Bill came charging through the woods, ax in hand. The little wolf zipped in, biting at Aaron’s belly. Aaron spun and butted him, knocking him sideways. He saw the ax descending just in time and shied right. The ax thunked down inches from his front paw.
Aaron twisted and launched himself, going straight for Bill’s crotch. It was a bluff—but it worked. The man jumped back instinctively, brandishing the ax. Aaron slipped inside his reach and body slammed him. He grinned savagely. Like I would dishonor myself that way.
Bill hit the dirt. Hard. He still managed to hang on to the ax. Dog’s teeth, would the man never shift? Did the Mont-Tremblant Pack have no honor at all? Wolf did not fight man. And vice versa. What was that dog-brain thinking?
The smaller wolf tackled him from the left, pushing him toward Bill. He tried to leap away, but searing pain erupted along his ribs. Fuuuck! It was only a glancing blow, but goddess that hurt—
He rolled away, knocking into Larry, who had shifted back. The man snarled in pain. Bill lined up for another swing. Aaron rolled over Larry, using him as a block. Larry tried to punch out at him, but it was a weak effort. Aaron had severed his tendon. Larry was out of the fight. It would take at least a week to heal from that.
The smaller wolf came at him again, a gray blur against the forest floor. He was a good little fighter. Two against one would normally be good odds. Aaron was larger than most wolves, including these. But the bite in his shoulder burned and blood poured from the wound in his side. Bill still hadn’t shifted. He stalked around Larry, ax held at the ready.
The gray wolf zipped in and Aaron barely avoided a bite to the belly. He spun and latched on to a front foreleg. He shook the little wolf, trying to fling him towards Bill. Aaron’s shoulder gave out just as he tossed him. The wolf only skittered sideways a few feet. It was enough to trip Bill though, throwing him off balance. Aaron launched himself at Bill’s chest and knocked him to the ground. The ax flew from his hand. The little wolf yelped as Bill crashed down on him. Bill rolled away and Aaron went for the smaller wolf. He needed him out of commission. The little wolf rolled on his back and exposed his neck.
Shit! Now what? He couldn’t kill the little bugger. And he didn’t trust him to have the honor not to jump back into the fight. Dirty-slobbery-dog’s-teeth!
The wolf lay under him, quivering, tail tucked between his legs. Aaron closed his jaws around the white throat gently. Nothing else he could do. Surrender had been offered.
Aaron released his hold and nudged him aside. The little wolf rolled over, preparing to slink away.
“You little dog-turd, Jeffrey,” Bill roared, face flushed with rage. “I’m gonna kill you myself!”
He charged them, ax raised overhead. Bill was aiming straight for the smaller wolf. Aaron hit him broadside, knocking him into a tree with a solid thunk. Aaron felt something tear along his side, the ax wound ripping open. A hot gush of blood soaked his fur. The little gray wolf streaked off into the woods, running on three legs. Bill slumped to his hands and knees, wavering from side to side. Aaron slipped to the ground in agony, vision tunneling.
Bill got to one knee, then pushed up to his feet, teetering slightly. He gazed down at Aaron, face set in a sneer. “Guess you lose, Aaron.”
Bill raised the ax and brought it down. It was a weak blow, but the blade still sank in just below his ribcage. A fresh wave of agony surged through Aaron. He whined weakly.
“Come on,” Bill said, turning to pull Larry to his feet. “We have to track that little weasel, Jeffrey. We can come back for the human later.”
Aaron watched them through the dimming haze of his vision as they disappeared through the trees. He had just enough strength to shift, but that only slowed the bleeding a little. He could feel his body growing colder. His vision dimmed even more. He forced one more change. It rippled through his body with excruciating slowness. And then he sank into blackness.
Chapter 6
Lyla woke with a start just before dawn. She’d been dreaming of animals fighting. Brutally tearing at each other with teeth and jaws. She shuddered. What a dream. Her bedroom was dark. The glowing red letters of her clock showed five twenty-four. She lay there for a moment, letting her heart rate return to normal. Should she try to get back to sleep, or—
A commotion in the back yard had her springing off the bed. That was what she’d been hearing. That was what she’d been dreaming about!
