by Tee Ayer
And I actually liked my ankles.
I'd heard them called dainty before, and dainty was the last thing I'd ever expected to be called. I planned to hold on to any dainty parts of myself for as long as I lived and breathed.
I was about to turn on my heel and head deeper into the building where the restrooms were located when the sound of the front door crashing open had me racing toward the vestibule.
Three men entered, all backlit by the streetlamps and for a second, fear ripped into me. Were they armed? Had they come to rob the center of what little cash was kept on the premises. It was only when I smelled blood that my mind cleared.
Then the trio hobbled inside the hall, making their lack of weapons very clear. Two boys carried a third whose feet dragged and caught on the lino, though it appeared he was attempting to make some effort to walk. And failing miserably. With their faded—and now bloodstained—clothing and mismatched shoes, the boys looked like street kids.
A desperate voice cut the air. "Help! Help, he's been shot."
I'd barely stepped toward him when the front of his shirt suddenly bloomed red, warm slick blood glistening, urging my panther to the surface. It took a tremendous amount of energy to shove her back down to where she belonged.
As far from blood as possible.
Just the scent of his blood was enough to begin my shift and I couldn’t afford that. As it was, beneath my turtleneck, I could already feel my panther markings surfacing, a sign that I was in partial shift already.
I was tired, that much I had to admit. I'd had been a long and difficult session and I was just eager to get home and take a long hot shower and maybe curl up in bed with a good book unless I found myself with a wraith to hunt. The past week had been on the quiet side, as though the creatures had regrouped to discuss their next move against me.
The entrance of the boys had destroyed the subdued peace of the center as heads popped out of doorways and footfalls could be heard upstairs and along the hallway behind me. I wasn't sure when I'd moved but I suddenly found myself standing in front of the boys as they lay their friend gently on the lino-covered floor.
Behind me a couple of people slowed to a stop, then retreated, likely all too grateful that somebody else was helping the wounded boy, that someone else would be covered in the kid’s blood.
The pungent odor of fresh blood filled the air and I swallowed hard, forcing myself to focus on the injured boy. His skin had turned pale, too pale, and suddenly I didn't want to be the one to fail to save him.
His two friends hovered over him, expressions taut with fear and anger, hands dragging through their hair as anxiety came off their bodies in waves. I placed a hand against the injured boy’s cheek.
Not much older than fourteen, he had long curling lashes and dull brown hair. High cheekbones, strong chin, all adding up to a future as a heartbreaker. If he survived long enough. Beneath my fingers his skin simmered with heat. He was burning up which meant I had to move fast.
I glanced around at the curious onlookers who'd gathered about in small clumps of gossip. "Can someone get him a camp bed? Maybe some blankets?" Nobody moved until I shifted on my heel to check if the reception desk was occupied. Someone was always manning the desk in case people came in off the street for assistance.
The girl who volunteered at the reception desk, Trish, was staring at me, wide-eyed and frozen in place like a pale stone statue. But my voice seemed to snap her out of her trance and she blinked twice, flicked a gaze at the boy on the floor, then shot down the hall narrowly missing a collision with some of the patients who'd also gathered to watch the drama. Trish’s heels clattered and faded away, leaving me partly hopeful and partly afraid that she’d possibly fled out the back door.
I shifted around on my knees and focused on the boy, putting pressure on his wound, a little too afraid to lift his shirt and get a proper look at his injury. And then my flesh began to crawl. A million fire ants danced on my skin, setting off a plethora of alarm bells.
He smelled familiar, but I didn’t have time to figure it out. Guess I had to keep him alive to find out. I straightened and got to my feet awkwardly, the hilt of the damned dagger biting into my shin.
I glanced at his two friends pointed to an open door to the right of the entrance vestibule. "Get him inside." His friends obeyed instantly, leaving me standing there, blood staining my hands as I stared down at the ruby pool on the Lino. Then I scanned the hall around me, sending a dozen fervent prayers that one of the older, more experienced caseworkers would appear out of thin air and save me from the responsibility of saving the boy’s life.
Trish had arrived with the cot and I hadn’t even noticed. The boys were laying the injured kid out on the cot as I approached to check on him again.
Please don’t die. Please don’t die.
I repeated the words over and over as I checked his pulse at his throat. As soon as I touched him, I understood why he’d felt familiar.
Not the I-know-him-from-somewhere type of familiar, but more the I-recognized-his-paranormal-scent kind of familiar. And then he opened his eyes and met my gaze, and in them I saw pure recognition. So he’d sensed I was a walker and was just as shocked as I was.
Crap.
Could this not have happened at a better time, perhaps when I wasn't so exhausted that I'd missed the most important fact that the boy was a panther walker like me?
Walkers were physiologically far more advanced than humans. Our sensory receptors functioned almost on steroids when compared to plain old humans. Walkers were creatures of sensation, touch, smell, taste, and all those senses gave us an edge when it came to recognizing each other when in close proximity.
And I needed to treat this walker kid, get that bullet out of him before he began to heal himself. He would most certainly put on a good show for the curious onlookers when his flesh spat out the bullet.
