Shifter Planet

by D. B. Reynolds

  “They must have taken them. There weren’t any in the clearing where I found you. I checked.”

  “That bow was my father’s.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’ll be getting it back soon.”

  “Can I watch?”

  Those golden eyes opened to meet hers again. “It’s a date. So, Guild candidate Sumner, how do you propose to get us both out of here since you so foolishly refuse to leave me behind?”

  “It is tempting. Unfortunately, Judge Brady might frown on my decision to abandon a wounded man.” He just grunted and she grinned. “We’ll leave as soon as the storm clears out. I’ll put together a sled, kind of a travois—”

  “A what?”

  “Travois. It’s a sort of three-point sled. I lugged you this far in the sleeping bag; we’ll make better time with a sled. Besides, we need the sleeping bag in one piece, and while that material’s tough, it’s not that tough. If not for the snow, I don’t think it would have held up.

  “I’ve already started on the sled, though. I found some long branches for the poles and I’ve cut the crosspieces. I’ll finish tomorrow, assuming I can work outside. I’m making snow shoes for myself, too.” She held them up, then immediately bristled at the doubtful look on his face. “Hey, they’ll work fine. And, besides, what do you know about snowshoes, with your little cat feet carrying you light as a feather?”

  “What do you know?” he asked with a meaningful look at the primitive contraptions.

  She gave him a dirty look, then eyed the shoes she’d spent so much effort on and started laughing. “Okay,” she managed. “So they’re ugly. They’ll do the trick. I should only need them for a couple of days anyway, and after that, they’ll make fine kindling.”

  “Might as well get some use out of them,” he muttered.

  Opening her mouth to retort, she yawned hugely instead. “It’s been wonderful getting to know you better,” she said around the yawn. “A real treat. We should try to sleep now. Some of us have a lot to do tomorrow, so…” Her voice trailed off as she contemplated the sleeping bag, suddenly uncomfortable at the memory of waking up next to him. “Um, you go ahead and use the bag tonight. I’ll—”

  “Don’t be a fool. We slept together earlier. This is no different.”

  “You were unconscious then, I mean you didn’t even know I was there.”

  “I think my virtue is safe with you. Besides, it’ll be warmer if we’re together.” He gave her a challenging look.

  She wavered. It would be warmer with both of them in the sleeping bag. She banked the fire down to embers and stretched out next to his big body, keeping a careful inch between them, and leaving the zipper halfway down.

  He chuckled. In spite of his weakness, it was a low masculine sound, and she was abruptly reminded that he was very much a male. “You’re going to want to relax,” he purred.

  She blew out a breath and rolled onto her side away from him, feeling the heat of his shifter-enhanced metabolism burning at her back. Pillowing her head on her arm, she closed her eyes, convinced she’d never sleep. It had been a long, tiring few days, however, and she was soon drifting off.

  “You’re wrong, you know,” he said softly.

  “About what?” she asked drowsily.

  “I did know you were here. I heard you talking to me. It helped.”

  “I’m glad,” she said, and fell into a deep hole where the only sound was the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Rhodry braced weakly against a sapling too narrow to hold his weight, the little tree bowing so precariously that he’d swear he could hear its groan of protest. And he could sympathize. He would gladly have borne his own weight, but didn’t want to embarrass himself any further by falling flat on his face. Bad enough that he was barely able to take care of his own necessities. The last thing he needed was Amanda coming to his rescue again, picking him up off the ground. It didn’t get much more humiliating than that.

  He looked down the few yards to the base of the small hill where she was working steadily, weaving strips of soft bark into a mat of some sort which she then planned to tie onto the triangle of branches she’d bound together earlier. He’d never seen such a sled. He had to admit it would probably work, though it would take a lot of effort on her part to pull it with him aboard.

