Shifters Hallows Eve

by Lori King

  She marveled ever so fleetingly at its height—how did it even get around? The mine entrance itself was no more than five feet. She wondered but then she dismissed the stray thought. It didn't matter, and besides, spirits violated the laws of physics with impunity. They had their own unique, discordant rules.

  The distinct tap of metal against stone emanated from the other side of the cavern beyond the skeleton. Paddling furiously, she managed to raise her head high enough to spot Daniel. The skeleton had the hunter cornered, backed into a crevice in the wall. Their gazes caught for a split second—long enough for her to be certain he'd seen her.

  From the looks of it, Daniel had retreated to the only safe place the ghost couldn't reach, but it wouldn't stay so much longer. As she watched, Old Skelly swung the pickaxe overhanded and buried the blade in the fissure, releasing a spray of stone. A big chunk of rock broke off, widening the opening.

  Making noise only would've alerted it to her presence, so Victoria approached the fiend, doing her level best to swim stealthily. Despite her efforts, her paws produced noticeable splashing. She got right up behind it. Lucky for her, the ghost had poor perception because it didn't even spare a glance around. It just swung the tool again, laboring to break through.

  "I dropped the knife at the entrance to the crevice." Daniel sounded short of breath—he must be wedged in tight. "I can't reach it. Can you distract it?"

  Without thinking, she whoofed in affirmation and then cringed. Braced. Waiting for the ghost to turn around, spot her, and smash her to smithereens with the business end of its pickaxe. Once again, it ignored her, and she wondered if it was deaf.

  At a total loss, Victoria stared at the huge femur in front of her. Her lips peeled past her lips in a silent snarl. Her mouth watered. Before she formulated the thought, her wolf heeded the ancestral calling that said all bones must be bit. Acting on instinct, she seized the thigh bone between her teeth and locked her jaws.

  That got its attention. Old Skelly emitted a piercing shriek that filled up the entire cavern. It spun in a fast, furious circle, dragging her through the water. The momentum wrenched her jaws but she hung on with the same stubborn tenacity pit bulls were reputed for.

  Around and around she goes—where she stops, nobody knows.

  The enraged skeleton never let up, not even for a second. It vocalized its rage—a nerve-shattering screech she swore she would haunt her dreams for years to come. A giant bone hand slapped the water, whacked it again, and then clobbered her. Her head spun, along with the rest of her. Dizzying. Traumatizing her already fragile head and belly.

  Fuck him. She refused to let go.

  The world wrenched—tilted sideways. The femur in Victoria's mouth flew free, and she went with it. She skipped across the pond. Smacked the rock wall. She caught a glimpse of the now one-legged skeleton descending toward her like a felled tree. She yipped in panic, but her full mouth muffled the squeak so she sounded like a terrified mouse.

  Old Skelly fell on top of her—its central torso aimed at her head. Its spine clobbered her snout, knocking her muzzle aside, and the back of its ribcage formed a cage over her head. The femur in her mouth wedged into other bones, and the whole damn thing sank straight to the bottom of the lake. She landed beneath the skeleton, her side pressed against unyielding rock.

  Imprisoned, she plunged into pitch black water, feeling the rise of air bubbles foaming past her. She let go of the femur, but found she was trapped in a way that allowed precious little room for negotiation. Her head banged against the lantern suspended within the ghost's ribcage. Despite being submerged in murky water, the lamp continued to glow—lighting the interior of the skeleton's torso so she could make out its individual ribs. Eerie greenness all around.

  For a few seconds, she worked her legs at a furious pace, turned and twisted, attempting to escape her prison. Unlike the many things that hurt but didn't kill her, she could drown.

  Her lungs hurt; her blood pounded in her ears. Her struggles weakened and realization dawned—no matter how hard she fought, she wasn't breaking free on her own. All her exertion only used her remaining air faster. Waiting to be rescued didn't suit her but she had no alternatives except to trust Daniel would find a way to get this thing off her.

  Having died once to become a Valkyrie, she had no fear of death... She yearned to live with every fiber of her being. Forlorn and frustrated, she wondered—was this how her life ended? Taken out by a clumsy collection of bones? Oh, the ignominy. Would Freya send one of her sister Valkyries to retrieve her soul, or was she supposed to transport herself? A second death hasn't been covered in the Valkyrie Handbook.