She went to the window and peeked out the curtain. It had sounded like they were right outside her window, but she didn’t see anything in the eerie gray light that illuminated the back yard. She tried to peer into the woods that ringed the back, but the shadows were thick there. Everything was quiet again. She stared intently at the line of trees, but it was impossible to see through the gloom.
A savage snarl shattered the predawn stillness, followed by a yip of pain. That sounded like a dog. She caught a blur of white between the trees. She grabbed her robe and tugged it on as she raced for the stairs. She had a pair of binoculars down there.
She snatched the binoculars out of the den and ran to the kitchen window. There wasn’t really enough light for a good view, but she managed to focus in on the back trees. There! That flash of white again. It looked like something was attacking a dog back there. Were those coyotes? They must be. The Adirondacks didn’t have wolves. A dark shape brutally attacked the dog, knocking it farther into the woods. She lost sight of it. She could still hear them though. Vicious snarls and growls, interspersed with yips of pain. They were killing that poor dog! She’d heard of that, but she never thought she would actually experience it. She stood there for a moment, indecisive. There was a loud yelp, and then nothing. Lyla felt cold settle in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t just stand here and let it happen!
Without pausing to think, Lyla plucked her broom from the pantry and flung open the back door. Fortunately, caution reasserted itself then and she stopped there on the back steps, listening carefully. She didn’t hear anything now. It was too quiet. Goose bumps rippled down her arms. Maybe she was too late. Maybe they were out there, just waiting…
Lyla, get real. They’re animals. They don’t lure people out with some elaborate plot—
But she still shivered as she crept quietly across her lawn, the tiny hairs prickling on her arms and the back of her neck. The defensive spells in her broom should provide some protection, in theory anyway. But she’d never actually tested them…
She made herself move forward. She was not going to be a coward for the rest of her life and just leave some defenseless dog to die on her doorstep.
She found it just inside the trees, lying in a puddle of blood. The dog’s white fur was matted, one side completely coated in blood, which still leaked from a terrible wound in its belly. Mud and leaves clung to the wet fur. It was clearly dead. Poor thing. A profound sense of sadness settled over her, bringing a rush of tears to her eyes. If only she’d been faster…
There was no sign of the other animals, but marks of the struggle were all around. The woods still seemed too quiet. Lyla shivered, fighting the unsettling feeling that something might jump out at her at a moment. She held her broom in front of her like a weapon, feeling ridiculous. But it did have power. A good solid shock should be enough to send any wild animal running, right?
She moved closer, wondering what she should do. Bury it? The animal’s nose jerked slightly and Lyla jumped back. It was alive! Um… maybe?
She leaned on her broom and reached out a shaking hand. The fur at its neck was soft, and one of the few places not covered in blood. Still warm. That was good. Now what? Check for a pulse? She could barely find her own pulse, she didn’t think she could find one on a dog. She was pretty sure it was still alive, though. What to do? It was huge. It must be a mix of some kind. Or maybe one of those Great Pyrenees. They were white.
I need to get it to into the house. Stop the bleeding.
But how?
She turned and ran back through the yard, charging u
p the back steps. Inside, she grabbed an old blanket she used for picnics and raced back to the woods. How was she going to do this?
What if it wakes up and bites me? Oh, Lyla. Get over it. You can’t just let it bleed to death. That was someone’s precious pet out there.
She spread the blanket next to the dog and eased first its shoulders and then its hips onto the worn blue fabric. The dog didn’t even twitch. She wrapped the blanket around the dog and tied it tight around the worst of the wounds. The poor thing was savagely mauled. She didn’t see how it could possibly make it.
Forget about that. Just keep going. If she could get it into the kitchen—
Gritting her teeth, she dragged the poor blanket-wrapped dog back through her yard. It was heavy.
I should never have given up kickboxing. Yoga is just not the same.
