Bay of Sighs (33 page)

He set down the cloth because he understood she needed a real answer. “I've never found an easy way. If it's easy, they didn't matter.”

“Is there a way to make it easy for the one you leave?”

“Convince him he doesn't matter. But that's not going to work for you, Gorgeous. Not going to work with Sawyer.”

“No, I couldn't pretend that. It would make what we have nothing.”

“He'd never believe you anyway. And he's never going to forget you.”

“I think how it would be best if he did, then I know if he could, I would just fade away. So, I have to hold on to the wonder.”

“If anyone can, it's you.”

“You're my very good friend.” She turned, hugged him. “I'll be sad to say good-bye to you. But I have two turns of the moon before . . . Oh, it's nearly sunset. I have no time to take Riley the gelato. There are still dishes to put away. Cookies.”

Inspired, she pulled a bag of fancy cookies from the pantry. “I'll finish if you could take these to her. She has enough time for a cookie. And they could be in her room in the morning when she's hungry and tired.”

“I don't think she wants—”

“Please.” Smiling, Annika held out the bag.

Doyle thought there wasn't a man alive who could say no to that smile. “Fine.”

He carried them upstairs. At least the chore got him out of tubbing up leftovers or washing off counters—all on the duty list.

He heard Riley's voice, caught the quick interest in it.

“Yeah, if you could do that, even better.”

He stepped into her room—one where books were piled everywhere, and where she'd put a nightstand into service as a small desk, which she used now to scribble notes.

Spotting Doyle, she twirled a finger in the air, jabbed it, in a sign he took to mean she was wrapping things up, to wait.

“Yeah, agreed, Atlantis is a whole different kettle. I'm happy to do that, and will first thing in the morning. Uh-huh, right. I just need a little time to put it all together for you first.”

Doyle opened the bag of cookies—it was right there—pulled one out. She kept talking while he ate, while he wandered her room, looking at the books, the maps stuck to the walls, the notes only organized by her eye.

They'd had a few words on her lack of system, but she could, indeed, put her hand on any and everything she wanted in seconds, so he'd lost that round.

The room smelled of her soap—just a faintest hint of vanilla—and the flowers Annika insisted on putting in every bedroom. Including his own.

He ate another cookie, bent over a new translation she must have worked on by herself, lost track a bit until her voice cut through his thoughts again.

“I'm grateful, Doctor. This is a big help. I will absolutely do that. Thanks. Yeah, thanks. Bye.”

She clicked off the phone, did a little dance in place. Her dark gold eyes read smug. For some strange reason, he liked them smug.

“You've had good news.”

“Bet your fine ass. He forgot to turn his phone back on, never turned on his computer. White—my source. And he gave me—”

The phone slipped out of her hand, bounced on the bed as she gasped. “Oh, fuck it, fuck it, I waited too long. Get out, get out, get out!”

She dropped straight to the floor, began to fight with her bootlaces.

And Doyle realized he hadn't paid attention either. The sun was setting in a fiery red ball.

Her breath came fast and harsh, and her fingers fumbled over the double knots in her laces.

He started to back out, then tossing the bag of cookies aside, crouched down. “I've got these. I've got them.”

“Get out! Oh, shit.”

She grabbed the bottom of her tank, yanked it over her head.

“I've got it.” He dragged off her boots, the socks, and when she threw her head back, when he saw the change glint in her eyes, gritted his teeth, pulled her belt open.

“Hold on.”

“I can't.”

She moaned, and he heard bones begin to creak, shift.

“Riley.” Sasha stopped in the doorway.

“I've got it, I've got it. Don't fucking bite me.” While her spine arched, Doyle flipped open the button of her cargo shorts, yanked them and the panties beneath down her legs. Then hooked his fingers in the sports bra she wore, and dragged it over her head and clear.

Naked, she twisted away, rose on all fours.

Her shoulders bunched, and the muscles bulged. Her hands curled, with nails lengthening, going sharp, as skin became pelt.

Again, she threw back her head, and somehow caught between wolf and woman, howled. And the woman was gone.

The wolf growled low, then ran for the terrace doors. In one spring she landed on the stone rail, in another she leaped into the night.

“Oh, my God. Riley.”