  Her long blond braid fell over one shoulder and she flicked it back in a careless gesture when she stood up. She’d combed his hair for him this morning, then threaded it back into a traditional braid, and tied it off with a leather thong from her pack. It had seemed a far more intimate act than the two of them sleeping together, her strong, slender fingers winding through his hair, brushing against his bare nape.

  His lips curved slightly as she muttered a curse down below, the sound carrying easily in the thin, cool air. She was strapping those ridiculous snowshoes on again.

  Having grown up in the mountains, he’d seen plenty of snow in his thirty-five years of life, and plenty of snowshoes to go with it. She was right, though. Being a shifter, he’d never had to worry about them. His many norm cousins would have known how to put together a perfectly fine pair, he was sure. He thought now that it had been a mistake to rely so completely on his shifter abilities, and he promised himself he’d change that as soon as he got home. Assuming he did. While she’d let the subject drop last night, he had no doubt that Desmond Serna and his friend would be back to try again. Especially if he didn’t make it back to the city before they discovered he was still alive. Their nightmare would be if he lived to testify against them.

  Amanda gave a little shout, and he glanced up to see her treading more or less successfully across the snow pack, her primitive foot gear working just fine. She laughed and gave him a big grin. He lifted a careful hand in greeting, watching as she took a few more tentative steps, getting the feel for the shoes.

  He didn’t quite know what to think about Amanda. Oh, he knew what he thought of her as a woman. As weakened as his body was by the rockweed and his various injuries, he still wanted her. He had almost from the beginning. It was the other Amanda who still puzzled him, the one who’d been so doggedly persistent about joining the Guild. He’d been dead set against letting her undertake the trials, and certain she’d only end up injured, or worse. And she’d proved him wrong. She’d fought off a hunting pack of hycats all by herself, and saved his life in the process. No, that wasn’t right. The only reason she’d dealt with those hycats had been to save his life. And she’d done it all without the benefit of fangs or claws.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t know any strong women. His mother and sisters—hell, most of the women of his mountain clan—were strong females, tough-minded and no-nonsense. And none of them could have killed a pack of hycats using only a Guild short bow, or any other weapon, for that matter. Amanda had done it in the dead black of night, then dragged his useless ass through the forest in a damn sleeping bag, in a blizzard. That was more than strength—that was courage and unwavering determination.

  She was down there now, wrestling with the sled frame, muscling it onto the snow pack all by herself, never asking for help she knew he couldn’t give right now. Her jacket, worn over a single undershirt and heavy leggings, was warmer than it looked, but she still had to be cold. She’d ripped up her spare shirts for his bandages, and given him her wool cloak to wear over his clothes, which were little more than pieces of tattered cloth.

  And that brought his thoughts right back to his inability to shift. It was galling to find himself as furless as a norm. He’d tried calling his animal again this morning, with no luck. Serna and Daly would pay for that. More than anything else, more even than for trying to kill him, they would pay for taking away his animal, even for only a few days.

  Down below, Amanda cursed. She was trying to hold together the mat she’d woven, while tying it in place between the poles at the same time. Wanting to do something other than stand about, he gritted his teeth and straight
ened away from the tree, which snapped up in relief as if to push him on his way. The simple effort of standing left him panting for breath. He didn’t care. He’d had enough of being an invalid, and was determined to overcome this humiliating frailty.

  He made his slow way down the hill, leaning heavily on the thick branch Amanda had trimmed for him to use as a cane. She seemed to understand his need to remain upright, to do for himself where he could. Although he was pretty sure she thought it a uniquely male stupidity that he insisted on being upright at all. She’d stopped her work and was watching him now, just waiting to jump to his aid. And so, stupid male that he was, he kept going.

  His chest ached as though steel bands were tightening around it, and the stitches she’d sewn into him felt like they were tearing him apart rather than holding him together. His legs wanted to wobble out from beneath him on the soft, thick snow and he covered their weakness by balancing on the cane with an obvious clumsiness as though it was only the slick surface making it difficult to remain upright. He stumbled slightly, and a knife’s edge of agony slid through his groin as he tried to recover. He bent nearly double with it, and would have fallen if she hadn’t shot up like an arrow to grab his arm.

