The room was exactly as she’d expected. Dingy, dirty, stinky but good enough. It had a shower, a mostly clean sink and a bed that didn’t have bedbugs. Throwing the plastic bag of snack foods on the bed and her duffle on the floor gave her a fresh wash of panic, but Amie was good at stilling her emotions. She sucked in a deep breath and held it long enough to help ward off the racing heart and urge to pick up the smudged yellow phone sitting on the bedside table.
With measured movements she stripped off her clothes, the ones that still smelled of home and Zeke, bundled them into the only garbage bag in the room, and shoved them to the bottom of her bag. Stepping under tepid water didn’t ease the pains from the driving, but it did help focus her thoughts. This night was the only one she could afford to lose control and mourn the loss she’d caused with her stupidity. Then in the morning would start the long trek towards North Dakota and Canada. She’d cross the border in her cat form and find a new pack to live near. Neither of them would survive without some contact with shifters, but she needed a new start. Someplace where she would never be recognized and, this time, she’d keep to herself. No more socializing and making connections. The pack runs would be her time to be with others. The rest of the month would be used to stay alive and try to regain Fate’s favor.
Amie climbed from the shower and finally looked at herself in the mirror. The bruises had mostly faded and other than her eyes being puffy from permanently holding back tears, she looked normal. The urge to break the glass for the lie it told was nearly overpowering. How could a body go through what she was suffering and not show the signs?
The steps into the room felt like they took forever. She knew she needed to lie down, let it out and try to sleep, but the dread was enough to make her pause. Some of the emotional damper was still active. She knew it was, because she could still function. But the moment the floodgates opened she’d be unable to rein it back in. Drowning in her own sorrow might be a reality.
Crawling into the bed, feeling the bleached sheets, cool and comforting against her hands and knees, had her craving sleep. But the pillow cradled her head and was the trigger for the tears to start. She’d swallowed them back for so many hours that her jaw hurt from clenching and her eyes burned. Once they started flowing it was like trying to hold back the floods as they slammed into a levy.
A keening cry built in her chest. Long suppressed and filled with pain, it boiled in her chest. It seared her organs as it bubbled and crawled its way out of her throat. It held notes of longing and despair. Burying her face in the pillows before opening her mouth was the only thing keeping the world from shaking at the loss she felt. Screaming until her eyes felt like they’d pop out of her head didn’t help ease anything. Agony raked her soul. Fingernails, human and dull, drew blood from her arms as she raked them, trying to free herself from the feelings. Blood pooled in the marks but they healed too fast to even give up enough red to drip off her skin.
Time passed, stood still, streamed backward. Nothing mattered to Amie as she wept, thrashed and wounded herself over and over again. When she lost her voice to the cries she tried to use the pain of destroyed vocal cords to rein in herself, tether her soul to something tangible, but even that didn’t work. She was afloat in misery, bashed by the waves of guilt, torn apart by her own failings.
Dry heaves took her by surprise. Snapping her for a moment from the heartache long enough for her to stumble, blinded by swollen eyes and weak from crying, into the bathroom. What little she’d eaten left, scraping her already-painful throat. She puked, hoping to see her heart expelled with the horrible cramping. If she could just rid herself of the fucking organ she could be numb, able to handle the loss.
Once the nausea passed she found herself curled on the filthy bathroom floor, too close to the base of the toilet but too weak to move from it. At least her body couldn’t cry anymore. Feebly she hiccupped, gasping for air. Her mind was calm. Devoid of anything, too weak to drag up images of her losses. Sleep crawled across her skin, raising goose bumps and pulling a relieved sigh from puffy lips. Waking would bring more of the same, she knew it, but for the moment she could escape and dream of better times. Giving into the darkness was simple, easy and blessedly void of emotion. Amie would sleep, heal and prepare to scream to the heavens again. But for a short time she could dodge the pain, relegating it to the space between waking and terrors.
Tomorrow, she promised herself, tomorrow she’d leave the motel and travel more. She’d bury the pain once again and move forward, or farther away from her home, her love, her life.
*****
Zeke felt like he’d been through the meat grinder. Like on the Pink Floyd video. He wondered for a moment if he’d been an extra for a recreation and just couldn’t remember it. Something horrible had happened. He knew by the muted pain that he was surfing hard on some kick-ass drugs. Which also meant he was in the clinic because the doc knew too well he burned off painkillers quicker than anyone else. Stiff muscles protested as he thought about moving. Maybe it was better to just lie there, still as a corpse for…ever. Not moving ever again sounded like the best idea ever.
Attempting to laugh at himself proved how much of an idiot he was. With the promise just made to his body not to move the small jolts from a low laugh was agony.
“Moron.” He groaned, as sound traveled from his desert climate of a throat. Berating himself seemed like the logical thing to do. “Stop talking.”
Logic sucked. Razor blades carved interesting designs along his throat and his lungs constricted so sharply he thought he was going to die right then and there. Why was he talking out loud to himself anyway? That didn’t make sense. But what did he know? His body was a pile of burger, probably sitting on a butcher’s block waiting for packaging anyway. Although, if that were true, why then could he feel his fingers wiggling a little on the bed? Or was he controlling his hand from across the room? Maybe it was going to be used for special digit sausage or something and he was moving them in another room. They did feel disconnected from his body, so that actually made more sense than the rest.
