by Mandy Rosko
Mike stuck his own hand through the fence to scratch under the chin of the fearless miniature. "That's amazing."
Even though it wasn't her ranch and she only worked part-time here, Anne still felt a swell of pride in her chest at the genuine awe in his voice.
When Mike pulled his hand away, Westley continued to idly stroke the little one's head, not looking at either of them.
She knew where his thoughts went. Her heart reached out to him. "Chris will get here just fine. Don't worry."
"He should have been here by now. He's a flyer."
"You all must be pretty good friends," Mike commented.
"Very good," Westley answered softly, still not taking his eyes from the little horse nudging his leg.
Not knowing what to say, Anne decided to let Westley in on their plan. She just had to figure out how to remove Brock first.
"Hey, listen, Brock, there're two of us watching him now. If you want, you can go and catch a nap or something."
Jaws lifting in a dog-smile, he wagged his tail and yipped before trotting off. The sound didn’t even scare the babies that were so close to him.
A sting of guilt pierced Anne’s chest. Brock was so gullible, that had been way too easy, but, again, she wanted him to have deniability in everything she had to say. When she was sure he was out of hearing range, she told Westley what her plan was.
His face didn't light up like she hoped it would. "That saves you, but he'll still find a way to marry me off."
"Not if I tell him not to," Mike said.
Westley shook his head. "Getting him to let her out of this marriage is pushing it enough. No matter what everyone else thinks, there's no way he'll change his mind about me. The rest of the pack will agree with him on that part."
Mike cocked his head. "Why are you so sure of that?"
Anne grabbed Mike's arm. "Listen, we should try to find that stone."
"Dad has it," Westley said. The miniatures around him scurried off to play since his attention wasn’t entirely fixed on them any longer.
Mike hissed through gritting teeth. "Perfect."
"He might not be guarding it," Anne said, remembering how he slammed it on the coffee table before leaving to phone other members of the pack.
She could have kicked herself. She should've taken it then. She’d been so mad, she just wanted to get out of there. “I think it's in his living room. We could just walk in his house and take it."
Westley raised an eye at that, as though the concept hadn't occurred to him that his own father could have something so valuable and just leave it lying around.
He jumped over the fence in one graceful leap, not even disturbing the grass on his landing. "You two stay here and watch the horses. I'll run over and get it. If he catches me then at least he can't be mad about it."
"Good idea."
Westley was already up to Gordon’s house, leaving her and Mike alone.
She looked up at him and he turned his eyes down to hers. With no one between them to babysit or make conversation, they stared silently.
Anne's skin hardened and pebbled into goose bumps. She blushed and looked away; into the trees, at her shoes, anywhere but at him.
It was the forbidden fruit thing, it had to be. She couldn't have him so, naturally, she wanted him, even though she barely knew him.
As though sensing what road her thoughts travelled on, he leaned against the fence. He relaxed that muscular body of his against the wood and quirked his lips, his eyes half lidded.
She couldn't take the way he kept reading her. It made her skin shiver, like she was jotting her own thoughts down and handing them over to him. "Are you psychic or something?"
His body tensed like a steel beam, unwelcome surprise took the place of his look of seduction. "What?"
She didn't know how to take his sudden change. "Just asking, I didn't mean—" A curtain lifted inside her mind and the big picture revealed itself.
He stood in the daylight, which meant he couldn’t be a vampire. He wasn’t a werewolf, she would have known that. If he were a warlock he would have used Magic by now. He spoke about visions, and being that he was from Griffon City, it meant he was something.
Why not a psychic? "Are you actually psychic?"
The question intrigued her, probably because she never met a real, live psychic before. Could he read her thoughts right now? Was that how he was getting the visions?
Maybe meeting with Hadrian for the first time jarred something. When he spoke of dying she got the feeling that what he saw wasn’t an everyday occurrence.
He turned away and grumbled so softly even she couldn't make out the words.
Anne had never seen someone act so unhappy over their powers before, unless they were a recent human turned werewolf, vampire, or other paranormal creature that required some drastic change in lifestyle.
Other than that, everyone Anne ever met loved their abilities.
His sour mood confused her. "Are you okay?"
His nose and eyes crinkled in a scowl. "Do me a favor. Just don’t advertise that I’m a psychic, okay?"
Didn’t want anyone to know about his visions. Didn’t want anyone to know he was psychic. "Uh, sure. You sure you're alright?"
"Fine," he snapped.
Anger trickled through her veins like lava. She opened her mouth to snap something back when a roaring caw echoed in the sky.
Both of their heads shot up.
Anne smiled as the familiar red reptile soared like a missile through the clouds, scattering the fluff.
The smile faded when her eyes found the crippled wing that struggled to hold its owner's body in the air.
"Oh my God." Anne had no time to do anything other than curse as Chris' body made too steep a dive for a proper landing and crashed.
Anne screamed as a wave of rocks and mud sprayed under him. She lifted her arms to protect her face from the rocks that attacked. His body finally came to a complete stop not even ten feet away. Dust and loose grass hovered like a dirty mist.
