by SJ Himes
“What the hell are you—” he yelped in alarm when a huge arm slashed out, and he nearly lost his head but managed to pull back, claws a hairsbreadth from slashing his throat. The other arm swung in from the side and landed a blow to his ribs, throwing him backward several feet. He caught himself on a car parked on the curb, fingers desperately grasping to keep himself upright. The security alarm went off, the horn blaring loud enough to make his ears hurt, and pain bloomed on his side, ribs complaining. The werewolf prowling toward him with lips pulled back in a snarl flattened their ears in discomfort. They roared, spittle flying, and a meaty fist plowed through the hood of the car, the alarm dying with a forlorn wail, the whole vehicle rocking from the impact.
Rael pulled himself upright and ran around the back of the car, sprinting across the narrow street, a bone-rattling roar spurring him on. Heavy, hot, and harsh breathing down the back of his neck flooded him with adrenaline—he was no match for a fully transformed werewolf intent on tearing him apart.
The sidewalk was empty, people inside and sleeping, no cars passing by on the one-way street. A loud snarl gave him just enough warning to duck, one long arm swiping and missing, claws scoring along a brick wall. Rael spun and ran between two parked cars, looking over his shoulder as he went. Metal crunched under the werewolf’s weight and it crouched to leap after him.
Headlights nearly blinded him, and brakes squealed. Rael staggered backwards, arm over his face in a futile attempt to protect himself. Forget becoming werewolf chow, he was about to be roadkill.
Chapter 5
Jameson parked his black BMW 7 Series at the curb outside the Morrow household, shutting off the engine. He opened the door and just as he got out, he noticed Scylla standing on the front stoop of the tiny single-story house. The front light was off, but he saw well enough with the waxing moon overhead and the random, poorly spaced streetlamps. He was able to see Scylla’s expression from the curb. Scylla crossed her arms and quirked a brow at him, clearly wondering at his timing.
Jameson couldn’t help the shrug and wry grin, and she shook her head at him, chuckling. “It’s the middle of the night, Jameson.”
“We’re werewolves, Scylla. This is close to the middle of the day for us,” he teased, and the corner of her mouth twitched. The night was calm, and his voice echoed down the street and off the houses with darkened windows and parked cars. The area was mostly human mundanes, and a majority of them were asleep at this hour.
“Maybe for hotshot business execs who drive fancy cars and send expensive gifts via courier,” Scylla held up the silk pouch he’d sent the pendant in that morning. “Rest of us work mundane hours.” Jameson didn’t deny any of it, though he hoped Rael’s reception of the gift went over better than it did with Scylla. She dropped her hand and stepped down the stoop, and he went to meet her at the sidewalk. “He’s not home yet.”
Jameson pulled out his phone and checked the time. “I guess I’m early.”
“Does he know you’re coming? He worked a late shift, so he usually grabs a snack then crawls into bed.”
Jameson was about to answer when a roar echoed over the houses, muted with distance, but full of fury. He spun, Scylla on his heels, and he sprinted for the street corner, looking down Athens. They heard a shout, and it was unmistakably Rael.
“Rael!” Scylla screamed, running down the middle of the road, heedless of the few cars driving past.
Jameson ran after her, soon overtaking her and speeding ahead. Rael was a few hundred feet away, running from the massive predator that chased after him. A single block passed in seconds, and Jameson was less than a hundred feet from Rael when a werewolf, their identity obscured by shadows and the glare of a truck’s headlights, leapt for Rael, who was standing in the middle of the road. Rael was seconds from being obliterated by the front bumper of the truck.
“No!” Jameson shouted, helpless to do anything but watch as Rael died, but he pushed himself harder regardless.
The yellow-white glare of headlights obscured his vision, adrenaline and terror filled his heart, heartbroken denial pushing a shout past his lips—
A vibrant green light and a swamping pulse of magic boomed outward from where Rael stood silhouetted against intense verdant green light, everything slowed. A dome of dark green magic erupted, Rael a shadow against the brilliant explosion that originated from within.
Jameson ran, each step taking forever to touch the ground, heart laboring, his blood like sand in his veins.
