Wild Wolf (Shifters Unbound, #6)(13)

“Shit.” His expletive filled the little cave before he upended the canteen and poured the water all over the dirt floor.

“No!” Misty shot her hands out, catching the falling droplets in her cupped palms. She brought her hands to her face and slurped the water, not caring how dirty she was.

Graham slapped her hands down, and the last of the water was lost.

“What are you doing?” Misty asked in a near screech.

“The hiker, where is he?”

“I told you, I don’t know.” Misty licked her lips, needing every drop of the beautiful water. “He was right behind me. I didn’t see where he went.”

“Shit,” Graham said. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

“Graham, what is wrong?”

“Damn it.” Graham scrubbed one hand over his short hair as he paced in a circle in shallow cave. “I drank that water.”

“So did I.”

Graham stopped. He grabbed Misty by the shoulders and yanked her to him, not gently. He looked into her eyes, his brows coming together. “You seem okay.”

“I’m fine. You’re the one who was shot.”

Graham released her and stepped back. “I know. And look at me.” He put his hands on his hips, standing upright. His face was no longer drawn and gray, and the spent look was gone from his eyes. He looked hale and well, tall and strong.

Graham ripped the tape from his side. Underneath, his skin was whole, the only thing left of the wound a patch of dried blood. He was completely and undeniably healed.

Misty reached out and touched his side to find warm, firm flesh. “I guess Shifters do heal fast.”

“Not that fast. There was magic in the water, and there’s only one kind of magic going around these days. At least around Shifters.”

“Magic? What are you talking about?”

“Bastards. They’ll do anything to get Shifters under their power again, and you went and handed me to them. Damn it.” He turned away, pacing again. “This is what I get for being nice to a human.”

Misty took a step back. “What the hell do you mean I handed you to them? Them who? I didn’t hand you to anybody.”

“You forced that water into me. Now I’m screwed. Shit.” Graham balled both fists and slammed them into the rock wall.


He hit so hard Misty expected his fingers to break, but the wall chipped, and dirt pattered down like rain. Graham hit the wall again and again, the curse word sounding with each slam. He was enraged, and behind the rage on his stiff face, Misty saw fear.

“Graham, what is wrong?”

He swung to her. His eyes were white gray, a wolf’s eyes, and his snarl filled the cave. “You are what is wrong. Don’t you understand? You have f*cked me over.”

Misty’s lips parted, her breath hitching. He was furious, more so than she’d ever seen him, and he was mad at her.

Emotions tumbled through her. She’d been terrorized this morning, her fear for her brother overriding her fear for herself. She’d been rescued by Graham, who’d looked pissed off to do it. Then she’d been in danger of dying of heatstroke while she watched Graham start to expire with a bullet in his side. And now Graham was standing here, yelling at her.

Words wouldn’t come, and neither would her breath. Misty turned her back and walked outside. The sun was beating down hotter than before, afternoon well underway, but she didn’t care.

Graham came after her. He didn’t bother to stop her; he pushed past her and started down the hill.

A plume of dust rose in the desert about a mile away, a vehicle approaching. Graham went on down the wash, stepping through the slithering stones with agility. Misty picked her way down, the soles of her sandals split, her feet burning.

The dark spot in front of the dust plume enlarged until it became a large black pickup. It skidded a little in the soft dirt as it turned off the track and headed for the shack and Graham.

Even before the truck stopped, Dougal leapt out of the back door of the four-door cab, clad in a new shirt. Dougal ran at Graham, hurtling himself into Graham’s arms like a scared adolescent. Graham gathered his nephew into his embrace, holding him, rubbing his back.

The pickup halted, the driver’s and passenger’s doors opened, and two men got out of the cab. Misty recognized them as she drew near—Diego Escobar, a human who was the mate of her friend Cassidy, and Stuart Reid, a tall man Misty had met only a few times. Reid wasn’t Shifter, but he lived in Shiftertown and didn’t talk much about his past. He used to be a cop, as had Diego. Now they both worked for Diego’s private security company, DX Security.

Misty pressed her hand to her side and hurried the last few yards, breathing hard. The two men and Graham turned to watch her, but Dougal kept his face buried in Graham’s shoulder.

“Please say you have water,” Misty said as she reached them.

Diego silently held out a sports bottle. Misty upended it, pouring the liquid in a stream into her mouth. The water didn’t taste anywhere near as good as the water the hiker had given her, but it was wet, which was the point.

“We need to get out of here,” Graham said.

“That’s the plan,” Diego said then turned to Misty. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she said. “Now that there’s water.” She took another long drink.