With those memories fresh in her mind, she almost gave up and went back upstairs, but then noticed that the lights in the lab were on and she could hear the unmistakable clacking of fingers on a keyboard.
When she reached the landing, she saw Dean staring at a computer screen, reading some impossibly tiny print. He rubbed his eyes tiredly with his uninjured hand and sighed. The memory of the dream flashed through her mind and she could feel her mouth go dry.
She cleared her throat and said, “Anything good on Netflix?” more to announce her presence than to start a conversation.
He turned in her direction. If he was surprised to see her, he gave no indication. “What are you still doing up?”
“I could ask the same of you.”
He gestured to the screen. “I’m searching for anything on lycanthropy. Anything that sounds remotely real, that is. You wouldn’t believe how much crap is out there. It’s a lot to weed through.”
She smiled inwardly. Of course she’d believe it. A good deal of what popular culture believed about werewolves had originated with the Guild, tons of misinformation to keep the masses from figuring out the truth. “If you’re hoping to find a cure on WebMD, you’re going to be disappointed.”
“You’re sure there’s nothing in your ... err ... group’s archives?”
Ro shook her head. “My dad made me practically memorize the canon of the hunter’s guild. There’s nothing in there that I’m aware of.”
“No secret tomes or anything?”
She smirked. “If there was, how would I know about it?”
“Touché. Well, then I guess I’ll have to be the one to discover it,” Dean stated, resolve in his voice. “Why’d you come down here again?”
“Trying to find something to take the edge off.”
“Sorry. Coop keeps this place dry as the desert and I don’t argue.”
“Yeah, I figured, but doesn’t hurt to ask.”
They stared awkwardly at each other for a beat until she gestured toward his arm. “You really should get something done about your hand. It’s a wonder it hasn’t gotten infected yet.”
“Coop has been irrigating it daily.”
“Really? Doesn’t that hurt?”
“Like a bitch, but it’s not like I have much choice. The damned thing just won’t heal.” When she didn’t respond, he changed the subject. “You could try some warm milk. It’s what my mom always told me to drink before bed.”
An image flashed in her mind of a young werewolf getting tucked into bed by his mother and she smiled. “Maybe I’ll try it.” She turned to leave, but paused before climbing the first step. “Hey, if I remember correctly, there was an old recipe in the canon for an infusion of wormwood to help hunters ward off colds and infection. No idea how effective it is, but maybe something to look at.”
“Do you remember the recipe?”
“Got a pen and some paper?”
He quickly produced both and she jotted down what she remembered. It wasn’t a complicated recipe, and she doubted it would yield much in the way of results, but at least she felt like she was contributing something to the cause.
He looked over her shoulder at the ingredient list she’d written. What seemed to be a genuine smile appeared on his face. “Thank you.”
She shrugged, suddenly feeling awkward, especially now that she was in such close proximity to him. He was standing right behind her, their bodies nearly touching, and she could see the shadows under his eyes, the pulse ticking away at his throat.
His face tipped downward and he met her eyes. A vivid image flew through her head, one which involved her pressing her lips to his and to various other body parts.
She took a breath and swallowed. “I should probably head upstairs.”
Almost as if he read her mind, he averted his eyes, a slight smirk on his face. “Yes, you probably should.”
A tense beat passed between them until finally she bolted out of the room, well aware she was obviously retreating in a manner which had nothing to do with him being a werewolf.
♦ ♦ ♦
The warm milk did nothing to help her sleep. In fact, she was more restless than ever with all the raunchy thoughts that refused to leave her head. When she finally forced herself out of bed the next morning, she was in a foul mood and her body was screaming for caffeine. A quick peek in her father’s room revealed him to be unchanged from the night before. She wiped down his forehead, checked his IV, then kissed him on the cheek before heading downstairs.
She was grateful to find the kitchen empty and set about making coffee. Growing up under her father’s roof, she’d learned to drink hers black, usually with a good amount of grounds thrown in. Cowboy coffee, her father called it. It was horrid stuff, but it kicked like a mule.
She brewed a cup using the Keurig and grimaced at the taste. It was weak and watery, nothing like what she was accustomed to, but she slugged it down and drank another, not caring that the hot liquid scalded her throat. What she wouldn’t have given for a triple espresso.
When Coop entered the room, yawning and rubbing his eyes, Ro was on her third cup. “Someone likes their caffeine fix.”
“You realize this stuff shouldn’t even qualify as coffee,” she greeted grumpily.
“Beggars can’t be choosers.”
“I could probably throw a handful of dirt in a pot and make something better.”
“Sounds divine. You’ll forgive me if I pass.” He pushed past her to prepare a mug of his own.
“Your loss.” She leaned on the counter next to him and abruptly changed the subject. “Dean’s hand. He said you’ve been washing it out every day.”
“We all need a hobby. What about it?”
“There’s a sliver of silver stuck in it. When he came to the hospital, I got a look at his x-ray.”
“Kind of figured that was the case.”
“Ever think about removing it?”
“Of course, but it’s not like pulling out a splinter. If it hasn’t come out on its own by now, that tells me it’s embedded pretty deep. There’s a ton of tendons and nerves in there and I’m not exactly a surgeon.”