I could just picture the expressions of shock and horror on the faces of the humans around us. Vanilla humans who’d more than likely never seen a supernatural creature like a panther walker before. Humans who’d never seen a panther in half-shift because he was in so much pain that he was no longer in control of his transformation.
Worse, they’d never seen a shifter summon all the strength in her body in order to hold down the patient. I’d show the kind of strength people only saw in movies. That would certainly have the news vans rolling over at top speed.
And then it would be me, little old Kai Odel, runaway alpha, who’d be remembered centuries from now for having outed our existence to the EarthWorld.
Dramatic much.
But not really. The secrecy around the existence of our people was a pact that nobody would dare to break. Far too much was stake.
Not a chance in Hel was I going to allow that to happen.
15
Playing Doctor
6 months after moving to Chicago
Blood rushed in my ears, crashing waves that drowned out all sound, including that of the small crowd developing behind me. Concerned whispers and hushed conversations drifted toward us and it only took me seconds in which to surface from my shock. People around us meant people to witness actual shifters in transformation.
Not a good idea.
As my mind flailed around looking for a way to get rid of the crowd, someone else entered the room. The place was large enough but suddenly I was beginning to feel claustrophobic what with my sense of smell in overdrive.
Varying levels of sweat from fresh to days and even weeks old. Some of the patients we saw lived on the streets where bathing was a luxury that too few could afford. Along with the miasma of BO, a variety of perfume fragrances and aftershave wafted toward me.
But even that multitude of smells had nothing on the cloying odor of fresh blood from the boy’s wounds.
The newcomer approached, patting the shoulders of the boy’s two rescuers to allow him to pass. They stepped away, sending him deferential glances, which he didn’t see because he was so focuse
d on my patient.
I blinked as I took in the sight of the man, suddenly feeling as though my breath had been stolen away. He was one stunningly beautiful specimen of male, not that he was anywhere near my type. Of course that didn’t mean I was blind.
I’d have to be dead not to find this particular hunk of man sexy.
Tall and muscular, golden hair, eyes as blue as cornflowers—I wouldn’t have been surprised if he introduced himself as Adonis.
Adonis was currently holding tight to the injured boy’s hand. I was about to ask him who the hell he thought he was to come waltzing right in and planting himself between myself and my patient, but the boy spoke in a guttural whisper.
Adonis leaned closer as the boy raised his hand weakly and said, “Storm. Please, I need them out of here.”
I was so shocked I forgot to breathe. My panther hearing meant I heard every word he’d said even if it had been no more than a whisper.
Storm? The Storm?
The Storm who’d arranged for me to get into Crawdon? Grams’ friend Storm. Grams was going to get an earful from me when she returns from her current trip. Not once had she mentioned how hot this guy was. Grams had been totally holding out on me.
I blinked again, and thankfully the boy said, “Please, this will be difficult enough. I don’t want the whole gang hearing me scream like a girl when the doctor here takes the bullets out.” The kid was smart. He’d spoken just loud enough now for the crowd to hear him, a subtle request for privacy that few would ignore without appearing blatantly rude.
The one thing I wanted to say to the kid was that I was no doctor. It was sheer dumb luck that I’d been here when he’d arrived in need of saving. But, if I had to admit right then that I wasn’t trained to treat a medical condition like a bullet wound, there would certainly be more drama to follow, plus precious time being wasted waiting for the ambulance. And this kid needed a human hospital like he needed a modern version of the Salem Witch Trials.
So, instead of protesting, I found a pair of scissors in the first-aid kit that Trish had had the forethought to leave on the bed. I had to work fast though; healing in walkers occurred at a faster rate than humans so I had to tend to the wound quickly to avoid infection.
I worked fast, the process of cleaning up bloody wounds not unfamiliar. I’d played nurse to Iain, my older brother, probably about a million times throughout our childhood. Still, he’d never turned up with a bullet wound so my patient’s injury was a new experience.
A dozen questions flitted around my mind as I tended to the wound: how did he get shot, what was he doing to get shot, who pulled the trigger?
While I’d been working, the room had emptied, the crowd either shooed away or had left of their own accord. The silence filled the space around us, dense and expectant. I wasn’t sure what I was able to say in front of Adonis.
Did he know Grams was a walker? Did he know the kid he appeared to care for was a shifter? I met the boy’s eyes with a deliberate look, glancing surreptitiously at the golden-haired man.
But the boy simply smiled in response and said, “It’s okay.... Storm is safe—he knows....” Then he let out a gravelly sigh and closed his eyes.
I wasn’t liking the sound of his breathing either. Maybe a hospital would have been a better idea. The last thing I needed was for the kid to die on my hands. But I never did well under pressure and the guy’s eyes were intense enough to burn a hole in me if anything did happen to the boy.
He must have read my intention on my face even before I knew I wanted to ask him to leave the room while I worked. “Don’t bother trying to get me to leave,” he said, his words like laughter and music, wrapping around me in dry amusement. “I know you are like him.”
I scowled in response, biting down the urge for more explanation. It wasn’t as though I had time to chat.
The man chuckled softly, then replied, “I know what he is. What you are too.”