She was sweating by the time she reached the back steps. Oh, crap. Now what? The three stairs to the back porch looked just as insurmountable as Mount Everest. She needed a ramp.
Maybe one of the boxes? She raced to the garage. She had a stack of boxes used for shipping glass in there— seriously strong cardboard. Would that work? The poor dog is going to die before I even get it into the house. She bit her lip and stomped on the cardboard. No. Don’t think that way. It took some doing, but she managed to flatten one and drag the dog up and into the house. Her back ached from the strain, but the dog was finally in the kitchen. She bent down, holding her breath. Somehow it was still alive.
Lyla ran to the linen closet for fresh towels, grabbed her first aid kit from the bathroom, and a jar of wound-knit paste from the pantry. She dumped everything on the counter and charged up the stairs to her bedroom.
Uses for pantyhose; number one hundred and seven. Definitely a better use than their originally intended one. She hadn’t actually worn them in… she couldn’t remember how long. But she was sure she had some in the back of her underwear drawer.
She took the stairs a little too fast on the way down and had to catch herself on the railing. She needed to get that bleeding stopped. If she could do that, maybe the dog had a chance. What she really needed was a vet, but it was six in the morning on a Sunday. She wasn’t sure when the nearest veterinarian’s office would open, but she was pretty sure the dog didn’t have that long.
She skidded to a stop in the kitchen and tried to slow her breathing. She was panting way harder than the dog. She grabbed a bottle of peroxide and knelt beside it. Carefully, she untied the blanket, peeling it back so she could see the damage. She almost moaned at the gruesome sight revealed. The blanket had soaked up a lot of the blood, and she could see the slice in its belly more clearly. Make that his belly— the dog was obviously male. But what really worried her was a long gash down its side, blood still pumping sluggishly from the wound with each heartbeat. How could he even be alive with that? Wincing in sympathy, she poured peroxide on the wound.
It was probably the wrong thing to do if she wanted to stop the bleeding, but she couldn’t stand the idea of all that dirt and debris getting caught in there. She plucked up one of the folded towels and scooped out a generous glob of wound-knit paste. Pushing the sides together, she pressed the salve-covered towel firmly over the wound. Hopefully the spells in the ointment would be enough to at least slow the bleeding. With her other hand, she grabbed another towel and pressed it on top. Sliding the pantyhose down under his body, she tied them tightly over the towels. She should probably be worried about the dog waking and biting her, but that really didn’t seem like a possibility. She was amazed it was still even breathing.
It was tricky trying to tie the knot while doing her best to keep the edges of the wound pressed together, but somehow she managed it. The compression should help to stanch the bleeding. Glancing down at the blood-soaked blanket, she bit her lip. It was hard to believe he had any blood left inside him. Was he even still alive?
Lyla took a deep breath and sat back on her heels. The dog hadn’t moved once. She leaned close, running her hand along his neck as if she would somehow find his pulse. Please don’t let him be dead. His fur was ridiculously soft, and she had to bite back a sob.
What a waste— such a beautiful creature. But no, wait. He was panting shallowly now. Definitely still alive. She repeated the same steps with the slice over his belly, and then the ragged cut on his shoulder, hoping somehow, it would be enough.
The wound-knit paste had some power. She’d spent a lot of time on those spells—good, solid, useful spells—but she’d only ever needed it for paper cuts and minor scrapes before. Once she’d used it on a burn from the oven, and it had worked like a charm. But she had no idea if it would make a difference on something of this magnitude.
The dog lay on his side, the bloodstained blanket a rumpled mess beneath him. With his mouth open and his tongue lolling out, she could just make out his shallow breaths. If she could just keep him alive long enough to get him to the vet’s, he might have a chance. She tried not to think about the family that might be missing him right now. The heartbreak that might still be heading their way.
Lyla stood and stretched her back. She started to head for the sink, but really there was no point. What she needed was a shower. Her robe was ruined and she wasn’t sure her nightshirt had fared any better. She sighed and headed for the stairs. First a shower, and then she’d start calling vets. Maybe she’d get lucky and there’d be an animal hospital in the area.