“Yeah, but we wouldn’t be cutting, we’d be removing. When you were in the Army, did you ever dig out any shrapnel?”
“Yeah, but that was out of necessity. Doing it here would potentially be a hatchet job, not to mention it’d be extremely painful.”
“Life is pain. He’ll get over it.” Then, realizing she was being a bit insensitive, she added, “I could help you.”
“Help? You sure this isn’t just an excuse to amputate?”
“No! I just ... I just think it would make things easier for him and everyone all around.” She stopped when she realized he was joking. “Ass! Come on, he’s your friend. Don’t you want to help him?”
“Sure, I do. Hell, I’ve pretty much devoted my life to making sure he doesn’t kill himself in some stupid way or another, but this is silver we’re talking about. If anything goes wrong and it gets into his bloodstream ... well, I just don’t want to speed up that process.”
“You do realize I assist in these types of procedures all the time, right?”
“Yeah, in a hospital setting, with real doctors and sterile equipment. I think we maybe have two pairs of rubber gloves here at best.”
“Two’s all we need.” The truth was, as a nurse, that concerned her, but she felt that they needed to do this. Dean was hurting and she, well, she could help ... much like how he was helping her father. She wasn’t sure when she’d changed her mind about putting a silver slug in his brainpan, but this seemed like a way for her to give back. “It’s just a little piece of silver, but it’s killing his hand.” She blew out a breath. “It needs to be done.”
Ro waited as Coop contemplated this over his coffee. She’d fought and argued with men far more menacing than him – her father one of them – and she knew he didn’t have a chance.
Fin
ally, he sighed heavily. “Fine. Let’s go ask Dean. After all, it’s him we’ll be slicing into.”
♦ ♦ ♦
“No way,” Dean protested. “My hand is fine.” It was a lie, but he still didn’t want them conducting some half-assed surgery on him, especially when there was more important work to be done.
“You’re full of shit. It’s not fine,” Ro argued. “It’s no different than me letting you treat my dad in the bedroom upstairs, except that he’s far sicker than you are.”
“Exactly. We had no choice with him. I do.”
Coop interjected, “Hey, you got your answer. No deal.”
She planted her feet and crossed her arms, as if the stance would make her look more authoritative. Dean thought she looked like a teenager having a tantrum instead.
As if reading his thoughts, her eyes narrowed. “Stop being a fucking baby. Look, you can’t just keep washing it out indefinitely. Something has to be done, sooner rather than later. At least this way you’ll have my help.”
“You seem awfully intent on this. Why?”
She hesitated slightly before answering, her stance softening. “Because if I’m going to bother helping you find a cure, I might as well make sure you’re completely healthy to do it. For all you know, residual silver in your body might negate the effects of any treatment you come up with.”
He paused. Damn if he hated to admit it, but she had a point, one he hadn’t considered before. “Fine, but I expect to still have all five fingers when you’re finished.”
♦ ♦ ♦
They decided to do the extraction in Dean’s bedroom. As he lay on the bed while Ro prepped his hand, he wondered vaguely what she thought of his space. It was sparse, but much larger than the other rooms in this part of the mansion. He hadn’t done much to personalize it since he’d taken up residence, but at least his sheets were clean and the place was uncluttered.
After a few moments Coop asked, “Okay, you ready?”
“Not really,” Dean said, but he nodded anyway. He felt a warm feeling course through him from the sedative Ro had administered. For a moment, he thought maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, but then he felt a sting of pain as they began poking at his bad hand. He involuntarily tried to pull back, but they kept him still.
“Shh,” Ro said. “You’re okay. Everything’s okay.” Her voice was so different than how it normally sounded ... soothing, comforting.
There came another stab of pressure and again he tried to pull away.
“Hold still,” Coop commanded.
“Wait a second. I’ll give him another shot.”
The warmth pervaded him again, more burning and stinging in his hand, but it wasn’t as bad as before, becoming heavily muted as the drugs began to take hold. Soft hands stroked his fingers, the soothing voices returned, but they sounded muffled, far away.
Someone dug what felt like a screwdriver into his hand, bringing back the pain. He cried out but it sounded far away, as if his head was filled with cotton.
“Just a bit more ... got it!”
Dean winced and bit down on his tongue from the pain that followed. He must have blacked out because the next thing he knew, his hand still ached, but it was a different kind of pain than before.
“Dean?”
He recognized his name, but his eyelids felt so heavy. He managed to lift them enough to see a red-headed angel through his lashes. She was beautiful, serene, a perfect representative of the heavenly host.
“Dean?” she called again. Her perfect face was marred by a frown. “Wake up. It’s all done.”
“Am I dead?”
A frown creased her face. “No, but you will be if you don’t fucking open your eyes and wake up. You’ve been out for over a day. You got Coop worried sick. He’s out in the hall crying that he killed you.”
Dean’s eyes widened in surprise. “What?”
“And you might want to consider changing your name to Captain Hook.” His gaze flew to his hand. When he saw it was wrapped in gauze, he turned back to her and saw that her frown had been replaced by a wide grin. “I’m just messing with you. You were out for maybe ten minutes. Coop’s just cleaning up.”
