The one person who'd understood her was gone, and it would take a miracle to cure the loneliness that had closed in when he was gone. Still, because Alice had accused her of trying to be a Scrooge and ignore the Christmas season, she had made the effort to be sociable through dinner at Alice's house. It had drained her incredibly, and she was glad to be heading home.
Reverend Pat was nice; he'd made intelligent conversation over dinner, even persuaded her to participate in a charity function at the high school in a couple of days. And he wasn't at all bad-looking. No doubt he was going to be an asset to the community.
As agreeable as he was, though, she certainly wasn't going to tell him about her "special" ability.
When she was a kid, she'd assumed everybody could do it. It had taken her painful years to realize that it was anything but normal, and to learn to control it. It had taken even more years to learn how to hide it from the rest of the world. Most of the time.
"I can't believe I almost hit a couple of animals," she told Pat, after she'd been silent maybe a little too long.
"They ran in front of the truck. It wouldn't have been your fault," he said comfortingly.
"But the animals would still be dead." The truck was laboring up the steep rise, and she put her foot on the gas.
"And we could have been injured, as well. Even as large as this truck is, hitting something as big as that wolf could have caused a lot of damage."
They rounded the curve and reached the top of the hill, and all hell broke loose.
There was a big white van parked sideways across the road, its headlights shining out onto the landscape. A pair of men stood in front of the van. One held a rifle up to his shoulder and fired twice, just as the second man saw Marj's truck.
She slammed on the brakes and came to a stop inches from the van, just as a wave of pain hit Marj in the back.
NO! Run! Save yourself!
Her spine arched, and dizziness shot through her, even as the wolf's voice inside her head faded.
She might have fallen forward, unconscious across the steering wheel, if Patrick hadn't grabbed her by the arm and shook her. She heard his concerned voice. She couldn't respond to it, but she did react to Taffy's barking in her ear and the nudge of his wet nose on the back of her neck.
That was her, all right. She didn't respond much to people, but animals...
There were animals in trouble out there. One was terrified, the other was hurt.
Can't move. Getting dark.
Marj knew she had to do something, but for a moment she had no idea where she was.
As she looked up, the second man grabbed the shooter by the arm. He shouted something, and pointed at them. The man with the weapon whirled around, the rifle still poised on his shoulder.
For a second, she thought she was going to be shot again. Again?
But the other man grabbed the shooter's arm and pushed him toward the van's open sliding door. The second man got into the driver's seat and barely took the time to slam the door before he roared off up the road.
Marj was out of the truck before the van's taillights disappeared around the next curve. Taffy jumped out after her. It was a few seconds before Pat Muller followed. She was pacing along the rocky edge of the road by the time he reached her, Taffy trotting beside her, his nose to the ground.
"What are you doing?" Pat asked. "I don't think it's safe to be out here." He plucked at the sleeve of her shearling jacket. "That man was shooting at something."
"Not us," she answered.
"What if they come back?"
Marj stared off into the cold, clear December night. "There's something out there."
Pat peered into the darkness, then looked worriedly at her. "What?"
"Whatever he was shooting at."
He'd hit it, too. She'd felt it; more than felt it, for a moment. She'd been the animal. Its thoughts had been hers. The awareness had been so strong that, for the first time in her life, the emotions and images she normally picked up had been experienced as words. Words from a--
"The wolf!" Pat exclaimed. "He must have been shooting at the wolf."
"Yeah."
Pat rubbed his jaw. "Maybe they were trying to shoot it as a protective measure. It wouldn't be good for a wolf to be running loose in the desert."
"Why not? There used to be Mexican red wolves running around here all the time." She glared at him. "Until we humans came along and hunted them to extinction in the wild."
Pat backed a step. "Yes, but--you saw that animal. It was huge! It would be irresponsible to allow that thing to run loose."
"Yes, it would," she agreed. "That's why I'm looking for it."
