by Roxie Noir
There was another growl and then a long howl, the howl of a wounded animal.
Then there was nothing. Miles could smell blood and fear, a potent, noxious mix that made his fur stand on end, made him want more of each.
He pushed through the crowd of smaller bears until he got to the scene.
There were two humans, one on his back and one lying on his stomach, both with huge slashes across them. Miles couldn’t tell whether they were alive or dead.
Then there was the bear, a huge pile of fur and blood, splayed out so unnaturally that there was no question that the bear was dead.
Even from where he stood, Miles could tell the bear was Larry. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened: Larry had known that they’d kill him, and he’d shifted and fought back before they did anything. It was shameful, not to take your punishment like a proper bear, to turn tail and fight back like that, but what did Larry care? He didn’t have much to live for.
May as well take someone else with him.
Men were already shifting back to humans, totally naked, Roy among them.
“Get William up,” he commanded, even before he was fully shifted, his arms and legs still covered in fur, his snout still protruding too far.
William was the man lying on his stomach, his back ripped nearly to shreds. He moved just a little and Miles could see the bone-white of his ribs, the flesh torn away.
“Get him to the clinic,” someone said.
“We can’t take him to the clinic,” another voice said.
“Don’t we have a doctor there?” asked Roy, clearly irritated.
“Not anymore,” the voice said.
“We don’t have a choice,” the first voice said. “It’s the clinic or he’s dead.”
“We don’t go to the clinic,” Roy said, in a discussion-ending tone.
“He’s going to die.”
“And what happens to us?” Roy asked. He was fully human again now, buck naked and standing up straight and tall. “They call in the state troopers and then what?”
There was a silence in the clearing. Half the men were nodding along slightly, but the other half looked stricken.
They’ll never go against him, Miles thought, looking around. He could argue with Roy, but what was the point? Roy had a whole pack behind him.
Delilah, he thought, and his stomach twisted.
Delilah didn’t want to get involved, he knew, and given what had just happened here tonight — two men dead because of some old-fashioned idea of ursine justice — he knew that she was right about everything.
William, the man with his back torn open and his ribs showing, opened his eyes against the ground and let out a long, low moan.
The grass around him was soaked with his blood, and as he tried to push himself up, Miles could see the torn muscles in his back twitch and fail. The sight made him feel slightly ill, and all around the clearing, men backed away.
“Delilah Silver is at her father’s house. She’s a doctor,” he heard himself say.
She wouldn’t want this man to die either, he reasoned. She wouldn’t be thrilled at being called in, but what choice did he have?
Everyone turned and looked at him, Roy included.
“Delilah Silver,” he said, and obvious note of distaste in his voice.
Silence.
“Can she be trusted?” his father asked, standing at Roy’s side.
“She’s an outsider,” added Roy.
Then, he heard the low, gruff tones of his father.
Miles felt fury pump through his veins: Roy had brought this on William, and no one else. He’d known that Larry was a sorry drunk with nothing to lose, and out of his blind desire for revenge, he’d gotten one man killed and another grievously hurt.
And now, he seemed to be seriously considering letting a fellow bear die because Delilah had had the nerve to leave Fjords.
Miles had never wanted to be a bear less than he did at that moment.
“Of course she can be trusted,” he said, doing his best not to show his rage. Inside his bear was furious, rampaging and growling, but he had to be calm for now. “She’s one of us.”
Roy gave Miles a long, long look, and then nodded curtly.
“Go get her,” he told Miles. “We’ll be at the cabin.” Then he turned away.
Miles heard him giving other orders: break into the clinic and get supplies; get William to the cabin; get William’s mate and stay with her. He jogged back across the clearing and got his clothes that he’d torn off as he shifted, then half-ran, half-walked back through the forest to the road where his truck was. He sprayed dirt and gravel over all the other cars as he sped away, still uncertain about what he’d done.
11
Delilah
Tired, Delilah washed out the mug she’d used for tea and put it in the dish drain. She’d made two more trips to the shelter today, her father’s SUV totally filled with things she was getting rid of, but it felt like she hadn’t made a dent. He had almost nothing of value; the only thing she really wanted was a picture of the two of them, when he was a kid and he hadn’t been drinking yet, and she’d already packed that away.
Otherwise, there was nothing there for her, and she could feel it in her bones. It was a house full of meaningless junk, and at times like this, when it was late and she was tired, it felt like one final fuck you that her father had lobbed her way, punishment for somehow not being the child he’d wanted.
She had no idea what he’d wanted. A son, maybe, someone who he could bring to the pack to show off, who’d carry on his legacy and his name. Some bullshit like that. It wasn’t her fault that women in the pack were second-class citizens; that was on them for being assholes, not on her for being a woman.
And people wondered why she’d left.
There was a soft knock on the door and Delilah nearly jumped out of her skin. She froze: nothing had happened yet in Fjords, nothing bad at least, but she knew how these people felt about her. They didn’t like her. Since she’d left, she was a traitor.