“Hilarious. Everything go okay?”
“We got the silver out. Took a while to find, but I knew where to look thanks to the x-ray I saw.”
“Thanks. You’re a real angel.”
She laughed. “Far from it. Now I know you’re snowed if you’re telling me shit like that.”
14
Ro tossed in the bed, sleep escaping her yet again. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw herself in the alleyway. She wasn’t sure how the dream would end this time – whether the wolf would attack or ravish her – and that’s what worried her most. The last thing she needed was more of either of those thoughts in her head.
Even though she knew it wouldn’t help, she stepped out of the bedroom to grab something to drink, but before she even made it down the stairs, she heard a noise that gave her pause.
Above the sounds of Coop’s snores, there was something else at the end of the hall. She couldn’t discern what it was, but it was definitely artificial, like from a TV or computer. Light shone from beneath the door to the entertainment room, the one adjacent to Dean’s bedroom, and she heard a muttered oath.
Sincerely hoping he wasn’t doing anything gross, she softly knocked on the door. The sounds immediately muted and he called out, “Yeah?”
She opened the door to find Dean sitting on the couch, legs sprawled in front of him. Some type of video game was paused on the big screen TV and he held a game controller in his hand. Surprise mixed with concern was etched on his face. “Everything ok?”
“Yeah. Dad’s still out. I just couldn’t sleep. Heard the noise and...” She felt foolish all of a sudden, invading his personal space. “Anyway, what’re you doing?”
“Playing Mario Kart. Helps me clear my mind.”
“Mario Kart?” she asked curiously.
“Yeah. You have played it, haven’t you?” At her blank look, he raised an eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right?”
She shrugged. “My dad didn’t exactly let me play video games when I was a kid. I snuck out to an arcade once or twice when I was a teen, but otherwise it was pretty much training twenty-four seven.” She was embarrassed to admit how closeted a childhood she led – homeschooled for most of her early youth, no friends close to her age other than the children of other hunters. It wasn’t until her father allowed her to attend middle school that she began to socialize, but by then she’d been deemed a loner, a freak, a nobody.
She pushed the memories out of her mind. “You shouldn’t be using your bad hand.”
“It’s fine,” he said dismissively, waving the bandaged hand at her. “Hardly feel a thing. Feels tons better than it did before Coop went digging around in it, surprisingly enough.”
“Your healing was probably able to kick in now that the silver is finally out.”
“Whatever it is, it’s working. Guess I have to thank you for convincing me to go through with the surgery.”
“You’re welcome.” She stood awkwardly in the doorway, torn between leaving and curiosity about the game.
She was just about to turn around when he said, “Hey, since we’re both insomniacs tonight, you wanna play?”
A scene from her dream the previous night flashed in her memory. “What?!”
“It’s a two-player game and I have another controller.”
Oh, that. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt pleased he’d asked. “Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.”
“Hey, you’re awake, I’m awake. We might as well do something that doesn’t involve too much brain activity for once.”
Again, imagery from her dream flashed through her mind. “I guess...”
His friendly expression took on a different tone. “Unless...”
“What?”
“You’re afraid I’ll kick y
our butt.”
“Are you serious?”
“I can imagine how that would look, the mighty hunter defeated by the big, bad wolf. I mean, heck, I’m not even sure I have opposable thumbs when I change.”
“Wolves don’t beat hunters.”
“Oh?” His grin widened. “They do when the hunters are ... chicken.”
“That’s it. Hand over that controller and prepare for the beating of your life.”
♦ ♦ ♦
If someone had told him he would be spending the night teaching a werewolf hunter how to play Mario Kart, he would’ve asked what they were smoking. But here she was, controller in hand, navigating Luigi through one of the mushroom courses. He wasn’t overly surprised to see she had a knack for the game, probably in large part due to her preternatural hunter reflexes.
I guess all that training has some benefits after all.
He had the advantage of experience, however, and handily beat her when they finally went head to head. “Ugh! Okay, best two out of three,” she announced, her eyes bright with determination.
“Your funeral,” he replied and set up the game again.
He had to admit, this was nice, not bickering for once, all their problems forgotten for the moment. He wasn’t overly surprised to discover she had a competitive streak, so when he beat her three times in a row, she insisted on playing best out of ten. And so on.
Coop found them like that the next morning, when he walked in bleary-eyed to the sounds of them going for best out of fifty. “What the hell? I thought you were killing each other in here and you’re fucking playing Pole Position.”
“Goddamn you’re old,” Dean said, at which point his friend flipped him off. “I’m teaching her the finer nuances of video gaming ... son of a bitch!” His cart got whammied by her character’s lightning bolts.
“Ha! Who’s teaching who?” Ro replied.
Coop shook his head and walked back out of the room. “You guys are seriously messed up.”
15
As the time of the full moon approached, Ro’s father began to deteriorate faster. His fever spiked and he began to hallucinate. “Moira,” he called out. “Moira, where are you?”
Lycan Moon: An Urban Fairy Tale (Lycan Evolution Book 1) Page 11
