Wild Wolf (Shifters Unbound, #6)(81)
Dougal took a long breath, drawing himself up at Misty’s words. He nodded at her, mouth set in a grim line, then he loped off in the cubs’ wake.
Misty sank down again, still clutching the book, as though it were a lifeline.
Graham lay so still it broke her heart. Misty touched his face, trailing her fingertips along the rough of his beard. “I love you,” she said quietly. She smiled as she touched his lips. “I love how you can’t talk at anything less than a yell. I love how strong you are, and how gorgeous you always look. I love that you growl and snarl but let people laugh at you, especially when you know they’re weaker than you are. I love how you agreed to take care of Matt and Kyle, and I love how you take care of Dougal without letting him know it. And I love how you touch me.”
Graham didn’t move. He lay still, no flush of life in his skin.
Misty drew her hands down to his chest. “When you touch me, I feel alive. I spent my life taking care of other people—I love that now you take care of me. You make sure I’m all right before you leave me. I used to think you didn’t care when you’d send me home alone, but I know now that if it hadn’t been safe for me to go, you wouldn’t have let me. You’d have come with me or sent someone to make sure I was all right.”
Misty ran her fingers over Graham’s Collar, which was bone cold. “You snarl at me because I always want to talk, and then you let me do it. And you listen, even when you pretend not to.” She leaned down and kissed his cool lips. “That’s why I love you, Graham McNeil,” she said. “Because you’re a good man, even though you pretend not to be. You take me for who I am, and don’t want me to be anything else.” Another kiss. “And you make me feel so wonderful, I could lie in your arms forever. And I will.” Misty kissed him again, gently, savoring the satin feel of his lips. “As soon as I wake you up, get you free, and take you home.”
Misty heard scampering claws and Dougal’s irritated tones, and the wolf cubs ran back to her. Dougal carried a backpack that he dropped at Misty’s feet. Inside were sports bottles of water, along with bags of chips and a few candy bars.
Misty grabbed for a water bottle. “Where did you get this stuff?”
“The cubs. When I found them, they were dragging this between them.”
The two wolves were wagging tails, clumsily digging into the bag to pull out various packets of chips. Misty eyed them severely. The cubs seemed to be able to walk the ley lines without spells, and she knew where they’d found the stuff.
“Did you two go back to the convenience store and take this out of the stockroom?” she asked. “That’s stealing.”
Kyle started yipping then changed to his human form to answer her. “We didn’t take it out of the stockroom. We came on the ley line back here. So, it’s sorta still in the store, right?”
“Not if you eat it,” Misty said to Matt, who’d clawed open a bag of chips. But she needed what they’d brought too much to put much heart in her scolding.
Misty opened one of the waters and took a drink. It tasted clean with just a hint of plastic, as commercially bottled water normally did. She remembered the unbelievable clarity of the Fae water she’d drunk, and took another pull of the warm bottled water. She’d take the plastic taste anytime.
Matt had his head and half his body inside the big bag of chips, crunching happily, tail wagging. Misty handed the water bottle to Dougal. “Hold this. It’s time for these flowers to give back.”
She got to her feet. She’d feel better if she had a good set of shears and some gloves, but she’d have to do what she could with her bare hands.
Misty had never before cut flowers that fought back, and she hoped to heaven she never had to again. She grabbed at the yellow Lady Banks’ rose that had tried to trip her before—its vines twined around her arms, thorns out. Blood dripped from her fingers, but Misty relentlessly seized blossoms and stripped three of their petals. The petals fell, inert, to the floor, though the vines still tried to grip her.
Dougal helped her fight her way free. Once Misty stopped trying to harvest the petals, the rose vines snaked away, lying still.
“They’re only plants,” she said in a loud voice. “Able to move on their own, but without a true mind to guide them. Instinct only.”
Dougal pointed to the petals. “What do I do with these?”
Misty started sweeping them into a pile. “Find something for me to put them in.”
Dougal looked around and came up with a shallow stone that was slightly concave. Misty piled the petals on it, then made her way across the vines to the irises.
The irises didn’t fight her as much as the roses had, though the leaves mindlessly tried to drive themselves into her skin. Kyle, who’d followed her, yapped at the plant while Misty pulled off the blossoms, separating the mouthlike petals. The honeysuckles tried to entwine her when she plucked off the flowers, but these vines at least lacked thorns. They were strong, though. Dougal had to help rip her free.
Misty piled the petals on the stone, mixed them together, and poured water from the sports bottle over them. The runny, petal-y mush was pungent.
“How do I call the power of the Father God?” Misty asked. “The cracks for the sun are a long way from here.”
“Um.” Dougal sank down on his knees, gently pushing Matt aside to go through the backpack. Matt sat on his haunches, still crunching, his whiskers full of salt and chip dust. Kyle whined at him.