"You?" He sounded horrified, and looked around anxiously. "Marj, I think we better get back in the truck." He took a cell phone out of his jacket. "We should call animal control."
"I am animal control in this neck of the woods," she told him.
"You're a vet, and you run a shelter, but you're no match for a wolf."
"An injured or dead wolf."
"What if they didn't hit it?"
The wolf had been hit. She couldn't tell Pat how she knew because she was aware of just how crazy it would sound.
"Why did they run off when they saw us?" she countered. "What were they up to?"
"I better call the sheriff."
"Don't bother trying. Your cell won't work out here."
She had to find the wolf; it needed her. But where to start? She couldn't feel it any longer. She prayed that it wasn't dead.
A lot of desert stretched below, where the hill fell into a wide valley. Even with the moon nearly full, she could barely make out nearby scrub brush and the silhouettes of boulders and a few cacti. Mountains loomed dark on the skyline in the distance. There was a lot of ground to cover.
Injured or dead, she needed to find it. But how?
Taffy began to bark. Startled, Marj jerked around and saw that he'd moved downhill. His stance was stiff and tense, and he was barking at a shadow lurking deeper in the shadows.
Out of long practice, Marj set her own emotions aside and concentrated. Though she couldn't make out the shape of the creature cowering in the darkness, she recognized the animal's fear.
"Poor thing," she murmured.
Pat looked wildly around. "What?"
"Shh. Stay here," Marj whispered, and moved cautiously forward.
She put a hand on Taffy's head when she reached him, silencing him instantly. The big dog sat, and stayed alert but still while she moved forward. Within a few steps, she made out the shape of the first animal that had crossed her path earlier. More importantly, she reached its mind with her own questing feelings.
She absorbed the fear and sent out calm. When the urge to run tried to take over her limbs, she suppressed it and managed to keep the animal from bolting in renewed panic. She went down on one knee and held a hand out toward the dark shape. She sensed that the animal was a dog, but one that wasn't that used to people. Domesticated, but not a pet?
"It's okay," she murmured. "You can come to me."
The dog whined piteously and bunched its muscles to run, the one thing it really knew how to do.
Marj tugged it toward her with a mental command, and reinforced her will with a stern, "Come."
The dog slinked closer, and she saw that it was a long, lean greyhound. It was as dark as the night, her coat black satin in the moonlight. Her sides were heaving with fear and exertion, but she let herself be touched.
She was worried, very, very worried; maybe even more worried than she was afraid.
Marj rubbed the greyhound's head, caressed its soft ears, and concentrated on finding out what troubled the animal. "You want me to help, don't you?"
She sent out a gentle mental probe, and was soon flooded with images and sensations.
After a few seconds the dog bounded off. Marj surged to her feet, knowing that the dog knew exactly where to look.
As she turned to follow the greyhound, she ran into Pat. He re
ached out to steady her, but Marj dodged around him and raced downhill after the dog, Taffy loping at her side.
After a few seconds, she heard Pat working his way through the brush behind her. "Where are we going?" he called.
She couldn't answer and still concentrate on following the greyhound's mental trail. Fortunately, she didn't have far to go down the hillside before she literally stumbled onto the wolf.
She tripped and landed on a big body; hard muscle covered with thick, soft fur. She rolled off the prone animal as quickly as she could and knelt beside it. The dogs kept their distance. Taffy barked, not liking the smell of the wolf and unhappy at her being so close to it. The greyhound settled down on the ground to rest, exuding satisfaction in having performed its duty, along with continued nervousness.
Marj sat back on her heels, took a deep breath, and closed the barriers of her mind to the dogs. Now she had to concentrate on the wolf.
"Is it dead?" Pat asked, coming up behind her.
"No." She knew that in her bones. She ran her hands expertly over the big, warm body, probing through the heavy fur for signs of injury. "Ah," she said, when she found what she was looking for.
"It has been shot, hasn't it?"
