Witch Wolf (2 page)

When the police showed up at the scene I had to hide my injuries. If there's a dead werewolf on the ground and a wounded officer-what does that tell you? It states exactly what it is-that the officer was attacked by the lycanthrope and is at a high risk of turning furry come the next full moon. Of course, that only happens if the person that was attacked survives the injuries.

It turned out to be a blessing that I'd left my jacket in the car that night. I'd carefully slid the jacket over my shoulders to hide the blood that was trickling down my back. With the leather jacket on, it wasn't noticeable that my T-shirt was torn and clinging to my skin like someone had poured a glass of water on it.

I lied to avoid further questioning, and the EMTs' attention. I told my fellow cops that the werewolf hadn't gotten anywhere near me. I caught her off guard when I shot her. Technically, when the silver bullet bit into her heart she
had
been caught off guard. She was too busy lapping at the bloody feast of a man below her to pay attention to me. The second bullet hit home and she collapsed to the ground. It didn't kill her, but I didn't know that until it was too late and I was too damn close. How did I explain the fact that her neck was broken? I told them it was a precautionary gesture to make sure she was well and truly dead.

It had hurt like a bitch when I slid behind the wheel. The world narrowed down to the pain in my back as the endorphins began to wear off. I clung to the steering wheel trying to keep the seat from hitting my back. When I pulled into the parking lot of Guns Unlimited it was still dark out.

The streetlights were beginning to blur in my vision. I felt blood seeping onto the band of my jeans, soaking into the cloth and rubbing against my skin. If I didn't get help soon I would most likely die of blood loss. I forced myself out of the car. I stumbled to the door and inside Rupert's shop.

"We're closed," he said as the bell on the door jingled, announcing a customer.

I clung to the doorknob, struggling to get enough breath to speak. "Rupert," I said, but it fell from my lips, strangled. My back hit the door as my knees weakened and I bit my bottom lip to stifle a scream.

The sound made him look up. "I told you we're. . . " He leapt over the counter in a single bound and grabbed hold of my forearms.

"Kassandra," he said, "what the hell happened to you?"

"I need a doctor." I coughed. "Real fast, real private."

He pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and held it against his shoulder, keeping his arms free to help steady me. "Let's get you to the back," he said. I didn't ask any questions, because I knew he knew what I meant. When you're an ex-assassin you don't go to normal doctors. Which is why I'd come to him for help in the first place. Rupert could keep secrets. He had enough of his own.

The rest I remember in fragments like some shattered dream. Rupert hung up the phone. He helped me sit down in a chair. The pain shot across my ribs like a blow and I hissed. A fainter pain seared through my left leg.

"Where are you hurt?"

"Back, and leg, maybe," I said with what little strength I could muster.

He gently lifted the corner of my jacket to take a glimpse at my back. "Shit, Kass. You're bleeding everywhere. I'm going to go get some towels. The doctor will be here soon."

When Rupert returned there was a small dark-skinned man following him. I gave him a look.

"Fast," I said.

"I told you he'd be here soon."

"Where is she hurt?" the doctor asked. His voice held an accent I couldn't place.

"Her back is torn up and she said her leg might be hurt."

The doctor nodded and walked over to me. He dropped a first aid kit on the floor. "The jacket needs to come off," he said. "Put the towels you brought on the table."

The doctor shone a pen light in my eyes. "Do you feel faint?"

"I don't know," I said, gritting my teeth.

"We must do this quickly, or she's going to go into shock. I'm surprised she has not already."

I heard Rupert snort softly. "The only reason she hasn't is because she's too damn stubborn."

"Hand me a knife," the doctor said.

"What?" I asked.

"I must cut the jacket off. If you move more than is necessary you're going to lose more blood."

A moment later and my body jerked with the force of the fabric being cut. I refused to make another sound and dug my teeth into my bottom lip again. The doctor pushed the soaked material out of the way, exposing my back.

"I have to clean the wounds first. This is going to sting, but until I cleanse them, I cannot see what is going on."

I nodded.