The blast knocked him off his feet, his body rolling a few times before coming to a hard stop. Gasping for air, Jameson rolled to his side, managing after a few attempts to get his hands under himself. Pushing upright, he staggered to his feet and squinted through thick smoke, the air heavy with ozone and the stench of scorched metal.
“Rael!” Jameson called, rushing through the smoke in the direction he believed he last saw Rael.
The pavement was torn asunder, black chunks and bits littering the road. The streetlamps were dark, the headlights of the truck were extinguished, and he could no longer hear a running engine. The street was quiet, his heart beating loudly in his ears. His nose was useless, the overwhelming odors from the magical explosion obscuring everything else. Jameson coughed into his arm and forged ahead.
He cleared the worst of the smoke and saw the truck. It was a single-axle moving truck, stopped at an angle, as if the front end hit a telephone pole or median, metal frame and panels punched inward, the engine smoking. The driver kicked his door open and then jumped to the curb, staring around in shock.
A crumpled form lay a few feet in front of the truck. “Rael!” Jameson knelt beside the body and gently turned him over. Rael was covered in dirt and debris, though he could see no injuries, and he ran his hands over Rael checking for wounds and broken bones. There was a huge bruise blooming along his rib cage, but Jameson couldn’t feel any broken ribs under the deep red marks. Rael didn’t wake.
“Rael! Jameson!” He heard Scylla running before he saw her, and she appeared out of the smoke, leaving swirls in her wake. She saw them and hurried to kneel next to Rael, immediately checking for a pulse. “He’s alive.” She grabbed her phone from her back pocket and clicked on the flashlight, peeling back Rael’s eyes one by one, the brilliant blue irises slowly dilating in response to the light.
“I haven’t found any open wounds, and no broken bones. He’s got a huge bruise on his side.”
Scylla pulled Rael’s shirt up higher, and palpated the bruise, then tugged it back down when she came to the same conclusion Jameson had. Scylla looked up at the truck. The dent was deep and wide, vaguely circular, and in no way looked like impact with a person. Rael should’ve been a smear on the windshield. “He should be dead,” Scylla whispered, shocked. “We need to get him to the hospital. He may have internal injuries.”
Claws scraped on concrete, and Jameson leapt to his feet, spinning to face the sidewalk to their left. A flicker of thought and claws extended from his fingers as the transformation gathered in his muscles, preparing to defend Rael and Scylla. The smoke cleared enough he caught sight of a werewolf, fur scorched along one side, flesh blackened and seared, yellow eyes brimming with frustration and rage.
“You’re fucking dead,” Jameson growled, fangs growing longer as his jaws widened, elongating to hold sharper teeth than blunt human cuspids. His vision deepened, the flares of body heat and pheromones appearing like fireflies through the smoke. The stranger crouched, one arm tucked close to their side, the air heavy with the stench of pain and bitter rage. Jameson roared, windows shaking and debris scattering before him, and the other werewolf flinched back into the shadows. Their form twisted, as if the pain from their injuries were wrecking their focus. Some betas and gammas could achieve the monstrous biped form, but it was harder for them to maintain it if hurt or over long periods of time. Under stress they reverted back to human form.
A second passed, then the unknown werewolf slinked away, Jameson’s senses confir
ming the retreat through the stink of fear left in their wake. Jameson let go of the change, his body returning to its human form.
Jameson went to Rael’s side and knelt just long enough to scoop Rael’s limp form into his arms. He stood and jogged back toward the Morrow home, Scylla keeping pace at his side. She kept glancing at her son, worry evident on her expressive face. The human truck driver shouted after them, but neither of them paused or looked back.
He made it back to his car in less than a minute and he paused long enough to gesture to his pocket. “Keys in the front left pocket.” Scylla dug out the keyless fob attached to his house keys, and the doors of the BMW unlocked with a soft chirp.
“Put him in the back,” Scylla ordered, and she opened the door before jumping inside. He maneuvered Rael into the back seat of the sedan, Scylla pulling her son along the seat so he lay flat on the cushions, head in her lap. “Boston General, I’ll call ahead to let them know we’re coming.”