  Her chest ached, near bursting. She passed the point of pain, descending straight into unconsciousness. And where in the name of Hel was Daniel? Had he stopped for lunch?

  In answer to her question, the skeleton's dense ribs beside her head shattered inward, forced aside by a thick knife blade. Bone fragments jammed into her face. Victoria flinched and jerked, losing precious air. For a split second, things got brighter because both knife and lantern emanated that same creepy nimbus. But then the weapon's point thrust through the lamp's glass pane and its light expired.

  The magic knife's soul-sucking magic drank up the ghost's essence—downing the entire thing in a greedy gulp. It emanated hollowness—emptiness—death.

  Her breath exhaled in a rush. Victoria inhaled water. Simultaneously, the prison of bone lifted off her and she was floating free. Blackness filling her inside and out. Distantly, she was aware when big hands seized her and hauled her to the surface. Pressure against her sides—renewed pain from her battered ribs—the expulsion of liquid from her body.

  Abruptly, she awoke on the inhalation of a tiny breath, but it wasn't nearly enough. Her body craved more, but her swamped lungs didn't have space. She coughed and vomited muddy water while Daniel held her against his chest, both arms wrapped around her.

  "That's it, breathe—just breathe. I've got you. You're safe." Daniel stroked her head, flattening her ears against her skull. His aura sheltered and melded to hers. Ruby tones sparkled like fireworks against the predominant blues which were sapphire bright.

  He spoke the truth—in his arms, she was safe. When Victoria whimpered her gratitude, Daniel pressed his face against hers, rubbing his cheek and temple across her snout, and then kissed her nose. She bathed him in wolfy kisses and thumped her tail.

  Her hero. They'd have to work on his timing, though.

  11

  The sun shone bright overhead, nearing its zenith, by the time they finally hauled Macan out of the canyon and back to the Chevelle. During the hour-plus drive back to civilization, exhaustion hung over them, a grim cloud that put a definite damper on the conversation.

  The trip to the closest hospital in Prescott passed in relative quiet. Victoria opted to ride in the backseat so the much longer-legged Macan could sit in the front. She crouched, wet and miserable, offensive to her own nose. Shifting back to human had healed her broken bones, but required her last iota of strength. The resulting depletion rendered her exhausted—apathetic—grumpy. Even a clean set of clothing failed to help because without a shower, the ick on her skin transferred straight to the cloth.

  Thankfully, Daniel put the top up on the convertible so it cut down on the wind noise—not to mention the bug splatter. In the front, the men exchanged only a handful of words. Her drifting mind only registered the low rumble of their voices but not the meaning. The motion of the car created a seductive lull, and she nodded off. The next thing she knew, the sound of the car door opening jolted her awake.

  "What's happening?" Startled, she bolted upright. Only Macan remained in the front seat. The driver's side was empty. The passenger door was wide open, and Daniel and a young male orderly were helping the Scotsman into a wheelchair.

  "It's okay. We're here."

  "Did I fall asleep?"

  "You were snoring." Daniel leaned over and peeked past Macan at her.

  "I do
n't snore," Victoria returned primly.

  "Course not. That racket must've been an elk's mating call."

  "Jackass." She glared and threatened him with a closed fist. She fidgeted, eager to exit the vehicle. Being confined didn't sit well with her ravenous, ill-tempered wolf. "I don't snore. What're we doing?"

  "We're just dropping off this lazy fool. Then we can be on our way." So saying, Daniel slapped Macan on the shoulder.

  "Hey, now!" Macan bellowed a good-natured protest and then addressed the orderly. "Heave on three. One, two, three—"

  The men uttered cries and groans of exertion but together the three of them managed Macan's bulk from the car to the wheelchair. The metal frame creaked when they plunked him down. They asked the orderly to give them a minute while they formed a huddle.

  "You sure about being dropped off?" Daniel asked Macan. "We can come inside with you."

  "Oh, nay! I'll be pure dead brilliant. Off with ye!" The Scotsman added rather dourly. "Guess I won't ever learn what happened to my great-grandpappy."