The stuff he poured down my back stung and I couldn't stifle the small scream that followed. It burned like fire eating its way inside my skin.

The doctor made a sound. It wasn't a sound you wanted to hear from a doctor. There was fear in that sound, fear and shock. I looked at him. "What is it?"

"What did this to you?"

"Do you really want to know?" I asked.

Rupert stepped away from the table to look at my back. "I'd like to know," he said, "because if I'm seeing what the doctor is seeing, it looks like the wounds are trying to close up already."

"I have seen this only once before," the doctor said, and the look he gave me was full of a haunted knowledge. "What did this to you?" he asked again.

I looked at Rupert. He already knew, or had guessed. How could he not?

"It'll stay in this room, Kassandra. You said private."

"Lycanthrope," I said.

"That is what I thought," the doctor said. "Since the wounds are trying to close already you won't need stitches. I will clean them as best as I can, but the rest is up to your body."

My heart gave a panicked leap. "What do you mean up to my body?" I asked.

"You either live through the change or you die during it. However, since you are already beginning to heal-it looks like your body has decided the path it wishes to take."

"What the hell are you talking about?" My voice was soft and not quite real.

He ignored me and turned to Rupert. "It's only going to get worse from here."

Rupert nodded. "Tell me."

"She's already slipping into a fever." The doctor's voice grew distant as if I was hearing him from the other end of a tunnel. I felt my body relax and the chair slide out from under me. The dimness around my vision swallowed me whole and the last thing I remember was hitting the floor.

*

I rolled over and opened my eyes. The room was dark. I sat up in the bed, pushing the hair out of my face. I froze when I heard a soft noise. Snoring? I looked to the corner of the room where the sound came from. There was a darkened silhouette of a person lying back in a chair. I tried to make out the rest of the shadows in the room. It looked like my bedroom. I leaned over and reached for the lamp beside the bed. Sure enough, it was there.

Light flooded the room and the man in the chair jumped up. He'd had a gun in his lap and was now holding it up. The man looked at me, a look of relief passing over his face.

"You're awake," he said.

"Who are you?" I let the demand slip into my tone. He was, after all, in my bedroom.

"A friend of Rupert's. He told me to keep an eye on you while he was away." He shoved the gun down the back of his pants and sat down in the armchair someone had pulled into the corner.

"Where is he?"

"He's at work right now. He should be back here in an hour or so." I watched as his eyes dropped below my chin. I looked down and realized I was only wearing a bra and panties. I grabbed the blanket and jerked it up over my chest.

"Get out so I can get dressed." I jerked my chin in the direction of the door.

The man stood and stretched with his arms above his shoulders. I arched a darkened brow. The dark blue tank top he wore left his arms bare. It was obvious he worked out by the bulk of muscles he flexed while stretching. The jeans he wore were faded and torn at the knees. I looked up at his face. It was more boyish than I thought it had been. The desperate need to shave had made him look older. His unruly blond hair fell in front of his eyes as he looked shyly at his own feet. I rolled my eyes.

"Can your shit and get out of my room," I said.

He looked up at me, either pretending to be shocked, or maybe really shocked, that I didn't buy into his little act. "What?"

"You heard me. I want to get dressed, and I don't want an audience." I gave him an expectant look.

"All right," he said, "I'll be in the living room."

He walked out of the room, shutting the bedroom door behind him. I rolled out of bed and walked over to my closet. I put on a pair of black lounge pants and dug a red tank top out of the top drawer of my dresser. I grabbed the gray flannel that hung on the closet door and put it on.

There were lights on in the house when I walked into the kitchen. I listened.

"Yeah, she's awake," the guy said.

"Good. Tell her I'll be there in a few minutes. I'm locking the shop up now."

"I'll tell her, but she's not very friendly," he said.

I heard Rupert's laugh. "She's always that way at first."

I quietly stepped into the living room when the boy hung up his cell phone.

"He's right, you know."

The kid jumped and turned. "Sweet Jesus. You scared the shit out of me."