On the way to the door she grabbed a poker from the fireplace. Nearing the door, there was another knock, louder this time, and she opened the door a crack, ready with the poker behind it.
It was Miles.
Delilah relaxed her grip on the poker.
“It’s you,” she said, opening the door a little wider. His eyes fell on the poker, and he frowned.
“Expecting trouble?” he asked.
Delilah shrugged. “It’s late,” she said, tossing the poker onto the carpeted floor a few feet away. Then she bit her lip. “You know, I was serious this afternoon—”
She looked into his face and stopped.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Miles leaned against the doorway.
“William Raymond is really hurt,” he said. “Roy won’t let us take him to the clinic or the hospital.”
“What happened?”
“Bear attack.”
Delilah gave him a long, hard, searching look.
“This is shitty of you, Miles,” she said.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You know I won’t say no.”
Miles didn’t say anything, just looked at the floor.
“Let me get my emergency bag and some shoes,” Delilah said, and hurried away.
Miles leaned his head against the door frame and closed his eyes.
As she quickly found her emergency bag — something she kept with her at all times, particularly if she was going to be driving for several days alone through Canada and Eastern Alaska, as she’d just done — and put on her shoes, Delilah was furious. Mostly furious with the pack leaders for blatantly putting themselves over one of their comrades who needed to go to the hospital. Something had happened, she was completely certain of it, and Roy and his buddies were behind it somehow.
Delilah grabbed a coat on the way out, just in case, then locked the door behind herself without speaking to Miles. She followed him to the t
ruck and sat in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead. The sleeping bag was still jammed behind her seat, but in her anger she found it a lot easier to ignore.
Let him keep his ugly moth-infested memento, she thought. The pack will always be the most important thing to him.
Let this dumb sleeping bag remind him of what he’s lost.
“Where is he?” she asked, her voice pure ice.
“The cabin.”
“Roy’s cabin?”
“Yeah.”
Delilah cursed. William wasn’t even at one of the men’s houses, where there was a reasonable chance that their beleaguered mates had kept things reasonably clean. No, of course he was at the revolting cabin, an inch of grime and bear fur on the floor.
“What’s wrong with him?” she asked.
“He’s got an enormous back wound,” Miles said, remembering the bright red flesh coming off of William’s back, the white peep of his ribs.
“Deep?”
“I could see bone.”
Delilah whipped her head around and looked at him.
“He needs to go to a hospital,” she said, and pointed at her emergency kit. “This is for cuts, burns, that kind of thing.”
Miles shook his head. “You’ll have to tell them that,” he said. “It was useless coming from me.”
Delilah ground her teeth together, but she knew that Miles wasn’t lying: as the alpha, Roy’s word was law in a way that regular humans just couldn’t understand. Even if Miles had spoken up, it would have been utterly useless.
It was another thing she didn’t miss about living in Fjords.
“When bone is exposed that way, it’s incredibly susceptible to infection,” she told Miles very slowly, as though he were a child. “I’ve got a couple doses of antibiotics in here, but they’re not going to do the job. Not if he was attacked by a bear and then transported a couple of miles to a filthy cabin.”
Miles gripped the steering wheel harder, drove a little faster.
“He’s going to die,” she told Miles, staring right at the side of his face. “If what you’ve just told me is true, he’s going to die.”
Miles looked back at her, taking his eyes off the dark, twisting road for what seemed like a dangerously long time.
“Try not to let that happen,” he said, before looking forward again.
Delilah felt completely helpless. She wanted to jump out of the truck, shift, and run back to her father’s house. Her car had a full tank of gas, and she could get past Anchorage by morning, much too far for the pack to bother chasing her. But she was a doctor and she’d taken an oath.
If she went and helped William, he’d probably still die. But she knew that if she didn’t go at all, he’d definitely die.
Delilah furiously watched the forest flash by in the headlights as Miles drove much too fast.
The cabin had been built over a hundred years ago, by someone’s great-great-grandfather, back before electricity and running water had existed. Fifty years before, it had finally been upgraded.
It was barely a cabin, more like a lodge, sprawling across the mountain. Every generation seemed to add onto it, and now it was a mess of different styles. The original, in the middle, standing two stories tall, was made of thick wooden logs, easily eighteen inches in diameter, beautifully finished and put together by hand. The next wings were made of smaller logs, still well-joined and beautiful, then were the wooden planks, a small one-bedroom add-on that had vinyl siding. Although Delilah hadn’t been to the cabin in years and years, she knew that around back things got even uglier.
Miles stopped by the front door and Delilah jumped out with her bag and headed inside. Two anxious-looking younger men were in the front room, decorated in classic ugly cabin style: deer heads, an enormous unlit fireplace, and couches that had clearly been bought sometime in the 1970s.
“Where is he?” Delilah asked, hefting her emergency bag slightly, showing them what she had.
Both of them stopped pacing.
“Back here,” said one, tilting his head in a come this way gesture, and Delilah followed through another wood-paneled room, then through a swinging door to a kitchen.
