Werewolf Sings the Blues (11 page)

“Okay, Jason, we're—”

I glance right, and my throat closes tighter than a nun's legs at an orgy. Jason's head bobs to the right in time to the movement of the car, eyes shut and jaw open. “Jason?” I touch his face. His skin feels normal to me but not his usual raging inferno. Think this is the werewolf version of clammy. “Jason?” I shout. Nothing. I give his face a slap. He doesn't even stir. I glance at his exposed chest. It doesn't move. Oh God, he's dead. His … no, his chest moves up and down as he takes shallow breaths. Mine comes out in ragged spurts and tears rise to my eyes. Thank God. Thank you, God.

The tears spill out regardless of how hard I'm trying to banish them. Crying won't do any damn good. He needs me strong, thinking clearly, not a pathetic fucking girl. He may not be dead, but he could be dying. I have to do something.

After several deep breaths, my tears haven't ceased but the panic has cleared enough that logic can find its way through the fog. Plan. Need a plan. And what I come up with is … fuck all. All I know about gunshot wounds are if you get one it's go straight to the hospital and pray. I can't bring him there because we're wanted fugitives. Oh, and he's a freaking werewolf. Werewolf. Werewolf …

I check around for the cell phone Jason gave me. Can't find it, not even when I feel around in the back. Just as I turn front again, a minivan has materialized from nowhere. I swerve into the other lane just in time. Not even this rouses Jason. Okay, okay, I have to pull over and tend to him. Stop the bleeding. No choice. I take the next exit a mile down. There's nothing around. No lights or houses, just infinite darkness. I drive down the two-lane road for a half mile before maneuvering down another and pulling to the side. I leap out of the car, the cold desert night adding goosebumps to my goosebumps. I find the cell underneath my seat. First-aid kit too. I collect both and hit redial.

“Jason?” Frank asks on the other end after four rings.

“Frank, it's Viv. Jason, he's … been shot,” I say, voice cracking. “He-He-He won't wake up. I don't-I don't know what to do-do.” Shit, I can't even talk.

“Vivi, doll face, calm down. Calm down,” he orders. “Take a deep breath.” I listen to the man. It helps a miniscule bit. “Good girl. Now, where was he shot? Was it silver?”

“The arm, and I-I think he said it was silver. It won't stop
bleeding.”

“Okay. Are you safe?”

“I-I guess. The police are probably looking for us. I don't think Donovan's dead.”

“But you're not in immediate physical danger?”

“No.”

“Good. Okay, do you have a sewing kit? First-aid kit?”

“First-aid. W-Why?” Stupid question. I already know the answer but my brain won't accept it.

“If he hasn't started recovering by now, then it was definitely a silver bullet. The only way for him to heal before he bleeds out is for him to turn, at least where the wound is. But the bullet has to come out first or when he shifts it'll cause more internal damage.”

“You want me to dig the bullet out of his arm? Are you fucking crazy?”

“Vivi, you
have
to do this. It sounds as if it nicked an artery. He will continue to bleed, and he will die. Doll face, you can do this. I know you can.”

I can do this.
I
can do this. I
can
do this. “O-Okay.”

With my quaking hands, I switch the phone to speaker before setting it and the first-aid kit on the hood. Inside the kit are the basics: gauze, tape, burn cream, aspirin, and plastic tweezers. My throat snaps shut at the sight of the last one. I can
do
this. It's damn near impossible to slap on the latex gloves as my fingers won't stop twitching. I can't even put gloves on, how the hell am I supposed to get a damn bullet out? “Frank, my hands are barely working. I can't—”

“You can,” he insists, voice hard. “You have to.”

I have to. Right. Fuck.

It takes two attempts, but I manage to pick up the tweezers and
cell before moving to the driver's door. Jason's still unconscious and the
shirt covering the wound grows redder by the second. I set the cell phone on the dash.
I can do this.

“You have to wake Jason up if you can. The pain will do it, but he may attack on instinct if he's not aware what's occurring right away.”

“Right.” I quickly get out to retrieve the smelling salts. They work for Victorian ladies, why not a two-hundred-plus werewolf? I snap the packet open under Jason's nose. Damned if he doesn't jerk awake.

“What the—”

“Jason, it's Dad,” Frank says over the speaker. Jason's a little out of it so he glances around for the source. “Vivi needs to get that bullet out so you can change.”

“Dad …” he says, still searching.

“He's on the phone,” I tell him.

“You need to keep incredibly still for her. Vivi, see if you can locate something for him to bite down on.”

“Um …” I spot a shell casing on the floor. I grab it and hand it to Jason, who wearily stares at me. “It's good enough for Clint Eastwood.”

Despite the pain, Jason quickly smiles then opens his mouth. He actually bites the bullet. Okay … here goes. I untie the tourniquet. Oh, shit. I manage to poke my head out of the car to dry
heave. I think I can see bone amid the gore. That is so fucking
disgusting.

“Vivi?” Frank asks.

“I'm okay,” I pant. I sit up inside the car. “I'm good.” I glance at the stoic Jason. “Sorry.”

“You can do this,” he says through the bullet. “I believe in you.”

Those words bring fresh tears to my eyes. “Thank you.” He nods.

Just get it the fuck over with. I take another deep breath, snatch the tweezers from the dash, and before I lose what little bravery I ever possessed, I plunge them into his arm. Jason moans in pain. As the blood pours out onto my hands in gushes, and the moans become groans, I move deeper until the tweezers are halfway in
side his body. I'm too busy to force the vomit back down my throat
but do keep it in my mouth. I hit something. I grab the bullet, yanking it to the surface. The moment it's out, I vault from the car and throw up. Twice. Oh, Jesus. My stomach seizes a third time but nothing comes out. Fuck. At least I didn't puke on Jason.

