Once Upon A Valentine

by Emma Roman

  While every man wanted to think of himself as the Incredible Hulk, able to fend off twenty villains with one arm, Paul had a pretty honest opinion of his own abilities, from having been in rodeo for so long. Much as he wanted to believe he could push off two big, in-shape EMTs with one go, he was surprised by his own strength. Damn adrenaline must really be kicking in. He yanked the annoying brace off his neck and threw it on the ground.

  “Paul!” came a familiar voice from above him.

  He looked up to find Caleb Gallagher standing beside a plaid-shirted man and a police officer, at least ten feet up the ditch. What the hell is he doing here?

  “Please, sir. Don’t move.” One of the medics called from behind him. “You’re still bleeding. We need to get you to the hospital.”

  “Just leave me be.” Paul moved his aching legs, climbing up the side of the ditch toward the road. He needed to keep moving. His energy was drawing him forward, and still forward, and more… keep moving.

  “Paul, come here,” Caleb called out, reaching for him like a concerned parent. It was a strange gesture, and it put Paul on his heels. The medics scrambled after him as he limped up the side of the ditch.

  “What the hell happened?” he asked, approaching the uniformed officer. Trooper. Paul didn’t recognize him, so he had to be a trooper. He’d grown up in Springfield, and he knew every deputy in the county.

  “He pulled out in front of me, without even a turning signal,” said the guy in the plaid shirt. It was the same voice, and the same words that Paul had heard before, but his truck was twenty feet down in the ditch.

  How did I heard that guy talking like he was standing right next to me? And how the hell am I walking around after getting hit by a truck?

  “You must not have been going very fast,” the trooper said, scratching something on his pad. “He’s walking around.”

  “He might have internal bleeding, still,” said Mr. Mustache, pulling on his arm. “Come on, now. We need to get you in the ambulance.”

  “I’m not going to the hospital.”

  “You’re gonna need to blow in a breathalyzer.” The trooper held up his hand, walking back toward the flashing lights. “There’s no way you got hit by a semi truck and walked away from it.”

  “It’s been almost an hour since I hit him,” the trucker said, his words faltering at the end. “If he was drunk, he’s not now.”

  “Just some cuts on my face.” Paul wiped at the aching, but it didn’t feel like open wounds anymore. “I’m fine.”

  A broad-shouldered guy ran across the road, like he was coming from Sylvie’s, a big Carhartt coat in his hand. He was in a black t-shirt, and had thick bands of tattooing around his wrists.

  “Thanks, Luther.” Caleb took the coat, passing it to the trucker, who bundled it around himself as soon as it was in his hands. The older man dug around in the pockets and pulled out a phone, turning his back on the group and putting the phone to his ear.

  “Here,” the trooper came back, with a plastic box in his hand.

  Paul took the machine and blew in it, while the trucker talked on his phone and the trooper fussed, and the two EMTs hovered, but he kept his eyes on Caleb Gallagher. The one piece that didn’t make sense.

  Why would Sylvie’s uncle be at his crash site? Had she called him? Is she here?

  “Well below the legal limit,” Caleb said, taking the trooper aside. The big beefcake, Luther, stood with crossed arms like a bodyguard. For the first time, Paul realized what was weird about the scene. It was freezing cold. Luther had on short sleeves. Caleb wore a white t-shirt. Paul wasn’t even a little chilled, but he remembered being cold. Standing on Sylvie’s porch. Freezing his ass off.

  An hour in the freezing snow, no truck heater to keep him warm. Why am I not cold?

  Caleb grabbed Paul’s arm. “I’ll take him home, Officer. Thanks.”

  “What about my truck?” Paul asked. “And what about the accident report?”

  “We’ll handle it.” Caleb bustled him across the road, toward Sylvie’s house. The men behind them argued, but the trooper seemed to be breaking up the scene and moving toward his cruiser with Luther in his ear.

  “Wait a minute.” Paul stopped in Sylvie’s driveway, wrenching away from the man’s grasp. “I’m not just going with you, no questions asked.”