An annoying sound kept going off near his ear, or his ear hole… Did he still have ears? Wonder if he’d make a tasty head cheese. Or was that something else that used ears and snouts? Something did. Although he’d never tried it. Fleetingly, he wondered what it tasted like. Was it really cheese? It looked more like a weird meat loaf when he’d watched a show on Food Network.
The stupid sound went off again. This time it was more like a buzzing. What in a butcher shop made a buzzing noise? An image of a bug zapper popped to mind. Yeah, that was it. It was the buzzzzzzzz, zap of some unfortunate insect getting fried by electricity that was nagging him. He was impressed he could identify it without eyes or ears. Where had he been on the thoughts about those anyway?
A cough came from nowhere and ripped his meaty carcass into a million pieces. Pain did amazing things to the body. If anyone knew it, Zeke would. With this unexpected burst of agony came a clear mind and the realization that he was indeed crewed up like meat, but it was all still intact, kept together by bruised and destroyed skin. His eyes existed in their sockets but refused to open. But his mouth? Yeah that worked, and his throat really was a desert.
“Fuck. Water.”
“Fucking water is useless. No friction.”
“Go away.”
The annoying other voice snickered. “You know I’m not you? Or are you talking to yourself again?”
Zeke opened his mouth to state his opinion on the question, but wasn’t quite sure of the answer. He snapped his jaw shut, groaning from the spike of pain it caused. He took a breath and let it out slowly. He finally muttered the truth. “Don’t care.”
“Aww, and I thought you’d be all happy to hear your own brother’s voice as the first thing when you woke up.”
Pete. Fucker.
“Go away.”
“Yeah. Love you too. Doc says to not try to move, so just lay there and whimper like a baby. The women will be her
e soon to coddle you.”
Women. Something clicked in his brain. Amie.
“Is she okay?” Zeke struggled to open his eyes for real this time, but still found it impossible. His body refused to obey when he went to roll over. Inhaling deeply was the only thing he could do, searching for her scent. His head fell to the side instinctively when the sweet smell of his mate tickled his senses. He hummed as his muscles relaxed.
“Yeah, um. We’ll talk about it later.”
Every-single-fucking-thing stopped for an instant. Lying. His brother was lying.
“Pete.”
“Don’t. Just lie there, okay? I know you can smell it on me but I want you awake for a few minutes. If you try getting up or try to shift they will put you back under for another day.”
Struggling with the need to know and the need to stay awake he lay still, breathing and waiting for his coyote to…
“Why the fuck is my coyote still sleeping?”
“Margie concocted something to help keep you from shifting until you’re healed enough.”
A completely human growl rolled up his chest. “Margie and her drugs.”
“Yeah. So relax. Okay? I didn’t want to believe that you were going to be okay so I’ve sort of forced the doc and his minions to stay out of the room for the past couple of hours. I’m not sure how long we’ll have to talk.”
Zeke couldn’t help it; even knowing full well his brother hid something big and the fact that his animal was drugged, he laughed. Or more like coughed drily through cracked lips until an ice chip slid between them.
They sat silently for a few moments, Pete feeding glorious moisture to Zeke one sliver at a time. The slide of cool water down his tortured throat gave a moment of thought. He still couldn’t remember why he was in the clinic, but something big had happened. Amie had been with him recently but probably had to leave for something. Was she setting up another prank? A memory nagged at his mind, but he couldn’t grasp it.
Just like he taught his students over and over again, if you lose the scent trail, double back and find it again. Mentally sniffing out a path wasn’t as easy, but he tried anyway. The last thing he remembered was poison ivy. No. He’d been in the clinic and Skip had come in, angry at Amie. And they had been shot by Margie.
Crying out, he flinched from the bombardment of memories. The cabin. His mate. The love. Amie’s story.
The monitor in the room started beeping rapidly and the door burst open. He could smell Doc Garrison, pungent and covered in antiseptic. With him was a nurse he’d met but couldn’t remember a name for. And Skip. His body and mind calmed against his will as his Alpha strode into the room. Usually the effect was welcome, but not this time. Not when he knew something big had happened, that he’d been out for a few days, and that he needed to stay awake.
“Calm down.” Skip’s voice flowed over him and he relaxed even more.
“I told you letting him wake too soon was a bad idea, but no, you think you know more because you are his brother. Stupid idiot Marrows, always coming in my clinic and trying to be in charge. I deal with your brother enough.” Doc’s voice was growly as he bustled around the room. Zeke tracked him by sound and smell, silently thrilled the man was pissed at someone else for a change.
“Whatever. He needs the chance to wake up a little in between doses of drugs. And I wanted to make sure he was going to actually wake up. If he was going to be a vegetable or something I needed to know.”
Maybe it was because he couldn’t open his eyes, or perhaps he was just getting better at reading people through voice, but the pain and concern in Pete’s words had him trying to reach out to his brother. When he couldn’t get his hand to even twitch he huffed. “Take my hand, you baby. All this crying is making me emotional.”