Sasha dashed to the terrace, ran out a step behind Doyle. And saw the wolf land neatly, impossibly on the lawn on the other side of the pool. With one glance toward them, she turned and loped into the grove.

“I didn't know she could . . . It seems an impossible jump.”

Magnificent—he couldn't block the reaction—fierce and magnificent. “Apparently not for her.”

“She needs to run,” Sasha remembered. “She told us she needs to run right after the change. All that energy. Why were you . . .” She glanced at the scattered clothes, cleared her throat. “Not my business.”

“And not like that. Annika asked me to bring her up some bloody cookies, and she was on that bloody phone of hers. With the guy she's been after. She wasn't paying attention, and neither was I. She was excited, whatever he told her got her juices running, and she started the change while she was still dressed.”

“You helped her.”

“She couldn't get her damn boots off, then . . .”

Sasha laid a hand on his arm. “You helped her. Even if she's embarrassed by that, and snarls—ha—a little tomorrow, she's grateful for the help.”

On a sigh, she turned back into the room. “I'll pick up her things so she doesn't . . .”

Doyle turned to her when she trailed off, saw the sight come into her eyes. More magnificence, he thought. He'd never known three women more compelling.

“They're coming. She sends him, transformed as one of us has transformed. For me, for my blood, for my blood to feed her.”

“She can forget it.” Firmly, Doyle took her shoulders. “Get Bran, get your bow. I'll tell the others.”

“While we're five, and weaker, she watches.”

“Let her watch. Go!”

He unclipped Riley's holster from her belt, clipped it to his own, and called the others to arm as he ran down the steps for his sword.

Inside, Sawyer grabbed more clips, shoved them in his pocket. He could admit, at least to himself, he wanted nothing more than one clear shot at Malmon. He shoved a spare knife in his boot and hurried out to join the others.

“In the grove?”

“No time.”

Bran pointed to where Sasha's gaze was locked. It resembled a cloud, dark and boiling, spewing out of the sky and filled with storms.

“Riley.” Quickly Annika took his hand. “She—”

“Sun's down, moon's up. Let's make sure they can't get to her, wherever she is. We've got this.” He gave her hand a squeeze, released it. Drew both guns.

He took out the leaders, one shot, and the light flared, flamed them.

“On your six!” Doyle shouted, and Sawyer whirled. A second cloud rolled over the west.

“Sasha and I have the west.” Though he'd armed himself, Bran left the gun holstered. Lightning bolted from his extended hands. “Sawyer and Annika the east. Doyle—”

“Some of each.”

Sawyer emptied both clips, dodged a razor swipe of claws as he reloaded. However much he trusted Annika's skill, he kept her in sight, ready to defend, protect while she shot charges, flipped to kick, spun to shower the light through the dark.

But he saw nothing of Malmon.

“Come on, fucker,” he muttered, ignoring the backwash of blood and ash splattering from Doyle's whirling sword. “Show yourself.”

Something rushed past him; he caught the dark blur, felt the sudden shock of pain from claws raking his arm.

He turned, tried to follow the blur, hold it in his sights, but it moved like Bran's lightning, and erratically at that.

But his heart bounded to his throat as he realized that blur was a zigzagging arrow aimed at Sasha.

She released a bolt, struck her target, drew another.

“Sasha! Move, move.”

She hesitated only a second at Sawyer's shout, retreated two quick steps to the side. He saw the blood bloom on her arm, heard her quick cry of pain.

Because his gun was useless—she was too close—Sawyer ran toward her even as Bran yanked her behind him. Sawyer moved to block her from attack, but the attack changed directions so fast Doyle's sword cleaved down, met only air.

Now blood seeped from Sasha's leg.

“Take her in, get her inside.” Sawyer laid down suppressing fire. “We'll hold them off.”

“No, there's too many.” Shaking off Bran's hold, Sasha fired another bolt.

Sawyer saw the blur, the leap of it. Fired. Missed. He saw Bran once again yank Sasha behind him, knew in that instant Bran would go down.

The wolf all but flew out of the dark, its howl fierce and as deadly as its fangs. Another instant, the blur took form, hideous form, raw red skin, bumpy with scales, wild yellow eyes in a long narrow face crowned with nubs.