  Daniel scowled. "Another time, all right?"

  Macan chuckled. "Another time. Thanks, Danny. I widnae made it outta there without ye."

  "Sure thing, man. Try to stay out of trouble for twenty-four hours, will you?" Daniel offered his hand and bent over to wheelchair level.

  "Aye." The men shook and exchanged a bro hug—lots of heavy back slapping. "Make sure yer father doesn't hear aboot this."

  "I'll try to leave your name out of it," Daniel said, laughing.

  Victoria kicked her toe against the ground, very much out of place. Frankly, her desires aligned with Macan's. She also preferred that Jake Barrett not hear her name associated with the events that had transpired the day before. It would raise way too many awkward questions.

  Sudden movement—the rattling of the wheelchair startled her. She jerked her head, looked up, and found Macan bearing down on her. He stopped and spread his arms wide. "C'mere, wumman. Give old Mac Guffin a hug."

  Inexplicably bashful, she wrapped her arm around the big man's shoulders. With him seated, the difference in their heights was inconsequential so she didn't have to bend to reach him. She made a concentrated effort not to jostle his injured leg, still wrapped in the makeshift splint.

  "Take care, you old coot." She dropped a kiss on the hunter's cheek, brushing her lips across his bristly beard, and crinkled her nose in distaste over his body odor. If possible, his smell was even more offensive than hers.

  "Thank you for saving my life, Lassie. Yer a bonnie angel." Macan planted a smooch on her cheek in return, whumped her across the back, and released her.

  "You're welcome." She smiled and blushed, flattered and embarrassed all at once. She stepped over to stand beside Daniel and they watched while the orderly ushered Macan through the sliding entrance into the hospital.

  12

  Once the Scotsman was wheeled out of sight, they turned toward each other. Awkwardness slammed down on top of them. She opened her mouth but said nothing—the words refused to congeal. To her chagrin, Daniel appeared just as uncomfortable. The man scowled like the dickens and also stayed silent.

  The two of them were quite the sight. By now, their clothing had dried out in the arid air so the material was now stiff and crusty rather than wet and mucky. Her muscles ached, staying on her feet required effort, and her belly yawned. She was, in short, miserable. Like her, Daniel looked—and smelled—the part of a survivor of a natural disaster. The pallor of exhaustion hung over him; his movements slow and trudging.

  After everything they'd just been through together, it killed her to be overcome with uncertainty and doubt. She wondered what came next. They'd completed their task, accomplished their stated goal—located and rescued the missing hunter. Beyond that, their next move remained a total blank.

  He cleared his throat. "I doubt they'll let us back into our suite."

  A wry smile twisted her mouth. "Yeah. It's not exactly fit for habitation. What about our stuff?"

  "I'll make some calls and arrange to recover our belongings. My weapons have probably been confiscated. It'll take some wrangling through official channels to get everything back."

  She dipped her chin. "Okay. There's nothing in my bags I can't live without."

  "So..." He hung a thumb off his belt and then released it, a telltale gesture. "What do you want to do? If we head straight back to Phoenix, we'll be there before two."

  "Is that what you want to do?" Victoria bristled, more than a little cagey. So—this was how he wanted to end their second unofficial date? If he failed to at least offer to buy her lunch, she swore on Freya's sweet chariot cats—she'd bite him.

  He regarded her with savvy appraisal, a wry intelligence that said the man was no fool. "I want to do whatever you want to do."

  Smart man. Grumbling, she deliberated for a moment. "I'm starving."

  "Break..." He glanced up, noting the time. "Lunch it is, then."

  "My own stench might kill me before we can eat."

  He chuckled. "We'll take care of both. Tell me what you need. What's more important—food or a hot shower?"

  "A shower." No matter how hungry, she wasn't in any danger of dying from famine any time soon.

  "All right, then."

  They returned to the Chevelle. Daniel drove them to a nearby hotel that lacked the Hermosa Inn's historic charm. She hoped it also lacked for restless spirits. From the outside, it appeared clean and well-maintained. The facility consisted of a cluster of two-story buildings with doors facing outward toward railed walkways. It had a fence and an outdoor pool. Normally, she loved swimming, but at the moment, the prospect aroused zero interest in her.