Jameson shut the rear door with a thud and got in the car, starting the engine with the push of a button and getting it into gear, pulling away from the curb. He took off to the north, glad for the late hour traffic, listening to Scylla as she called one of her coworkers, passing along what she could of Rael’s condition without any instruments.
Jameson bit his tongue and held back his worried questions, focusing instead on getting them to the hospital in one piece as fast as possible.
The headache was the first thing he was aware of when he managed to crawl out of the darkness. The second was the acrid scent of sanitizers and underlying odors of sickness and pain. He groaned, swallowing hard, fighting the urge to vomit. His ribs ached, but the pain was dull, though annoying enough to drag him out of slumber.
“Rael, honey?”
His mom’s voice cut through the pain and made lights explode behind his closed eyelids. He moaned, rolled to the side, and threw up. He heard people exclaiming and moving around, his mother directing people and ordering them about, and he lay panting on his side, ignoring it all.
Fingers gently brushed damp hair back from his forehead, and he whimpered, needing more contact. Strong, gentle hands carefully manhandled him into a more comfortable position, and eventually the room was quiet again.
“Is he awake?” someone whispered, and Rael tried to answer, but the darkness came back for him.
He woke again sometime later, the headache less severe, though still present between his eyes. Ribs still hurt, too, but the pain had lessened. He felt a bit disconnected and recognized the aftereffects of painkillers. Sounds were muffled, and scents weren’t as overpowering. His joints ached too, but vaguely, so he wouldn’t need a wolfsbane tonic for a short while yet.
He slowly opened his eyes, glad the lights were off, and took in the hospital room. He recognized the style of the room as belonging to Boston General—it was where his mother worked, so he’d seen plenty of hospital rooms when he was younger and with his mom when childcare was hard to find on a nurse’s schedule. An IV line of saline ran to the back of his hand, and that told him his mother was there somewhere—Rael freaked out having a needle stuck into a blood vessel in his forearm, and she knew that. Sure enough, he slowly turned his head and saw his mother asleep on the loveseat that converted into a sleeper, curled under a lightweight blanket. This was one of the private rooms, and he wondered how his mother managed to get him into the pricier option, hoping she wouldn’t get in trouble if her bosses didn’t approve.
It was near dawn, and since the windows opened eastward, he could see mist rolling in from the gray waters of the harbor through a small sliver of a view between tall buildings. The light increased gradually, and his vision cleared the longer he was awake. His improved vision revealed Jameson sitting low in a cushy armchair at his bedside, long legs crossed at the ankle, head tilted to the side, long strands of hair covering his eyes as he slept.
He took the chance to stare and refused to feel like a creeper for doing so, as Jameson had been watching him sleep in turn. He blushed a bit at the thought of Jameson keeping watch over him in the hospital, then frowned as he tried to figure out why he was even in the hospital to begin with.
Rael remembered walking home from work after the shop closed. Getting a couple blocks from home and then a stranger tried to kill him. Not much after that, just headlights, a horn blaring, and blinding light. That explained why his ribs hurt but not how he was still alive.
“Rael?” Jameson sat up slowly, rubbing at his face as he woke up. Jameson was adorable while sleepy. Screw it, Jameson was adorable all the time. Jameson reached out and took Rael’s hand, gently squeezing. “How are you feeling?”
He did his best not to freak out that Jameson was holding his hand and had clearly watched over him all night. “I’m a bit tired, and my head hurts. Ribs, too.” He hurried to clarify when Jameson frowned in concern. “It’s okay, nothing major. What happened?”
Jameson eyed him suspiciously but didn’t fuss. He carefully pulled his chair closer with one hand and leaned in, talking quietly. “Someone attacked you last night.”
“Werewolf,” Rael interrupted. “Didn’t recognize them.”
Jameson nodded. “I didn’t recognize them either. I’ll go by the spot later once you’re outta here and see if I can pick up a trail, figure out who the hell we’re dealing with.”
“The truck,” Rael said, still confused about how he was alive, and from the lack of broken bones, how the truck hadn’t hit him. His ribs ached, but as his mind cleared, he remembered that it was from the werewolf hitting him, and surely if he was run over by a truck, he’d have more than bruises.