I gave him an empty look. "You should pay more attention to your surroundings."

"I pay plenty attention to my surroundings."

"Which is why you were asleep when I woke up?" I asked, tilting my head to one side.

"I was bored and figured I'd get a little shut-eye." He plopped down on the black leather couch.

"I'm guessing Rupert hired you as a sort of bodyguard?"

"Yeah. . . "

"You need more practice," I said blandly. "Next time remember that you're supposed to be guarding someone's body, not ogling at it."

He looked up and I knew he'd been looking at me again. "Huh?"

"My point exactly."

When Rupert knocked on the door, I allowed the kid to get it. I sat at the kitchen table drinking a mug of coffee.

"You look like you're feeling better," he said.

"I am. Though I'm curious to know-how long I was out?"

"Three days," he said and sat down across the table from me.

"Shit. What about work?"

"They called when I was here. I told them you had the flu and were up all night vomiting. You should call them in the morning and let them know you're feeling better."

"Thank you."

"How's your back doing?" he asked.

"It feels better, but I haven't seen it yet."

"The wounds had already closed up by the time I got you here." He leaned back in his seat. "The wounds on your thigh were only scratches. . . nothing to worry about."

Nothing to worry about
, I thought.
Yeah, right.

The phone rang, drawing me out of my memories. I put the mug of coffee down on my desk and leaned over to grab it.

"Lyall Preternatural Investigations," I said in the best courtesy voice I could muster.

"Heya, Kass. How's it going?" It was Arthur's cheerful voice leaking over the line.

I frowned. "It's going. What do you want?"

"Is that any way to talk to an ol' buddy ol' pal?" he asked and tsked softly. "Why do you always think I want something?"

"You never call me just to talk. There's always a string attached. So, go ahead and tell me what the catch is. What's going on?" I picked up a pencil and began tapping the eraser rhythmically on my mug.

"Harsh," he said, pretending I'd wounded his pride. "We need you to come out and take a look at something."

I took in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. I looked at the large calendar on my desk.

"Shit," I said out loud.

"What?" he asked.

"You're in luck." My voice was flat. "There's nothing written on my calendar to help me get out of this. Tell me what happened, and why exactly I need to come out and take a look at it. You know, just because you guys treat me like I'm still a member of the team doesn't mean I am, Arthur. I've got my own business now," I reminded him.

He laughed. "You tell me that every time I call you."

"Then perhaps you should stop calling me?"

"You break my little heart," he said, and I rolled my eyes but didn't say anything. "Trust me, you'll want to take a look at this. They're keeping everything on the down low, but no one can decide what the hell murdered a man like this. . . " He sighed. "It's gruesome, Kass. I hope you haven't had lunch."

"Oh goody, a gruesome murder mystery." I mocked being thrilled. "You know I run strictly on coffee until around five or so."

Ignoring my sarcasm, he asked, "Will you come take a look?"

"Tell me where it is." I turned the pencil around and dug through my desk for a Post-it pad.

Arthur gave me the address. "Good Lady," I said, "the boonies? It'll take me forty minutes alone to get out there."

"I know, but we need you to take a look at this."

"Why, exactly?"

"I told you. . . No one has figured out what did this. We've got people running around talking about a bear. We need your preternatural expertise," he said making it sound oh so important by emphasizing the word "expertise."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes again. "How does one get a bear killing and preternatural in the same sentence?" I asked. "Especially since bears are not native to Oklahoma."

"Exactly," he said. "So, yea or nay?"

"Yea," I said, "I'm leaving the office now."

I hung up without saying good-bye.

On my way out I stopped to do one of those little girly checks in front of the mirror that hung on the wall by my office door. I tucked the streak of white in my long black hair behind my right ear, tucking the long side-swept bangs with it. Unlike most side-swept bangs, mine were long enough that they swept across my face and past my chin. In my profession, it's a must that I can keep my hair out of my face. The white streak, on the other hand, wasn't bleached. It had begun showing up gradually after every shift I'd made into wolf form. Ironically, it was the same color as my fur.