Anne inhaled and coughed. Mike did the same beside her, his one hand on his knee while the other waved away the dust in his face.
The dust cloud settled and Anne gasped as her heart and lungs stopped moving. No time for this now! She regained control of her body and ran to Chris, falling to her knees.
She eyed his neck. It didn’t look broken or at an odd angle. She cradled his pointed arrow head in her lap, panicked when his eyes didn’t open. "Chris? Chris!"
His beak opened a crack, releasing a weak caw. His red eyes opened and tongue darted out to taste the air, likely sniffing to be sure he was actually with her and not still under attack.
Anne stroked the sleek scales of his head before craning her neck to look at the rest of his body. "You're going to be just fine. Stay still, everything's alright."
His scales that were normally so perfect and gleaming, were in disarray. Bits were cut away down to the flesh underneath in the worst places. The wounds were steadily bleeding. Anne’s eyes trickled with tears.
“We’ll get back at him for doing this to you,” she said, stroking his head and neck.
Another weak caw sounded.
"The worst of it's under his wings," Mike stated.
Anne forgot he was even standing with her. She looked up as he threw his hat down at his feet and yanked his shirt over his head. He pressed the cloth into the crook of the wing where the bone met Chris's shoulders. "They're barely hanging on. He was blasted out of the sky."
Sickness went down Anne's throat and threatened to come back up again.
Westley was on them in an instant. She didn't see him running towards them until he was with them. Must’ve heard the crash.
He looked down at the bleeding dragon with his mouth open and said nothing to anyone. Following Mike’s example, he ripped his shirt off.
He tenderly stuffed it into the crook of Chris's other wing to stall the blood flow. Chris flinched and cawed again, then stopped moving.
/> Westley must’ve been in shock like she was, otherwise she was certain they would both be in fits of hysteria.
But Westley's voice came out firm and commanding. "We need to get him inside, right now. Help me."
"He's the size of a car," Mike protested.
It was true, the size of a small car, but Mike must've forgotten that everyone with him was a werewolf. Strong enough to lift Chris to wherever he needed to go.
A yapping sounded in the distance. A moment later, Brock was next to them. Skidding to a halt, he changed back into a human, regardless of his nudity.
He stared down at the dragon as though he didn’t know what to make of it being there. “What happened?”
“Help us take him into the barn,” Westley commanded.
Brock hesitated, even took a step back.
Westley growled. His eyes flashed and nails became long and sharp. “I said NOW!”
Brock jumped in and settled next to Mike.
“On the count of three,” Westley said, never taking his eyes away from the unconscious dragon’s head. “One, two…” They heaved Chris into the air with a collective groan of exertion.
Even for three werewolves and a man, the dragon was heavy.
Westley took great care to hold his wing upright, preventing the cuts from sinking any deeper, which, in turn, would hopefully keep them from falling off. Anne held his long neck to keep it from dragging while Mike took care of his share of the weight plus the right wing while Brock balanced the body.
Westley took control of the four of them and steered them to the barn.
With not much weight to carry, Anne didn't break a sweat. Sweat was dripping off of Mike as he held on.
She should’ve made him hold the neck so she could carry some of the body weight, but she doubted he would have liked having a woman take the heavier end. Guys usually didn’t.
Her heart pounded erratically in her chest. That warlock, Hadrian, wanted to do this to Mike. He wanted to do this to her and Westley just for helping him.
Pain pierced her heart like a long needle. Chris was in this painful situation because she convinced him to go back with her and rescue Mike. She had the flashlight, she had werewolf strength, she should have been able to do it on her own instead of involving her best friends.
She looked up at Westley, who still wore the face of a leader as he commanded them to move towards one of the horse stalls. She wanted to apologize to him especially. This was all her fault. What if Chris were to die?
It made her want to grab the nearest thin knife and stick it in the guy’s ribs.
Westley led them to a clean stall that used to belong to one of their larger horses, and they set Chris down on a bed of hay.
Mike’s tomato-red face suggested he wanted to just drop his load, but he was as gentle as everyone else.
He inhaled a lungful of air and fell back against the wooden stall when his hands released the weight. His normal tanned color returned to his skin as his bare chest heaved for air.
Westley tenderly set the wings down and leaned over the red dragon. His hands were stroking the ruined scales and up his neck, searching for other injuries and a pulse.
Finally, he sighed. "Someone go and get Bill, I don't want my dad seeing Chris just yet."
Mike used the back of his hand to wipe sweat from his face, only managing to spread the sheen. "Will he be alright?"
Westley nodded, never taking his eyes away from the dragon below him as he started adjusting the borrowed shirts so the fresh areas of the cloth were soaking in the blood.
He stroked the injured wings. "His bleeding is already slowing down. It's a good thing he didn't try turning back into a human right away. Might have made them fall off."
Anne's stomach rolled. She stepped back to get Bill and caught sight of Brock’s tail disappearing out the door. Silent and sneaky as always, despite his size.
She opened her mouth to make her apology to Westley. A faint croak came out instead. She felt like she was going to puke.