Fifteen minutes later, still damp and feeling somewhat refreshed, Lyla headed back downstairs. She’d just check on her patient and then start making some calls. The thought of dragging him back outside and getting him into her car made her wince. Maybe one of her neighbors—
Her gaze rounded the island and she skidded to a halt. What?
The dog was still laid out in the middle of her kitchen floor, but his image seemed to… blur. She blinked rapidly. Not enough sleep.
But his outline continued to waver, and she stood transfixed as his image became almost indistinct. Then, with a burst of power that made the hair on her arms stand to attention, suddenly, a man—a naked man—was lying on her kitchen floor. Bruised and bloodied, the raw edges of half-healed injuries livid against his pale skin—
Oh my God. Lyla’s hand crept to her mouth. That’s Aaron!
His skin was chalk-white, and he lay sprawled on his side on the bloody blanket, the pantyhose tight around his abdomen, the bandages lying limp on the floor around him. Her heart lurched. Was he still alive? Had that last unconscious change—
She swallowed hard, blinking back tears. Hesitantly, she touched her hand to his throat, hoping for a pulse. Damn, she was terrible at this. Where the hell was she supposed to check? Forget about that. Is he breathing? She placed a shaking hand lightly against his nose, hoping to feel just a little tickle...
Oh, thank God.
She sank back. He was.
She drew in a deep breath. Well, that cleared up one mystery. Now she knew why he triggered all her danger alarms. He was a werewolf. Traditional enemy of her kind. You sure can pick ‘em, Lyla.
She closed her eyes and just sat there for a moment. Yes, as she pictured it now, that very well could have been a white wolf on her floor instead of a dog. A pure white wolf. Well, except for the blood and the dirt. She huffed out a breath.
She’d never actually believed werewolves existed. She’d thought that was something people like Aunt Zoe made up to keep everyone in line. She distinctly remembered rolling her eyes. Werewolves. Right.
Not that Zoe’d called them that. Oh, no. That was too common. Her Aunt had always said “the Moon People” in hushed tones, as if they were lurking in every shadow. Well, maybe they were. The evidence was right in front of her.
She blew out a breath and grabbed her kitchen shears. One thing was certain. She had to get those pantyhose off him before they cut him in two. Yup. Safe to say, that was one thing she hadn’t considered.
Holding her breath, she crept in closer. One quick snick, and the deed was
done. She stepped back quickly. The pale red line where the hose had cut into his flesh stood out starkly against his chalk-white skin. She shook her head. Some witch. Can’t even tell a werewolf from a dog.
Thank God no one in her family was here to see this.
Thank God he’s alive.
She shook her head. She’d known they’d never suit. She’d said so. She wasn’t completely useless, at least at the unconscious level. A shiver ran through her. He can’t possibly know I’m a witch— can he?
Aaron groaned, feeling like he’d been run through a meat grinder. It felt like someone had shoved a hot poker straight through the soft flesh of his side and then up along his ribs for good measure. The rest of him didn’t feel a whole lot better. He cracked an eye open to the bright light of day. Cray must be going crazy. The thought shot through him even before he was fully aware of his surroundings. Shit. Where is my phone?
And then his location registered. He was inside. In a kitchen. Lyla’s kitchen. Lying naked on the floor on a blood-soaked blanket. Double shit.
He closed his eyes, but not before he spotted Lyla sitting on a kitchen chair facing him, her arms crossed over her chest. She didn’t look happy. Dare he hope he’d at least been in human form when she found him? That she was pissed because she’d found him bloody and naked in the woods behind her house? Like that wasn’t enough to creep someone out—
“Something you forgot to tell me?”
He opened his eyes, feeling at a distinct disadvantage. “Not that I’m aware of.”
He glanced around the kitchen, contemplating getting to his feet. A stab of pain slicing through his abdomen made him bite back a grunt. “How did I get in here?”
“I dragged you. You were a large white dog at the time.” Her mouth tightened and she looked away. “At least that’s what I thought.”
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