  “Oh, I expect you’ll have plenty of questions.” Caleb kept walking, all the way to his big, red truck. He climbed in and rolled the window down. “Now get in so I can take you home.”

  “But my phone, my wallet, all my—”

  “Luther will handle it.” Caleb grabbed the side of the truck and the veins in his arms bulged, menacingly. “Now get in the damn truck, Paul.”

  Shaking his head, Paul limped around to the passenger side and slid into the seat. “Are you going to tell me why you were here?”

  The vehicle began to reverse and he watched Sylvie’s house recede into the darkness again. For the second time that night.

  “Sylvie called me.” Caleb waved at Luther as he pulled out on to the white-tracked highway, heading west toward Paul’s home. The EMTs were pissed, but whatever magic touch Caleb had, Paul wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. The last thing he’d wanted was to sit on the side of the road for an hour while they filled out reports and exchanged names and made phone calls.

  “You have questions,” Caleb said. “So ask them.”

  “Why are you here? Why did Sylvie call you?”

  “You were in an accident, and she had to save your life.”

  Paul’s stomach dropped. Sylvie. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s asleep, and she’s fine.” Caleb turned off the highway onto one of the back road ways to the Banfield ranch. “What do you remember?”

  He closed his eyes. It was all a blur, and still surreal, like his blood was pumping too fast, or he was high. “It’s still sort of a blur. I was…on Sylvie’s porch, and she wouldn’t talk to me, so I peeled out…”

  “I saw the tracks.” Caleb’s tone was heavy, disapproving. “And you ended up in the ditch.”

  “I don’t remember much. But I do remember Sylvie… Her voice…” Paul shook his head. In the black, he thought he remembered Sylvie saying something… but it had to be a dream.

  “After the truck hit you?”

  “Yes.” He opened his eyes. They were on an unfamiliar road, and the snow was falling so thick, it looked like light speed in a Star Wars movie. In the dark, he could see shadows of trees. They pulled to a stop along the side of the road.

  “And you remember Sylvie saying something?”

  “Yeah.” Paul looked around. “Where the hell are we?”

  “On the way to your ranch.” Caleb turned off the truck and took a deep breath. “I want to show you something. Come with me.”

  The man got out into the snow and Paul sat very still. This was the opening of a horror movie. I have to be dreaming.

  “Come out here,” Caleb said.

  Because that’s what a serial killer would say.

  “I’m fine in here.” Paul put his hands on his arms to warm himself, but he didn’t feel the cold. Strange, since Caleb’s door was open, and it had to be almost zero degrees outside.

  “Paul. Come out here. Trust me.”

  “You’re not gonna murder me?” Paul raised a brow. Might as well make a joke, if he was going to die out here.

  “I’m not planning on it. But don’t push me.” Caleb’s tone went tight again, like a father’s. It was the oddest experience, because part of him expected it.

  “Fine.” He climbed across the console and jumped out after the man. “So, it’s cold out here? So what.”

  “But is it?” Caleb asked, raising his arms like a crucifix, up into the snowfall. An eerie, white Jesus in the night. “Tell me, Paul. Are you cold?”

  “No. I guess I’m not.” Paul put out his hand to catch the snowflakes. “I guess it must have warmed up since the accident.”

  “It didn’t.�
� The man lowered his arms. “And tell me, do you feel any pain?”

  Paul moved his body, rolling his shoulders. “I mean, everything aches, still, but no. I must have been pretty lucky in that accident.”

  “And the cuts on your face?”

  He felt along the side of his face, but other than a dull ache, and a bit of an itch, there was nothing. “Lacerations. They must have started closing already.”

  “Look. There’s no easy way to tell you this.” Caleb took a handful of snow from the ground and approached him.

  Paul ducked when the older man reached for his face, but Caleb slid the snow across his skin and it came away bloody. They walked to the side mirror on the truck and Caleb wiped at his face again.

  “Look close,” he said.

  The headlights were the only illumination, and Paul could barely see his skin, but the closer he got to the mirror, the more he saw two long, raised wounds on his cheek.

  “Dammit, that’s going to scar.” He ran his fingerpad along the wounds. “I’ll look rugged, though.”

