Allister, J. Rose - Displaced Cowboys [Lone Wolves of Shay Falls 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (6 page)

Connor’s eyes began to shimmer with that odd, golden flame again. She cocked her head and stared at the mesmerizing golden gleam, unable to drag her eyes away. A low growl came from his throat, and a strange aura came alive just around the sides of his face. It gave his skin a crawling, rippling appearance. Then, gray hair began sprouting on his face and body. His growl deepened as somehow, impossibly, his whole face began to droop. It looked like his jaw had come unhinged and was sliding down toward his chest. Her breath caught when he leaned forward, and with a gruff barking sound, his body began to shrink.

He hit the ground on all fours, and she jumped back with a shriek. She shut her eyes to will the hallucination away. She’d had them before, of course. Those delusions had been courtesy of some rather powerful IV meds, though. What was her excuse this time? Maybe the bizarre fever she was suffering had her seeing things.

She opened her eyes to see a gray-brown wolf sitting on its haunches in front of Connor’s clothes. The animal stared up at her with fiery, gold eyes as it lowered its body until it was lying on the ground.

“Jesus,” she whispered. “This isn’t happening.” She took another step back, wobbling on feet that had again grown unsteady. “You’re not real. Please tell me you’re not real. Are you the wolf that hurt Nash?”

The creature gave a short bark.

“I don’t speak wolf,” she said.

The wolf pushed up on all fours, and she jerked back with a yelp. An odd ripple ruffled its fur, and the strands began retreating. In moments, bare flesh stretched rather magnificently over Connor’s naked form.

He stood, and she fought to keep her eyes from straying to the long cock hanging between his thighs. “I
am
real,” he said, his eyes still partially aglow beneath the long sweep of his bangs. “But I’m not the wolf that hurt Nash.”

She shook her head hard, trying to clear her muddied, screaming thoughts. “Shit, I am seeing things.”

“No, you’re not. I’m a shifter, Terra.”

“What do you mean? As in a werewolf?”

“As in most of what you’ve probably heard about them.”

An unpleasant smile slid up a corner of her mouth. “Like for instance how they don’t exist?”

“Then how do you explain what you just saw? How do you explain
me
?”

She thought for a moment. “It’s obvious. You don’t exist, either. I made you up.”

His gaze fell to her lips. “Didn’t I feel real enough when you were in my arms?”

That prompted a tiny shudder. “A little too real. I’m obviously losing it. It’s probably this fever I’m having. Or stress. Maybe Mom accidentally bought funny mushrooms when she made the canapés for my party, I don’t know. Either way, I’m delusional. That’s the only explanation for how you could come straight out of my fantasies and land in my front seat.”

He moved toward her. “You’ve fantasized about me.”

She bit her lip. “That’s not the point. It’s too much of a coincidence that my ideal fantasy cowboy just happened to arrive during the bizarre breakdown I was having when I left my party. I conjured you up.”

“You’ve dreamed of me because that’s what werewolf mates do. You and I were meant to find one another.”

“Back to that whole ‘mate’ thing, are we?” She shook her head. “That’s not what’s going on here. I’m just losing my mind.” She somehow found the notion of insanity more comforting than what he was proposing.

Then another thought hit. “You said I’m special, too,” she went on, her eyes searching his. “You’re not saying
I’m
going to shift into an animal?”

He shook his head. “No. You’ll stay the same fiery, uncontrollably sexy woman you are right now.”

The words lit up her spine. “How does that make me special?”

“Because you’re mine.”

She froze.

“That’s why you’ve had visions of me,” he went on. “I’m no fantasy. I’m your destined mate.”

“Ugh, don’t be ridiculous. Love doesn’t happen that way.”

Damn, that wasn’t the word she meant. Lust, that was what clearly was at work here. An altogether different four-letter L word, though either seemed equally dangerous at the moment.

He sighed. “It’s understandable that you need time to wrap your head around this, and that’s fine by me. But right now, I have to go hunt somethin’ for Nash before the moon rises. All I can say is that I
am
real, and so is what’s about to happen to him. So you will do exactly as I say when I get back. No questions, no smartass arguments. Got it?”

She nodded, trying to focus on his face to keep from ogling the rest of his hot body. Then again, why bother if he was just a delusion? Why not give in and enjoy the ride? Hell, she could tell him to screw the hunt and jump his bones right there. If he wanted to toss around the word “mate,” she could turn it into a verb she’d never offered another man.

“Stay here,” he said. “If you see or hear anythin’ strange, call for me and go lock yourself in the car. Understand?”

“Stranger than hallucinating werewolves, you mean?” His intense, no-nonsense stare prompted a sigh. “Yes, sir.” She added a snappy salute. “I’ll do as I’m told.”

“Good.”

The shift was much faster this time, taking only a few seconds before his wolf form turned and trotted into the woods. She stared until she couldn’t see him through the thick dotting of pine trees. Then she turned and walked in a daze toward her car.

She obviously needed medical attention. The best thing would be to drive home right away and tell her folks. Maybe she was suffering some sort of delayed brain trauma. In which case, she probably shouldn’t be driving. No, it was probably the fever that was still bathing her in sweat.