The wolf sank those fangs into the demon's shoulder—Malmon's shoulder—and its scream shattered the air. The demon struck out, its face contorted with rage and pain. The blow sent the wolf tumbling through the air. When it struck the ground, it lay still.

“Keep them off her.” On a one-handed handspring, Doyle flipped to the wolf, sweeping his sword out to destroy the birds that swooped low to attack the fallen.

In seconds the five circled the wolf, forming a wall of defense. Sawyer caught one last glance of Malmon, took aim, but the dark swallowed the demon and the birds.

And the night went still with the silent moon gliding overhead.

“Riley.” Sasha fell to her knees. “Oh, God, Riley. Bran.”

“Let me see her, let me see. You're bleeding,
a ghrá
.”

“Riley. How bad is Riley?”

Blood ran down her arm, onto fur as Sasha laid her hands on her friend. “She's alive. I feel her heart.”

“Stunned, at least. We'll get her inside.”

“I have her.” Sheathing his sword, Doyle crouched, lifted the unconscious wolf.

With a nod, Bran lifted Sasha. “You're losing blood, as is Sawyer. Annika.”

“I'm not hurt. I'll get what you need.”

“I'm all right. Riley first.”

“You're not all right, no, but you will be. Lay Riley on the table, Doyle, and get towels.”

“Let me check for breaks.” After he laid Riley down, Doyle ran his hands over her, checked legs, worked over her body. “A couple of ribs, it feels like, but Christ, they're knitting. I can feel the breaks fusing. Heals fast as a wolf. I feel a little . . .”

“Yeah, me, too.” When his legs buckled, Sawyer simply sat on the floor. “There's a burning, and a weakness.”

“Poison, no doubt. Get the towels, Doyle, and water. Annika,” Bran said as she rushed in. “Help me here. I need to clean out the wounds, but we'll want the potion, six drops for each. You'll do that now, and quickly.”

He chose another bottle out of the kit as Annika measured the potion. “It will hurt,” he murmured to Sasha. “I'm sorry for it. Look at me, open for me.”

She gasped as the liquid met the gash, then simply closed her eyes. “It's better.”

“Almost. And I've your leg to do as well. A few moments, just a few more. Sawyer, go ahead and drink that. There now, there,
fáidh
, they're clean, and purified. The balm will soothe.”

“Sawyer first.”

“I've got him, finish her.” Doyle took the bottle, crouched by Sawyer. “Ready?”

“Go for it. Shit, shit, fucking shit.”

Annika pressed a kiss to his head as the burning seared the gashes on his arm, and he felt Sasha—partner in pain—take his hand.

“He would have done worse, much worse, if you hadn't warned me.”

“I couldn't get a clear shot. He's too fast, and then you were too close.”

“He wanted my throat. I had an instant to feel that from him, but you'd shouted and he missed the mark. You saved my life, then Riley saved Bran's, which is the same to me. Please, Bran, please, see to Riley. She fell so hard.”

“Just another moment. Annika, you'll treat Sawyer with the balm.”

“Yes, I know how. The wound is clean. It's deep, but it's clean.”

“Yeah, it is, I can feel it. And I can stand.” Steady again, Sawyer got to his feet. “You must have something in the magick box for Riley.”

“Nothing broken.” Once again Doyle ran his hands over her. “The ribs are healed already.”

As he spoke, the wolf's eyes opened, tawny and clear, met his. The low growl had him lifting his hands, holding them palms out. “Take it easy.”

“You were hurt,” Sasha said as Riley shifted and jumped nimbly to the floor. “Will you tell me if you have pain? Let me in?”

Their eyes met, and Sasha's lips curved. “He wasn't copping a feel.
Will you take some medicine? But the fast can't mean . . . All right. At sunrise. Go rest awhile.”

The wolf gave Doyle one last, long stare, then stalked out of the kitchen.

“You were talking to a wolf. I mean, sure it's Riley, but—”

Grinning, Sawyer shook his head. “A wolf. Like Dr. Dolittle.”

“She's got some pain, not severe, and she'll sleep awhile. It's rare for her to sleep when in wolf form, but it will help the healing. It's not really talking,” Sasha explained. “It's more she can let me read her feelings, and they more or less translate into words. She understands us perfectly well, and I can get the gist of what she wants me to know.”