In it, William laid face-down on a wooden table, the unstable legs straining under his weight — like all bear shifters, he was tall and broad. His head was turned to the side, and another man held a bottle of Jim Beam just below his face, a long straw in it. Every so often, William took a pull.
Alcohol was a blood thinner, but Delilah really didn’t think it mattered. At least he wasn’t still bleeding too much. Miles hadn’t been lying about what a wreck the man was. If he were human, he’d be dead; even as a shifter, he wasn’t far off, and she didn’t have anything like what she needed to help him.
She wished that when Miles had come, she’d climbed out of a window or something and snuck off, back to civilization, somewhere far away from Fjords. Instead, she put her emergency bag down on a counter and began pulling things out: gloves, masks, saline solution.
“Okay,” she said. “Everyone wears a mask, and everyone rolls up their sleeves and washes their hands right now.” She pointed at the big metal sink on the side of the kitchen.
The men all looked at each other. It was obvious that they weren’t used to taking orders from a woman, and especially not an outsider woman.
“If he gets an infection, he’s dead,” she said, still pulling things from the bag. “Wash your hands.”
One by one, they lined up and scrubbed themselves diligently as Delilah pulled on sterile gloves and walked to the table, looking carefully at the wounds on the man’s back.
Miles hadn’t been lying about being able to see his bones. She looked at the saline bottle in her hand and knew that it was much too small, and she felt totally helpless. Even if she managed to clean his wounds well enough, she didn’t have anything at all like what she would need to treat him properly.
Then, the door to the kitchen opened again and a middle-aged woman came in, followed closely by Miles. She was already wearing scrubs, and for the first time since Miles had knocked on her front door, Delilah felt hopeful.
“This is Emma, Jack’s mate,” said Miles, nodding at one of the men in the kitchen. “She’s going to help me break into the clinic and get whatever you need.”
“I’m a nurse,” Emma said.
An hour and a half later, the two of them came back from the clinic with everything Delilah had requested. She’d had the men in the kitchen boiling water, doing her best to clean William’s ragged wounds, but it made her nervous. Who knew what hostile microbes lived in the groundwater out here?
As Delilah went through the box, setting its contents out on the kitchen counters, Emma shooed the men out of the kitchen.
“Just like Thanksgiving,” she joked. “Always useless.”
They went to work on William, who’d passed out by now. Normally, Delilah would have been concerned by that, but he wasn’t dead yet, and her job was made easier if the patient wasn’t screaming with every stitch she made in him.
“He’s going to be in bad shape for a long time,” she told Emma. “These deep muscles might not mend right.”
“Do you know what happened?” Emma asked.
“They won’t tell me.”
Emma shook her head. “Those boys,” she said, a smile in her voice that Delilah found a little nauseating. She looked up for a moment, only to find that Emma was shaking her head like William had been a naughty toddler.
Delilah stopped. She felt like she was talking to an alien.
“He nearly died,” she said. “This wasn’t roughhousing.”
“They get out of hand sometimes,” Emma said. “William’s got strong shifter blood. He’ll be right as rain in a few months.”
Delilah just closed her eyes for a second, then went back to stitching. She was doing the best she could, given the circumstances, but what he really needed was the hospital in Anchorage — William needed heavy antibiotics for one thing, and probably a drain fo
r another. There was no way he wouldn’t get an infection.
“Emma,” she said, slowly and quietly. “He really, really needs to go to a hospital.”
Emma looked up at her, brow furrowed.
“Roy said not to take him,” Emma said doubtfully.
“I don’t—” Delilah started, and then stopped. She took a deep breath: there were a lot of them and only one of her. No matter how true it might be, calling Roy an idiot who didn’t care about his own pack wouldn’t get her very far.
“Roy isn’t a doctor,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t understand how bad this is.”
Emma stared at Delilah and blinked, once.
“Do you think you could convince him to let William at least go to the clinic in town?”
“He was very clear,” Emma said. “He’s not going to change his mind, especially not if I’m the one asking.”
Delilah closed her eyes and flexed her blood-covered hands. She was sweating inside her latex gloves, and she had the very beginning of a headache. The stitches that she’d been able to give William didn’t look very good. The table he was on was too low, and even though they’d brought in every lamp they could find, it was no operating lamp.
“Okay,” she said. “Then you’ve got to send them all away on an errand, except Miles.”
“Why?”
Delilah began to think that Emma might be kind of dumb.
“So we can sneak him out and to the hospital.”
“But Roy said—“
“This man is going to die,” Delilah hissed, leaning over him and toward the other woman. “I don’t give a flying fuck what Roy said. My job is to keep William alive, and I can’t do that here.”
Emma looked at William again, still utterly passed out on the table. She still didn’t seem nearly as concerned as the situation warranted.
“Tell them I need a better light,” Delilah suggested. “Have them break into the clinic again, doctors’ offices, dentists’ offices, I don’t know, I don’t care. Just get them out and get Miles in here so he can help us carry William.”