When she reached the sidewalk, she realized that maybe she wasn’t taking this far enough. Maybe none of this was real. Not the motel, the drive up, even the car. What if she was still sleeping in her hospital bed?

What if she hadn’t ever really awakened from the coma?

That notion jump-started her numb shock into a panic that bounced around in her head until she stopped in front of her possibly fantasy car to dig up fantasy keys. Her cell phone was inside. Her parents would know what to do. Assuming this wasn’t all delusion. Damn, she could be in a profoundly screwed situation here. Either way, it was time to get out of Never Land. If she could.

Chapter Three

Just as Terra stuck her key in the car door, a muffled voice came from somewhere behind her.

“Terra,” said a hoarse, eerie whisper. “Terra.”

She spun around, half expecting to see a ghost. She’d seen a werewolf, after all. Why not a floating apparition? However, the voice was attached to a very corporeal Nash. He stood in the parted curtains of the motel room window, staring out at her while he clutched a hand to his bad shoulder.

A pang of sympathy struck her. “Nash?”

His eyes held a dull edge of pain that was echoed by a grim slash to his mouth and the tense angle of his square jaw. Although bloodied and sporting dirt-matted hair, Terra’s stomach gave a little jump in acknowledgment that Nash was actually a damn striking man. In all the drama of finding him, she hadn’t noticed the powerful lines of his body, though he wasn’t as large and overwhelming as Connor. Or noticed that his lips were full and would be quite lush if not cracked and contorted in pain at the moment. And that his eyes, fringed with thick, dark lashes, were the pale green of seas around a tropical resort. Nash was the stuff of dreams, all right.

Contrary to warnings, he didn’t appear the least bit dangerous. A danger to women’s chastity belts, perhaps. Especially hers, considering the horny gene her DNA had suddenly activated. At least Nash hadn’t sprouted fur and a tail like some cowboys she could mention. He looked to be nothing more than a wounded man who’d been abandoned by jackasses who wouldn’t take him to get proper treatment.

Guilt and anger congealed in her throat.

“Terra?” he croaked. “Help me, please.”

The tone tore through her. How could she stand by—or drive off, as she’d planned—and leave him to suffer? No way could she deal with seeing his desperate face in her rearview mirror. Delusion or not, she should stick Nash in the car and get him to a hospital before Connor tried to stop her.

She headed for the room, glancing down to stuff her keys into her snug jeans. When she looked up again, Nash had disappeared from the window. She reached for the knob and hesitated, listening for any sounds from within.

“Nash?”

When no reply came, she opened the door a crack and poked her head inside. The rumpled bed was vacant. Her eyes scanned the room while she pushed the door wider.

A moan from the left whipped her head around to see Nash sitting on the floor, his back against the wall. With him slumped over and his mink-brown bangs hanging long and ragged, she couldn’t make out his face. Still, it was clear from his posture and muffled moaning that he wasn’t doing great.

“I’m here,” she said. “I’m sorry we left. Connor had to, uh, well, go get something.”

“Help me.”

“I will. I’m going to help, okay?”

“It…hurts,” came his cracked, raspy response. “Like flamin’ hell.”

Her heart panged. “I know.” She knelt down beside him. “Let me take you to the hospital. They can fix you better than I can in a dingy motel room.”

“Connor said we can’t.”

“Yeah? Who appointed him general manager of the universe?” She saw him try for a tiny smile that failed. “Anyway, I thought you were
his
boss.”

“Not no more.” He licked dry lips. “I need water somethin’ fierce.”

“I have a bottle of Evian in the car. Come on, let me help you up.”

She rose and took hold of his hands, which felt like oven-heated leather despite her own elevated temperature. Christ, wasn’t there anyone in this fantasy who didn’t top out over one hundred and one degrees?

“You’re already spiking a fever,” she said. “Let’s hurry.”

He grunted while she tugged, and she finally pulled him to his feet—only to have him stumble into her arms. His unique, male scent mingled with the potent smell of sweat, blood, and dirt. She did her best to ignore the odor while she looped his good arm around her neck and helped him limp to the door.

“You’re so damn soft,” he muttered.

Her head whipped to his. “What?”

“Your sweater.”

“Oh. Thanks. It was a birthday gift. Angora.” Like any of that mattered to an injured man.

She reached for the knob, but Nash staggered in front of her and put his back against the door. The tattered edges of his shirt hung down over the wound, concealing it. The amount of blood that had soaked through the fabric, however, made it clear he wasn’t in good shape.

“I don’t want no hospital,” he said.

“Please, Nash. The wound looked nasty when I saw it in the woods, and judging from your temperature, I’d say it’s already getting infected. Plus you’ve lost a lot of blood.”

He reached behind him, and she heard the
click
of the lock sliding into place. “No, I think Connor’s right. Somethin’s goin’ on with me. Somethin’ not right.”

“Hence you needing a hospital.”

“Just help me over to the bed.”

She heaved a sigh. Men were such babies when hurt or sick. She’d found that out between her dad and Tommy, her first and only high school boyfriend. Or he had been, until he’d crashed his car into a ditch.