  It wounded him to take the help, although not as much as it would have to slide nose first into a snowdrift.

  “Time to go back inside,” she said. “That wind’s kicking up again, and it’s damn cold.”

  He nodded, unable to catch his breath enough to talk, letting them both pretend it was the cold driving them back inside and not his plaguing weak body. In reality, the snow had pretty much let up by this afternoon. He’d even spotted brief patches of blue sky and sunshine in the short time he’d been outside.

  When they reached the narrow entrance to their burrow, he tensed, waiting for the pain when he knelt down to ease his way through. It didn’t disappoint him. His left thigh felt like it was on fire, like a hot blade was trying to cut away his leg from his body. He closed his eyes against it, forcing himself to keep moving so she wouldn’t see.

  “Rhodry?” she said behind him, her voice thick with worry.

  “It’s just the blood rushing to my head, damn it,” he snapped and regretted it almost immediately. She didn’t deserve his rudeness. And besides, she wasn’t stupid. She’d know something was wrong.

  He crawled on all fours over to the sleeping bag, pretty much collapsing as he fell onto it, barely managing to turn and lie back with his eyes closed. Her worried stare burned right through his closed lids, so he flung his arm over his face, hiding the pain written there.

  “I’ll make some tea,” she murmured.

  He heard her soft movements as she maneuvered in the cramped space, unzipping her jacket, stoking the fire and putting the water to boil. She didn’t push him now, just as she hadn’t pushed him on the question of who was behind the attack, although she had to be itching with curiosity. Hell, it was more than curiosity. For better or worse, they were in this together. He owed it to her to tell the whole story, to let her know what she’d gotten tangled up in by saving his life.

  Amanda heard Rhodry’s breathing even out, becoming slower and deeper. She was worried. He should have shifted by now, rockweed or no. It was a built-in defense for shifters, part of the reason they were so dominant on the planet. Shifting was as much a part of their biology as the blood in their veins and, damn it, he should have shifted by now. Something was wrong besides the rockweed they’d fed him. There was something she’d missed. Something he didn’t want her to know. And to hell with that.

  “Rhodry?”

  She kept her voice soft yet demanding, and she saw him jerk awake, probably unaware he’d even fallen asleep. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Must be more tired than I thought.”

  “You may have overdone it today,” she agreed. “And I’m a little worried you might have torn something in that last fall you took. Why don’t you stretch out, and I’ll take a quick look at your stitches, make sure everything’s still all right?”

  “I’m tired. Tomorrow’s soon enough.”

  “No,” she said firmly. “It’s not. Don’t be a baby, de Mendoza. Let me see some skin.”

  He scowled, and didn’t resist as she peeled back the cloak and helped him sit up to remove the shirt. “Just stay that way for a minute,” she said. He gave her a puzzled look, which she ignored. She wanted to get a good look at all the parts of his body she’d given only a cursory exam before.

  She ran her hands over the smooth skin and firm muscles of his back, admiring his strength even as she searched for some overlooked injury. He was such a big man, his shoulders broad and muscular above a strong back and narrow hips. She would have sighed with pleasure under different circumstances.

  “All right,” she said instead, tapping his shoulder lightly to indicate he should lie down. She waited until he was settled, then said, “I want to check—”

  Her gaze shot to his face in surprise when he grabbed her hand and sat back up, preventing her from loosening his trousers.

  Aha. “I need to check the belly wound, Rhodry.”

  “It’s fine, no pain at all.”

  “That’s good. Then maybe it’s time to take out the stitches. Let me see.”

  He didn’t release her hand. “It’s unseemly,” he said, sounding embarrassed.

  He probably was embarrassed, because that was a stupid thing to say on so many fronts. Shifters were the least modest people she’d ever met. If they wore clothes, it was only for the comfort of others. “Rhodry,” she said implacably.