“Shut up, asshat.”
Even though his brother sounded angry, a moment later the bed dipped and a rough set of fingers gingerly gripped his. Zeke tried to squeeze back, unsure if he actually did or not, but Pete’s thumb tapped a fast rhythm onto his palm. A solid shoulder pressed against his and Zeke soaked up the comfort being offered.
“Before I let the good doctor put you back under, how bad is it?”
Zeke pondered that for a moment. “It’s not too bad. Well, fuck, that’s a lie. I am sure the meds are still blocking a lot of the pain. I can’t move anything and my coyote is still drugged. But I’m alive.”
The room held its breath. That was the only way he could put an image to the pause. Anxiety crept along his skin.
“What do you remember?” Skip had approached the bed from the other side and placed a hand on Zeke’s shoulder. The hold was gentle but held a touch of power. Restrained. That’s how it felt.
“I remember being sent to the cabin. Waking and stuff.” He wouldn’t talk about the story Amie had told, wouldn’t break her confidence like that. “Amie cooked. We talked?”
There was more, he could feel it. What was he missing? Amie had made an amazing dinner. They’d talked, made love, talked more. He’d been so happy, beyond himself when she’d said she wanted to be their mate, that she loved him.
It was on that single memory that the rest came back. The wolves, the attack, his life slowly dripping from him on the dirt and the last thing he saw was the flash of spotted fur and a cat yowl. His mate. His Amie had come to his rescue and it had been too late. He’d know he was going to die. But he hadn’t. He was alive. And mostly-mated. Loved and trusted by a perfect woman who loved him.
“She loves me.” He grinned, knowing he split his battered lips and not caring. He wanted to see everyone’s face to see all the smug looks as they silently told him no shit, Sherlock, but he still couldn’t make his eyes open.
Fuck it. He didn’t need eyes. He knew the smell of happiness and smugness better than most. Pulling a deep breath in confused him at first. Pain, concern, apprehension. That’s what his nose told him. But why? He took another breath, but slower this time, tasting each scent. The panic he’d tried to shrug off came back with a vengeance as his heart rate picked up and the monitor came to life with a barrage of beeps.
“Why? What happened? She’s alive I know it. I smell her on my sheets.” His voice quivered. When he felt his brother’s hand slip from his he tried to hold onto it, but he had no strength. Alone. He lay alone, surrounded by everyone in his life. No. Amie wasn’t there. And the reason behind her absence was a cause for tension. Anger burst through his panic. “What in the hell is going on?”
The doc approached, a plume of hospital smells preceding him. At the same time the hand on his shoulder tightened and someone pressed down on his ankles.
His brother leaned in, his breath cool against Zeke’s tear streaked cheek. When did I start crying? The next words told him all he needed to know and shattered his world like nothing else could have.
“She left Coyote Bluff.”
“No,” he screamed. “No. Why would she do that? She promised me. Told me she loved me. Why would she lie like that?”
“She didn’t lie. She broke the agreement between the pack and her. She had to.”
The reason for the doctor coming so close was evident as a warmth spread from his hand up his arm. They were putting him under again. Darkness raced ahead of the heat and he fell fast into it. He opened his mouth to argue. “She didn’t. Trusted you. Doodle—”
The last thing he heard was his brother’s concerned question. “What did he mean? She didn’t trust us? Did he say doodle?”
Chapter Sixteen
The rabbit’s nose twitched furiously as it scented the air. It stood on its hind legs looking around, but she knew it wouldn’t find her. She’d been crouched watching it for over an hour, creeping an inch at a time until she was within pouncing range. Just one more half-step and she’d launch her coiled body at it, taking down her meal. But she needed it to look away one more time.
Waiting was part of the game. She could scent the air, watch the birds play in the bushes and listen to the mice scurry under the
leaves. It was so peaceful. Different than when her human was running the show. With the other one in charge life was drama, pain, horror. That’s why, when given the opportunity, the bobcat side had pushed and taken over. They both needed some rest, some time without the agony of human existence. And the cat could provide it for them. She’d done it before and took easily to the forest. They’d feasted every day on rabbits and lounged by a creek or two, basking in the sun. She loved being a lazy kitty, it was far better than the heartache and agony of her human.
As if her thought was transmitted to her prey it slowly went back to four feet, and put its head down to continue munching dandelion greens. The moment was perfect and the cat let her leg muscles launch her across the space. Front paws touched the ground for a split second before she bound forward, her spine like a huge spring, propelling her right into the rabbit. A quick clench of her jaws around the neck of her dinner subdued it until it stopped twitching.
Preening was the closest thing to how she felt. Carrying the meal in her jaws allowed her to prance a little, her stubby tail wiggling. They’d eat at the creek again, on the moss-covered rock she’d adopted as her sunning spot. Then she’d clamber into her den for a much deserved nap.
As always, there was a momentary sense of queasiness as the human part balked at eating raw meat, but the cat was in control. She knew what they needed to survive and wasn’t going to let the weaker half back until her human could deal with the pain of life without their mate.
Switching Gears: Coyote Bluff Series Book 3 Page 14