"Yep." She tugged one of a pair of darts out of the wolf's back. "Tranquilized. He's not dead, but he is sound asleep."
"Good. That's one huge, dangerous animal."
There was nothing wrong with being dangerous if it was part of your nature.
She patted the sleeping wolf on the head. "He's not dangerous now. Isn't he beautiful?"
"What are you going to do with him?"
"Take him home." She was glad that it wasn't too far to her truck. "Fortunately, my biggest kennel cage is still in the back of the truck. Come on, Pat--help me carry this big boy up the hill."
* * *
chapter 2
Harry supposed he was dreaming. Either that, or the mattress truly was stuffed with cedar shavings. The aroma overwhelmed his sensitive nose, but wouldn't have been nauseating if not for the hangover of monumental proportions.
He couldn't remember feeling like this since college. He'd been smart enough never to get drunk since then; it wasn't healthy for the rest of the world when his kind lost control.
In fact, he couldn't remember how he'd gotten this way. Had he been drinking? He'd been feeling lonely, especially at having to be away from home so close to Christmas. He had gone into the only bar in the one-horse town to check out the locals, but... ?
He groaned. This wasn't just a headache. He had aching, strained muscles, and he was cold. He was naked, yes, that was it, and the room wasn't heated. He was naked, facedown on a thin mattress that smelled of cedar.
At least there wasn't a woman in the bed beside him, so whatever he'd done--
But there had been a woman.
An image of wide eyes in a heart-shaped face flashed across his memory. A small woman behind the steering wheel of a big truck.
And he was naked because... ?
He'd been in wolf form, he remembered now. He remembered being changed, and sensing the woman through his werewolf senses.
And there'd been a dog, right? The poor thing had been in trouble.
Okay, yeah, now he remembered. He'd been out for a four-legged roam after being in town. Intending to get to know the territory, he'd come across this dog being chased by a pair of guys who didn't smell right. The dog hadn't felt any connection to them but fear. So Rin Tin Tin had come to the rescue, getting between the dog and the men.
Then he'd gotten shot? Harry remembered the impact, but felt no pain. Drugs, then. He'd gotten all woozy, and the last thing he'd done was think something at the dog like, Go get help, Lassie.
And maybe that was just what the fool critter had done.
Despite the drug hangover, Harry lifted his head and took a deep breath. Without the aroma of cedar masking other scents, he could make out animals, medicines, cleaning fluids, and disinfectants. It smelled like a vet's office. He'd been in wolf form, and the dog had gotten the woman to bring him somewhere safe. Now he'd morphed back to human. When he took his attention off the headache, he became aware of the deep ache in his limbs, spine, and ribs. It was much easier on the body when the change was under conscious control.
He opened his eyes and saw that he was surrounded by a metal cage.
"Oh, good God," Harry muttered.
It was a good thing the wolf had been asleep when he was captured. Even now, anger roared through him at the bars between himself and freedom. But he was in man form, and a man thought--even with a headache from hell.
And what did the man think? That he was on a case, and didn't want complications and questions that might interfere with his work. Or, worse, threaten his carefully guarded secret.
He reached out and touched the cold metal, fighting the urge to mindlessly shake and tear at the bars. While his animal part swore vengeance on whoever had done this to him, he looked around, found the cage door, and the simple latch that kept it closed.
Harry laughed.
Though his inner wolf was having a hissy fit, he was only being held in a kennel box, though thankfully a big one. He supposed he was lucky he wasn't wearing a flea collar.
He flexed his fingers. "The man thinks that he has thumbs, and getting out of here isn't going to be a problem."
Except that he heard footsteps approaching.
He was still too groggy to make the change back to wolf quickly. He fell facedown onto the cage floor, pretending to still be out, and thought, Go away, go away, go away.
That and, You really don't want see a naked man's backside. Or at least be polite enough not to look.
Marj's steps slowed as she approached the back door of the building. There was a voice in her head warning her to go away. The sensation wasn't frightening, but it was very compelling. It took some doing, but she brushed the strange impulse aside, not about to ignore the needs of an injured creature.