  While he disappeared into the lobby to check them in, she waited in the car. Daniel returned fifteen minutes later carrying a big, stuffed plastic bag. He proffered it to her without explanation so she wrapped her arms about it and dragged the whole thing into her lap.

  "What's this?"

  "I told the clerk that the airline lost our luggage."

  "Great idea." Victoria peeked inside and found soft white terrycloth—a pair of robes. She dug deeper and found other delights. "Toothpaste—you're a god."

  "Thanks, but I try not to let it go to my head."

  He parked close to their second-story room and together they trudged up the stairs. As soon as Daniel unlocked the door, Victoria pushed past him. She made a beeline for the bathroom. Within, she shed her soiled clothes, freed her hair from its braid, and jumped straight into a scalding hot shower. Her mood took an immediate turn for the better. She scrubbed herself down from head to toe, washing away the accumulated dirt and dried blood from the hunt. Once she was clean, she stayed there a time, soaking beneath the spray, inhaling the purifying steam which helped clear her airways of the lingering mine filth.

  The creak of a bathroom floorboard alerted her to Daniel's presence. The vanity lights backlit his form so his shadow fell across the shower curtain. Excitement coursed through her. Leaving the water on, she tensed and turned to face him through the vinyl drape that separated them.

  "I've ordered food. It's being delivered. I hope that's okay."

  "It's great. Thank you." She hit the shutoff. "Will you pass me a towel, please?"

  "Sure." A rustle accompanied his movement. "Here you go—"

  A washcloth appeared over the top of the shower bar, dangling from his fingers. Victoria stared at it. Squinted. Her lips quivered and then turned up in an involuntary smile. She fought and failed to suppress laughter, but the effort turned the sound she produced into a brassy giggle-snort.

  "Very funny." She snatched the washcloth from his fingers, grabbed the shower curtain, and drew it aside. To her immense disappointment, he faced away from her—and held a bath towel in his other hand—just above his backside.

  "Sorry, I couldn't resist," Daniel said, but the man didn't sound apologetic in the least. In fact, he was downright smug. Belatedly, it occurred to her to look past him to the vanity
. Steam fogged the mirror, but only partially, thanks to the cold air streaming in through the open doorway. He still had a damn fine view.

  "I bet you couldn't." She took the towel from him and smacked his ass for good measure. The whack elicited an appreciative chuckle from him. Without being told, he vacated the bathroom.

  She dried off and put on the white robe he'd left on the counter. It claimed to be one-size-fits-all, but the enormous thing engulfed her. The bottom fell to her ankles but it was clean and soft—she loved it. Five minutes later, she emerged with waist-length hair loose about her shoulders. Unfortunately, the hotel had only supplied a comb so she anticipated it'd take forever to work through the kinks.

  She found Daniel waiting for his turn to use the bathroom, a folded robe clutched in hand. He had the right idea. His hygiene hadn't fared any better than hers. Before she'd showered, her own stench had masked his, but now that she had... Her nose scrunched in distaste.

  "Can I get in there now?" The look on Daniel's face conveyed—Yeah, I get it. You don't need to rub it in.

  Victoria snickered. "It's all yours."

  "Thanks." He disappeared within and closed the door behind him. She listened but detected no click to indicate it'd been locked. A few seconds later, the shower came back on.

  Victoria waited a full minute before she crept to the bathroom, eased the door open, and sneaked inside. Sly as a fox, she snatched up every single clean towel except for a single washcloth, which she generously left behind on the rack. Clutching her prizes, she returned to the main room where she dropped the stack on the bed and flopped down beside it. With a sigh of pleasure, she rolled onto her back, luxuriating the scent and slide of fresh linens.

  She listened to the muffled water flow which meant the shower was still in use. She was more tired than she thought because she drifted. Distantly, she dreamed Daniel called out her name in a soft voice. She may have murmured something in reply or maybe not. The next thing she knew, the mattress heaved with the addition of a heavy male form seated upon the edge of the bed. A mouth-watering aroma yanked her straight out of slumber.