  “Damn it, woman, am I allowed no privacy at all?”

  She just stared at him until he released her hand with a sigh, then lay back and flung an arm over his eyes again.

  She unlaced his pants and tugged them down, careful to avoid rubbing against the belly wound, which was, in fact, healing quite well. “It’s as I expected,” she commented, pressing lightly along the line of sutures. “We’ll wait a few more days with the stitches, though.” She hooked her fingers in the loose waistband and tugged the cloth all the way down to mid-thigh…and gave an audible gasp as she sucked in a surprised breath.

  He chuckled falsely without looking at her. “He’s a fine specimen, though perhaps not that fine.”

  “What were you thinking?” she hissed furiously. No longer bothering with being careful, she yanked his trousers completely off and pushed his thighs open to reveal a deep wound on his left thigh. It was in a bad location, nearly in the crease between his testicles and his leg. The whole area was angry red and puffy, discolored with infection. And the wound looked like… She stared up at his face, meeting his angry glare.

  “That’s a knife wound,” she breathed.

  “Aye, they thought to end the de Mendoza line for good,” he said bitterly.

  “Rhodry.” She felt tears of frustration burning her eyes. She’d worked so hard to take care of him, and he’d been concealing this the whole time. She couldn’t understand why he’d done it. And she sure as hell wasn’t about to let him die over it.

  Swallowing hard, she pushed away the emotion. “I need to clean this,” she managed to say in a matter-of-fact voice. “It’s already infected, which is probably why you’re still so fucking weak,” she snapped, feeling helplessness trying to overtake her and substituting anger instead.

  “Shifters don’t get infections,” he growled. “Besides, once I shift it’ll be gone.”

  “If you live that long,” she retorted nastily. “And maybe the whole infection thing is tied to your inability to shift, have you thought about that? What if you can’t shift for a while? Are you just going to wait for the leg to rot off along with everything else?” She was shouting now, furious that he’d put himself in danger, that he’d put both of them in danger with his foolish pride. “What is your fucking problem? You think I’ve never seen a dick before?”

  “They tried to castrate me!” he roared, trying to sit up. “Do you understand that?” He gasped with sudden pain and fell bac
k weakly. “It wasn’t enough only to kill me,” he said more quietly. “They wanted to geld me first.”

  “So you decided to finish the job for them, is that it? You didn’t even—” She closed her eyes and sucked in a calming breath. “You’re an asshole. A stupid, prideful, ignorant asshole. And screaming at each other isn’t going to help,” she said with forced logic. “Whether you like it or not, we’re in this together. So I’m going to save your precious manhood for you, not because you deserve to breed more fools like yourself, but because no one, no one, gets to die on my Guild trial, you got that? And that includes you, you pigheaded, prideful—”

  “You already said that one.”

  “Well, it deserves to be said twice,” she snapped, then twisted around to check the canteen and make sure there was enough hot water. When she rummaged in her pack and pulled out the contraband antibiotic capsules, he looked at her curiously.

  “What are those?”

  “I smuggled in some antibiotics so you bigoted, short-sighted shifters wouldn’t take them away from me when you dropped me off. Just because you all can heal almost anything doesn’t mean the rest of us can.”

  “I’m not taking—”

  “Shut up. You’ve officially abrogated your rights to refuse medical treatment by virtue of being too stupid to live. If we weren’t stuck up here in the middle of nowhere, I could find some coneflower and make a poultice, and it would probably work better on your Harp metabolism than these capsules. Since we are stuck here, we’ll have to make do with what I brought. You will take these pills, or I’ll simply grind them up and put them in your food, and then you’ll have to eat them or starve to death.”

  She looked up to see him watching her, his golden eyes half lidded, his full mouth twitching.

  “Don’t you dare,” she snarled.

  His mouth tightened against an obvious smile, and he gave her a look of total innocence. She snorted in disgust.

  “This is going to hurt. A lot,” she added sweetly.