dumped toxic waste in his bloodstream. He was awash in pain and feral urges. He wanted to tear into flesh. He needed to hear bones break and somebody screaming. He hurt so bad, it almost made him vomit. He breathed shallowly because the binding on his broken ribs wouldn’t let him do anything else.

Quiet, warmth, golden light. They made no sense to him. As he worked to get his bearings, a sneakered foot shifted beside his head. The foot was attached to a long, trim, jeans-clad leg. He remembered steel-toed boots slamming into him, and his lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl. If he could have, he would have lunged forward to savage that leg.

That was when he caught scent of her. The woman.

He had been drowning in a dry, fiery ocean of agony, scoured by endless sand and scorched by the sun, when she’d appeared. She’d cradled his head in long, strong fingers, and bathed his parched mouth and throat with cool water.

When he had lost all reason to live, she’d whispered to him, “Don’t die.”

So he hadn’t.

Now they were together in this quiet, warm, golden place. Wherever this was. A knock sounded at the door. He tried to lunge to his feet to protect her, but his abused body wouldn’t obey him. He watched through slit eyes as she rose to her feet. She was a long, tall woman who moved with confident, lethal grace. His thirsty soul drank down the sight. Just before she answered the door, she tucked a gun into the waistband of her jeans at the small of her back, underneath her sweatshirt.

She was the one who had racked the slide. If he could have, he would have smiled.

Cold air sliced through the warmth. A worn voice said, “Settling in all right?”

“Yes, thanks,” the woman said. “It’s cozy in here.”

The voice was male. The dog growled. The sound he made was hoarse and broken. Fresh pain erupted in abused throat muscles. The woman turned to stare at him. She said, “Shush.”

The calm command in her voice startled him into shushing. But he kept his lips curled, and he showed the newcomer his teeth.

“He’s awake,” said the other male. “That’s a bit early.”

“Is it?” the woman said.

The male said, “Doesn’t mean anything conclusive. It’s just a bit early.”

“I understand.”

“I’m getting takeout from the diner. It’s not fancy but they’ve got good food. Want me to get supper for you?”

“That’d be great, thanks.” The woman dug into her jeans pocket, pulled something out and handed it to the male. “I’ll have whatever you’re having. Could you buy another meal that has lots of well-cooked beef and hopefully some gravy too? Tomorrow I’ll run to the store, but for now I’d like to have something on hand, just in case.”

“You got it,” the male said.

The blast of cold air cut off as she shut the door.

Now that the other male was gone, the dog’s gaze slid out of focus. He started to drift.

The woman came down on her hands and knees in front of his face. “Hey,” she said. Her voice was like the rest of her: strong, bright and clean. “My name is Claudia Hunter. Can you talk to me? I’d like you to tell me who you are, and who did this to you.”

He ignored her.

She said telepathically, Cat got your tongue? Come on, say something. Let me know you understand me.

He closed his eyes.

“Don’t have anything to say? You were such a good boy earlier when you didn’t bite me. What a sweet, good boy, yes, you are.” She paused then crooned, “I think I’m going to name you Precious.”

His eyes flared open and shifted toward her in offended startlement.

The woman’s own gaze widened. Her eyes were gorgeous. She whispered, “Bloody hell. You are Wyr.”

So what do you do with a Wyr in his animal form, badly injured, who refuses to talk?

She didn’t have a clue. She was making it up as she went along. She turned on her laptop. It cost to have a laptop with satellite communication readiness, along with her sat cell phone, but she had decided the greater connectivity was worth the price in case of emergency. The choice had paid off when she was on the road.

Unfortunately, the weather had a great deal of influence on satellite connectivity. She tried to access the Internet but found she couldn’t. Then, without much hope, she tried her sat phone. Same story. And the Wyr wasn’t talking for a reason. Maybe that reason was trauma, or maybe it was something else. She decided not to push it for the time being and to give him a chance to tell his story in his own time.

The wind outside grew louder. Jackson returned in a half hour. The dog started his hoarse, broken growl a few moments before the knock came at the door. Claudia had pulled her gun, but she tucked it out of sight again and let Jackson in. A blast of sandy wind came in with him, and she shut the door again quickly. The vet carried a large brown paper sack and a six-pack of Heineken. The aroma of cooked food filled the trailer.

“Cable’s out already,” Jackson said. “Phones too. At this point we might get cell phone reception back before anything else. I’ve got a stash of movies in the house if you want something to watch.”

“Thanks,” she said. “And thanks for picking up supper.”

“You’re welcome. How’s our boy?”