Jameson’s expression went a bit sheepish. “Why didn’t you tell Scylla you could do magic? I understand not telling Bertram, but your mom is worried that she did something to make you think she wouldn’t be supportive if she knew you were a practitioner. She’s not mad, though. Just confused. I understand not telling me about it, we’ve only just started courting and it’s okay if you weren’t ready to share.”
“What?” Rael had no idea what Jameson was talking about. None. “What magic? I’m not a practitioner.”
Jameson stared at him, speechless. He sat back in his chair with a thud, and Scylla jerked upright at the sound.
“Honey, you’re awake,” Scylla shot off the sleeper couch and ran to his bedside, leaning down to hug him. “I was so worried about you, but you’re going to be fine.” He hugged her back with one arm, refusing to let go of Jameson’s hand. She straightened and then brushed his hair back from his face. “Dr. Cranston said it was just a case of sudden magical overexertion, and you’ll be fine with some rest and hydration. How’s your head?”
“Tiny headache,” he replied vaguely. “Magical overexertion?”
They weren’t making any sense. He let go of Jameson’s hand and pushed so he was sitting upright in the bed. His head swam and his rib muscles pulled. He groaned softly when he got dizzy. Jameson fumbled for the bed controls before Rael figured it out and raised the head of the bed.
He rested against the pillow and squinted at his mother and Jameson. “I don’t have any magic.” Both Jameson and Scylla stared at him like they were waiting for the punchline to a bad joke. “I haven’t been hiding anything, I swear. I don’t have any magic.”
Scylla frowned at him. “Sweetheart, Dr. Cranston is a medical wizard, and he confirmed the diagnosis for us twice. He’s still on shift, so let me go page him and he can talk to you about it.” Scylla left after sharing a long look with Jameson, and the door swung shut behind her, cutting off the murmur of nursing staff out in the hall.
Rael bit his lip and stared at the door, deeply aware of Jameson’s presence so close to him. He wanted to grab Jameson’s hand and beg him to not let go.
Scylla came back faster than he expected, leading a middle-aged white dude with thinning gray hair in dark blue scrubs with a white name badge that said Dr. Craig Cranston. He came to Rael’s bedside and smiled. “Glad to see you awake. Yo
ur mother tells me you have some questions?” He pulled out a penlight and checked Rael’s eyes in a quick, casual manner with that bedside tone of voice he recognized from spending a few of his formative years playing in the kids’ ward of Boston General while Scylla worked.
“I don’t have magic,” Rael said, repeating it for what felt like the millionth time. His headache was getting worse and he had to piss. Dr. Cranston checked his vitals and then gave him a small smile.
“Let’s get this IV-line out, some breakfast in your belly, and then I’ll come back in an hour and talk to you about what happened last night. Sudden breakouts of magic in hybrids aren’t unheard of, though they are even more rare at your age, but it’s nothing new to medicine. I’ll have a nurse come in with some Tylenol and get that IV out. We gave you some morphine when you came in, but it should be wearing off right about now.”
Dr. Cranston smiled at everyone, nodded to Scylla, and left. The room got quiet, but no one said anything. A nurse soon bustled into the room, carrying a tray and smiling. The nurse gave Rael two huge white pills and a small cup of water, and he took them quickly. She removed the IV while making small talk with Scylla about some mutual coworkers. Rael tuned them all out, too overwhelmed.
Jameson took his hand again, and Rael clung. Finally, the IV was out and breakfast soon arrived, though Rael ignored the hospital food and drank down the orange juice and the coffee in seconds. Jameson took away the tray when Rael refused to touch anything else and went back to holding his hand. The other nurse left, and Rael was left alone with his mother and… suitor? His Jameson? He blushed at that thought and avoided looking Jameson in the eye, though he didn’t relinquish his grip on Jameson’s hand.
The drinks helped, and his headache backed off enough that he wasn’t ready to cry at any random loud noise. Scylla went to use the attached bathroom, and Rael was left alone with Jameson.