His words, and his startlingly blue eyes both worked to leave me in stunned silence.
After a pause in which I failed to respond, he said, “I am able to sense the reality of things. I know the evil in people, the good too. I can feel the otherness in people as well. And you are...Other.” He sounded calm enough even though his words meant trouble. He seemed to radiate calm the way a Titan would, which led to me to suspect that perhaps he was one of the Immortals, possibly a Titan.
Whatever magic he was using, I didn’t like it at all. Walkers were familiar enough with mages, so I knew the dangers of magic.
I swallowed hard and focused on the unconscious kid, then gave the Adonis-Titan a cool glance. “Oookay...we don’t have time to discuss the weather while this poor kid lies here, bleeding all over the floor. Rain-check?” A bit rude, given that if this was Storm, and it was really looking like he was, but I didn’t have time for pleasantries.
Clancy could come down at any moment and I wanted to have the patient and his sexy guard dog on their way before she finally left the building. The patch of blood on the hall floor would lead her right to us and then I’d have a whole lotta explaining to do.
16
Do I know you from somewhere?
6 months after moving to Chicago
Storm moved to my side in silence then kept walking until he was at the head of the cot behind the boy’s head. He gripped the kid’s shoulders gently and met my gaze, clearly waiting for me to begin.
I hated having to dig out the bullet without a sedative but it wasn’t as if I had a stash of horse tranquilizers in my back pocket to pull out with a proud flourish when and if kids with bullet holes in them arrive on my doorstep.
The first aid kit turned out to not be as helpful as I needed. There were no scalpels or tweezing implements to be found which left me in a bit of a quandary. There was only one thing I could do right at that moment and it meant I would have to shift in the presence of Storm.
But I had to risk it, seeing as the boy would be in trouble the longer he continued to bleed. He’d already passed out from the blood loss, so I had no choice but to trust his claim that Storm was okay.
I accessed my panther and drew the claw of my forefinger to the surface, allowing it to lengthen and curl just enough to act like a spoon of sorts. I slid my finger into the raw flesh of the wound and swallowed hard, fighting my panther as she struggled for freedom. The smell of blood triggered her desperation for release, which was of course all the more reason to get this show on the road.
My finger slid deeper making a strange squelching sound as I maneuvered it through a clog of slick warm blood. And then my claw hit something hard. A little turn this way and that helped to loosen the slug, then I slipped my finger a little deeper to get under the smashed-up ball of metal. I held my breath as my nail found a solid grip on the bullet, then held it more while I eased the slug up and out of the wound.
Only when I set the bullet on the cot beside the boy did I let out a slow breath. I didn’t waste any more precious moments as blood began to surge to the surface. A little pressure applied for a few moments was enough to stop the flow, and I quickly cleaned and dressed the wound.
Then I straightened and sighed with relief. Loudly this time. And I didn’t care that Storm would see how affected I was by my surgery.
Though I felt a little lightheaded, not to mention more exhausted than I had been when leaving for home—which I didn’t know was even possible—but something else kept me on my feet.
I wasn’t alone here in Chicago. There were others in the city who were like me. It was an invaluable gift to realize I wasn’t alone.
Mere moments passed before the kid lifted his shoulder, lids fluttering before he opened his eyes and looked straight at me.
I leaned closer, rearranging his blankets for want of something to do with my hands. “How are you feeling?”
“Better....” His voice was scratchy but he appeared to be stronger and more resilient than I’d thought.
Still buoyed by the knowledge that I was no
t the only walker in the city, I asked, “You from around here?”
His eyes revealed his hesitation. Some inner battle was waged beneath the frown. To tell me more would be to make himself vulnerable, to trust me. Perhaps he had the same issues I did with the trust thing.
Moments later, he reached a decision and when he spoke, I was surprised.
“Kai, it’s me, Anjelo Alvarez.”
Shock swept away all my relief when I understood who the kid was. His skin had darkened, dirt and weather having taken their toll on him, which had made it less easy to recognize him. Anjelo. His mother Stella had worked in my house on and off as housekeeper and babysitter after Mom had left.
I’d spent years with him and his little posse trailing me around Tukats like a mini fan club. I’d never wanted that kind of adoration, always felt I only received it because I was Alpha. And now he’d run off just like I’d done?
Talk about setting a bad example for the next generation.
“Anjelo! What in Ailuros’ name were you thinking?” I could hardly believe what I was hearing.
“We saw you leave.... Gave us the courage to try a new life as well,” he said, tone insistent and almost petulant.
“Did you not stop and think how dangerous this could be for you?” I could barely hear my own words what with the blood rushing through my head. What the hell had he been thinking? Did his mother even know where he was? How long had he been on the streets anyway?
“You did it and you’re a g….” He fell silent before completing his sentence, likely knowing I’d run out of patience. I was still Alpha and he had to afford me the respect of my rank, especially since he was from my colony.
I gritted my teeth as I replied, “You dolt. I may be a girl but I am strong, trained. Alpha trained.”
“Everyone knew you were fine, so we thought it’d be okay if we did what we wanted too.”