  “You won’t scar.” The man threw the bloody snow on the ground, where it was almost melted in the other powder. “In fact, those lines will be gone by the time you wake up in the morning. They weren’t very deep to begin with.”

  Paul grunted and wiped at his cheek. “The hell they will. I’ve got a scar on my leg that looked just like this…” From where I got gored by a bull. But he couldn’t finish the words out loud.

  “You might have old scars. But you won’t make any new ones.”

  “Why the hell not?” Paul kept wiping at his skin. “Did you do something to me?”

  “No.” Caleb stepped back and pulled off his shirt, throwing it on the ground. “But Sylvie did.”

  Paul recoiled at the man’s stupidity. “You’re going to freeze.”

  “No, I’m not.” He popped open the button on his jeans. “The only way to explain all this is to show you what Sylvie did.”

  “Why the fuck are you taking off your clothes, man?” Paul backed up, but the truck door stopped his progress, slamming shut. “Knock it off.”

  “I have to show you.” Caleb sidestepped, coming fully into the headlights. “It’s the way we teach you, the first time.”

  Before Paul could open his mouth, the air shimmered in a bright pop of energy and the form of a wolf appeared. He backed up into the truck again, but kept backing up, away from the…animal.

  The energy shimmered again and a naked Caleb Gallagher appeared when the ball of light stopped glowing.

  “Holy. Motherfucking. Shit.” Paul froze in place. He just turned into a wolf.

  “I’m a werewolf, son.” Caleb reached for him, like he’d done when Paul was in the ditch. “And now, so are you.”

  “No fucking way.” Paul shook his head, trying to move his limbs, but he couldn’t. Something does feel different, but this can’t be it. I have to be dreaming.

  “Try it.” The man walked toward him. “Just imagine yourself as a wolf. Imagine there’s a wolf inside you, and it wants to come out, and—”

  The chanting rhythm of the words caught him off-guard, and Paul saw himself shifting, as Caleb had, and a warm ribbon of energy curled around him. He heard a ripping of fabric, and a shimmer of light took his vision, and suddenly, he was racing down the road in the dark, on all fours, howling into the snow. A wolf snout where his nose had been.

  ***

  Sylvie held the mug of steaming tea in her hands and a knock on her door brought her out of her chair. She ran through the kitchen, her heart pounding, and opened it to find… Luther.

  Why not Paul? Why wouldn’t he come straight to her?

  Her cousin’s mate strolled into the kitchen, kicking the snow off his boots. “Well, the tow truck is here, so the noise should go away soon.” He pulled the door closed behind him. “Then maybe you can get some sleep.”

  “How is he?” she tried to keep the hopeful note out of her voice, but it slipped in.

  “Paul?” One of Luther’s brows shot up. “Caleb took him home.”

  “So he isn’t coming here?”

  “He’ll stop by in the morning, on his way to work.” Luther grabbed a glass from beside the sink and filled it with water. “Sorry, I’m parched, do you mind?”

  She waved at him, but he’d already started drinking. He meant that her uncle would stop by on his way to the restaurant. But what about Paul?

  Sylvie had considered turning him so many times over the last three years, since she first felt the magick pull. And if she’d ever gotten close enough that she could tell him about her own wolf, she would have given him the choice, just like any mate.

  But Caleb had warned her off, practically with a death threat, and the hope of turning him had only ever been a dream after that. Still, she’d memorized the spell, in case Caleb ever changed his mind.

  “He said he talked to you about leaving.” Luther set the glass back beside the sink and wiped his mouth.

  Sylvie backed up to her chair, nodding, trying to keep her watery eyes as low as she could manage. “I’ve been packing.”

  “Do you have somewhere to go?” Luther leaned against the counter. “I know Maggie and I won’t stay here forever, and we made some good friends in Choaca. Maybe you could come with us.”

  “No.” Sylvie wiped at her cheek. “I’ll go back home. My mother probably hasn’t even cleaned out my room.”

  “I thought it had been three years since you were in Wyoming.”

  “It has.” She paced her breathing, trying to keep the emotion from surfacing. “But she always thought I’d come back.”