She'd spent much of the night tending to the greyhound. Its injures hadn't been accidental. The poor thing had several small but deep cuts, one on the back of the neck, one on the left ear. Marj figured that the beautiful animal was stolen, and the thieves had removed any identifying markings--a tattoo on the ear and an implanted ID chip in the neck.
She'd been worried about the wolf all night. Yet here she was, standing out in the December cold, hesitant about checking on the animal. The drugging could wear off at any time. The wolf would be agitated, which wouldn't be good for it, her, or the other animals. Besides, it was her back storeroom, she'd go in if she wanted to.
Maybe she should have left the wolf in the back of the truck, or in the barn or the kennels, but she wanted to keep the wild animal away from the cats, dogs, and other animals she sheltered on her property. Fortunately, she'd had Pat to help her wrestle the cage into her dark, narrow storeroom, even though he'd worried about her having a wolf on the premises.
"He'll be behind bars, in a locked room," she'd pointed out, but she'd thanked the minister for his worry. She wasn't used to having anyone worry about her, and she didn't like it. She appreciated having his physical strength, but when it came to emotional strength, she was used to going it on her own.
Marj concentrated on opening the door. The very act of turning the knob was tiring, as if she were pushing against some invisible barrier. Pushing the door itself open was almost an act of courage.
What, she was afraid of the big bad wolf?
Go away, go away, go away.
Marj shook her head and stepped inside.
It was barely dawn, so there was little light coming through the small window set high in the back wall. But there was enough to make out the sight of a naked man's bare buttocks.
"Good Lord almighty!"
He was asleep in the wolf's cage, his legs drawn up beneath him, and he was naked. Big and broad-shouldered, with a hell of a fine ass, muscular thighs, and--naked. Really, really, made-to-be-looked-at, built-like-a-god naked
.
"Ohhh, my."
It had been a while since she'd been this close to a naked man, and never to one this impressive. Though the sight was shocking, she came to her senses, and demanded, "What the hell are you doing in there?"
The man didn't move. An arm covered his head, blocking his face. She took a step closer to the cage--and heard the phone ringing in the office in the front of the building.
Answer the phone!
She let it ring only twice before crossing the storeroom and hurrying to answer the call. She had a sleeping man where the wolf was supposed to be, which made for some serious questions that needed to be answered--but there might also be a veterinary emergency on the other end of the phone line. She'd deal with the caller first. The naked man wasn't going anywhere.
The instant the woman left the room, Harry sat up and turned to the cage door. He had to make his escape quickly, while she was occupied. He shivered. The temperature in the already cold room had dropped like a rock when she opened the door. It was also a reaction from all the energy he'd just burned clouding her mind. It annoyed him that she'd blocked most of what he'd sent her way; her resistance made his headache worse.
That wasn't supposed to happen!
While his stiff fingers worked the latch, he heard her voice in the distance, her tone calm and professional.
It only took seconds to open the door, then he crawled out and stretched his cramped muscles as he stood. Harry was not a short man, and being able to stretch out to his full height caused him to let out a sigh of relief.
Though he couldn't believe she'd heard him, suddenly the woman became silent. He could feel her listening, feel her stillness. It was like there was some kind of connection between them.
A connection Harry certainly didn't have time to explore. What he had to do was get out. The extra few minutes had given him more energy, even if he'd paid the price in embarrassment, and he was turning back into wolf form even as he leapt out the back door.
Now covered by a thick, warm coat of fur, Harry was delighted to be out in the brisk early-morning air. All his senses had shifted and sharpened along with his shape. Colors took on new depth, scents sparkled in the air, and his hearing became far more acute. It was good to be a werewolf, and he wanted to throw his head back and howl in delight. Impulse control could be tricky while in wereform, but that was because the impulses were good, strong, elemental ones. Control, however, was essential to survival.