Westley looked at her and turned to Mike. "Can you take her out of here? She's squeamish."
Mike's large hands on her shoulders pulled her away, his face soft and understanding as he added enough strength to his touch to gently lead her out.
Anne wanted to tell Westley that it wasn’t that she was being weak. She hated seeing her friends hurt and she despised blood, but she knew she could handle it as long as it meant she could help.
Anne turned her head to keep Chris in her sights for as long as possible while she walked away from him. The smell of hay and dirt soaked in blood made her gag. Her hand flew to her mouth to keep the vomit in.
Maybe she did need a minute.
As soon as the sunshine blasted her, Anne inhaled a clean breath of air. Mike shut the barn doors, barring the blood smell.
Anne sucked in her air and faced the blue sky, her lips trembling. She couldn't hold it in any longer. She put her hand over her face and cried.
This wasn't supposed to happen. No one was supposed to get hurt. Chris did nothing wrong. How could anyone in their right mind do something like that?
Mike's arms curled around her shoulders and pulled her to his bare chest.
Despite the layer of sweat and old grass stuck to him, she buried herself inside his arms and shed tears all over him.
His bulging arms made her disappear within them, and she gladly hugged him back, relishing the heat that he gave her.
His big hands stroked her spine, surprisingly delicate for someone of his size. "It's alright, don't cry. Your friend's going to be fine. We'll get him, don't worry. That little weasel is going to pay for doing this. I’ll make sure of it."
She knew he would. She could feel it.
SIX
Mike meant what he’d said. If her one offer was not enough to make him want to help her, seeing one of the men responsible for the fact that he was still walking around alive, now laying injured in a barn, was.
That kid helped save his life and, because of that, he was nearly blown out of the sky.
The thought that Hadrian would have done the same thing to either Westley or Anne, still wanted to do it, infuriated him more.
Mike swore that if he ever got his hands on Hadrian and fought him, a man's fight with no hiding behind magic powers, Mike would bash his face in until that long nose of his pointed backwards.
Mike kept rubbing circles on Anne’s back, stroking her curly, pale hair, wishing he had the ability to heal injuries. Anything to make her tears stop.
Under his care, Anne’s loud sobbing subsided into quiet sniffles. Still, she remained clinging to him.
What were the right words to give when a dear friend was so brutally attacked? He promised he would help her get revenge, but those weren’t the comforting words a rational woman wanted to hear.
Mike looked at the shut doors of the barn. He concentrated with every cell in his brain, searching for Westley. He tried to probe inside his mind.
Grey fuzz met him but he was able to push through a little bit. What little he could see were distorted memories of the two of them, usually alone, occasionally with Anne, but nothing specific. Ending with the flash of the dragon crashing into the dirt.
The memories were flashing too fast for him to see what was happening in them. The emotions he felt were anxious and filled with worry but he sensed no dread. Nothing that suggested the dragon was dead.
"He's alive. He'll be alright," he whispered. Anne still did not relinquish her grip on him.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bill, still in the same worn housecoat and slippers, running towards them at a pace that should have been impossible for his age. "I heard what happened. Is he alright?"
With a cry, Anne launched herself away from Mike and into Bill's arms.
It shouldn't have irked him like it did. The man was her grandfather and it was better for her to get her comfort from him. However, the jealous pressure tightening in his chest was not comforted by the thou
ght.
Anne traded in her quiet sniffling for anger and silent tears. "He just crashed right in front of us. Hadrian did it, he had to of."
Bill gently pushed her away from him and ran in to the barn to see the damage for himself.
Brock appeared after, coming from one of the houses. He was wearing a pair of jeans now but nothing else, not even shoes. He held a first aid kit in one hand and a package of extra wrap bandages in the other. Without a word, he too entered the barn.
Anne stayed where she was, digging her fingers into her hair and rubbing her face. Mike held her in his gaze until he remembered that, in the confusion of the crash, Westley hadn't come to them with the stone, if he had it to begin with.
It would have to wait until later.
"This is my fault. All my fault."
Mike snapped his head at her. "It's not your fault. Don't say that."
It was his fault.
She shook her head, barely sparing him a glance. "I got him involved. I could've gone back for you myself but I made him and Westley come with me."
"And, if you hadn't and still decided to go after a powerful warlock on your own, he would've killed you too." Mike snapped. “You shouldn’t have even been there.”
Anne’s face twisted painfully but she kept it pointed towards the dirt under her feet. The miniature horses, forgotten in the chaos, played and raced together behind the fence, unaware of the trouble around them.
Mike couldn't take that defeated look in her eyes. He owed her more than this, more than the pain his presence caused in her life. "Anne? Anne!" He yelled when she refused to look at him.
Finally she allowed herself to bring her eyes up to his.
"Your friend isn't dying, okay? He'll be just fine so stop blaming anyone but the man who did this.” Me. “Come here." He captured her wrist and towed her to the door. With her werewolf strength she could’ve stopped him, but she allowed him to lead her back into the barn.
They were silent as they stood around the beast. Westley cradled Chris’s head in his lap, dipping water from a bottle into the mouth of the dragon.