  “And this place?”

  “It belongs to the Gallagher business.” She fisted her hand around the hot mug. “Sean will probably just clean it out and use it for tourists again.”

  There was an awkward pause, but Sylvie didn’t dare look up. One stray piece of eye contact, and she couldn’t be certain she’d be able to hold the tears back.

  “I wish it didn’t have to be like this, but when Caleb gets a bee in his bonnet, there’s no stopping him,” Luther said, coming across the kitchen toward her. He stood awkwardly in front of her and she tried to smile and release him from his duty, but he pulled her into his arms in a big bear hug.

  Sylvie bit her lip to keep the tears back, even though the contact felt like a balm to her wounded soul. But she smiled and nodded and curled back into her chair.

  “Thanks, Luther.” Sylvie kept nodding, like the movement would keep the tears at bay.

  “Stop by and say goodbye to the family before you head out of town.”

  But she couldn’t. If she didn’t pack her stuff and leave as soon as possible, she’d never be able to go.

  6

  Paul turned over in his warm bed and took a deep breath, waiting for the headache. There would undoubtedly be some kind of monster hangover coming, given how drunk he’d been the night before.

  So drunk, he thought he’d gotten in an accident and somehow transformed into an animal. So drunk, he dreamed he’d run through the snow as this wolf for so long, he collapsed, exhausted, in the snow.

  He moved his very human fingers in front of his face and looked down at his very human chest, and…strange sheets. Did I fall asleep in someone else’s bed?

  But when he took in the rest of the room, it didn’t register in familiarity. It wasn’t his brother’s, or his mother’s, or his sister’s. The sheets were a dark, silky blue, and there was no comforter.

  The bed was small, almost like a twin—much smaller than his bed at home. It had a yellow wood frame, like it had been hewn from the pine trees outside, by someone’s hands. Other furniture matched the lodge-y feel, and dotted the small, dark room in intervals.

  A window showed pine trees stretching up around the house. Where the hell am I and what the hell happened to my clothes?

  “I see you’re awake,” said a female voice—decidedly unsultry, almost motherly. He glanced at the door and a short, pixie-li
ke woman stood in shadow. When she stepped forward, his heart sank down into his stomach.

  Maggie Gallagher.

  Sean and Kier’s little sister, Caleb’s daughter, Sylvie’s cousin. She’d gone to Mexico for four months and come back with the beefcake from Paul’s dream. Luther. He barely knew her, except in context of other people, but at least her father wasn’t—

  “Ah, finally,” Caleb’s voice echoed behind his daughter and Paul fisted his hands in the sheets. It was a dream.

  “You’ve had quite a night.” Maggie stepped all the way into the room. “But it looks like all your wounds have healed. Not even a scar left.”

  “Where the hell am I?” Paul ground out, sitting up.

  “In my home,” Caleb growled with warning under his words, “So I’ll thank you not to use that tone with my daughter.”

  “Do you remember last night?” Maggie asked, running her hand along the foot of the bed. “We brought you here after your first shift. You passed out.”

  “No,” Paul said, pushing his fists into the soft sheets. “That was all a dream.”

  “Not a dream.” Caleb crossed his arms and leaned against the door jamb. “You got in an accident near my niece’s home. She said some words, which you said last night that you remembered, and then I took you out in the woods so you could shift.”

  “You needed to heal the rest of the way,” Maggie said. “We heal the fastest when we’re shifted.”

  But all their words were coming too fast. Last night was a dream. Wasn’t it?

  “We made you a big breakfast, so you can get your energy back.” Maggie nodded behind her. “And Sean brought some clothes for you. Yours…well, when you shift in clothes like that, they mostly rip apart.”

  “No. I’m… last night was a dream.” He shook his head. Everything swirled in a foggy haze. He’d been at Sylvie’s, hadn’t he? And then… The accident… Sylvie in his truck, talking to him, then Caleb…

  And the wolf.

  “It wasn’t a dream,” Caleb said, his tone hard. “Look, I’m going to tell you all this as fast as I can because there’s no sense sugar-coating it, so just listen.”