I take a few seconds to collect myself, panting the freezing night air in and out before I return to the patient. He's taken over, pressing the shirt against the hemorrhaging wound. Not even cloth can soak up all the blood. “Jason? Jason, talk to me!” Frank shouts. Shit. He's fading. Jason's eyelids lower like a slow curtain. He's passing out again.

I give his face a hard slap, leaving my handprint in his own blood. “Wake up!” I shout.

Jason jerks back to consciousness. “Don't do—”

“Jason Sergei Dahl, this is your Alpha speaking,” Frank says in
a harsh tone. “Listen to me, Beta. You will change, do you hear me?
That is an order.”

“I don't think I c—” Jason says weakly.

“
An order, son
,” the Alpha snaps, voice steel mixed with diamonds. “You will change, and you will
only
change your injured arm. You will control your beast. You will do this for Vivian, do you hear me? She needs you, son.”

“She needs me …” he whispers.

“She needs you healthy, whole, and intact. So no matter how weak you may feel, you will change your arm and only your arm. For Vivian.”

“For Vivian …
” He nods. His eyes close again as his jaw sets tight.
For a second I think he's passed out again. Then his brow furrows as if he's deep in thought. A second after that, his face contorts in pain, though this time he doesn't scream.

“Jason?” I ask.

Holy shit, a thick, mucous gel-like substance sluices from the pores on his arm, mixing with the already present blood. Oh, that is rank. “Get out,” he says. “Get away.”

“Listen to him, Vivi,” Frank says. “Get out of the car.”

Don't need to tell me twice. The sickening crack of tendons and bones breaking as tan, slime-colored fur sprouts, rocks my already tender stomach. I grab the cell and spring out of the car, walking toward the trunk and setting the phone on it. Jason's whimpers and groans echo through the night. I wonder which hurts more, a gunshot or changing into a wolf?

“Vivi, are you alright?” Frank asks.

I glance down at myself. I'm splattered with blood like a disgusting Pollack painting. “I-I'm fine.” I yank off the gloves with a shudder.

“Listen, he's very weak. On the off chance he goes into full transformation, I want you to lock yourself in the car, alright? Drive away if necessary. You can always come back for him in the morning.”

“O-Okay.”

“What about you? Are you injured?”

“No. I—I'm fine.” I wipe a stray tear. “Relatively.”

“Good. Good.” He pauses. “I'm proud of you.”

Don't know what it is about those words, but they're like a knife into my already tender gut. I can't take any more emotional upheavals tonight. “Okay, um, I'm gonna go now. I need to go. I have to go. We have to get out of here. Bye.”

“Vivi—”

“Oh, uh, thank you.” I end the call.

Okay. Okay. It's over. The worst is over. I'm alive, Jason's alive, judging from the noise in the car. We just have to keep moving.
Keep going. Just not this second. I give myself a minute to calm down, but I can't stop shaking. Large, spastic quakes like an epilep
tic's.
Adrenaline overdose along with the fact it's freezing. Stupid desert. Rubbing my arms helps both problems. Except I can't unglue
my eyes from the blood all over me. A clear, icicle chill rocks my body.
Clean. I have to get clean. I glance behind into the car. Jason's gone
silent, but as far as I can see is still human. He lays on his right side with his eyes closed. Thank God. I don't think I could handle werewolf wrangling right now. Hell, I don't think I can handle speech right now.

The suitcase and water bottles are in the backseat where we left them. I grab a water bottle from the pack on the floor and unzip the suitcase, pulling out a long-sleeve black shirt and slacks. I change my pants first, then pull off the ruined tank top. My arms, upper chest, even my face are caked in sticky, disgusting blood. I pour the water on myself and scrub with the tank top. I think I take more whore's baths than regular ones. God, I'd kill for a bath right now. This will have to …

As I wipe my naked chest, I sense someone's watching me. Either the hills have eyes or … I glance at Jason. His gaze is glued to my exposed breasts. He closes his eyes the moment I catch him. I should care the man's peeking like a pervert, but I feel nothing. Not anger, not titillation. I'm just really fucking cold. I turn my back to him and finish scrubbing.

When I'm as fresh and clean as possible, I return to the backseat, retrieving a water and a shirt for Jason. If I felt filthy he's gotta feel like a landfill. I open his car door. Holy hell. My mouth drops open when I realize what I'm seeing. From the left shoulder down, he's covered in blonde fur still wet from the blood-tinged mucous. His hand is a paw, complete with claws two inches long. The rest of him is normal by comparison, except for all the blood. Damn. His eyes open. He seems so weary, so miserable I snap my jaw shut and regain my senses.
Stop gawking at the freak, Viv.
“How you doing?”

“Fine,” he says softly.

“Let's get you cleaned up,” I say with a half smile. “Can you sit up for me?” He manages to push himself into the sitting position and pivots his legs outside to face me. I start with the handprint on his cheek. “Sorry about hitting you.”

“No need to apologize. It was necessary.”

“How are you feeling?” I ask, wiping his prominent collarbone.

“Tired.”

I advance down his ripped chest with the cloth. Even bloody it's a damn fine chest. “Well … you've done enough for one night. I'll take it from here.” I lean forward to get the back of his neck. I can feel his hot breath against my own neck and know his eyes are upon my face. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

I glance over to meet his eyes. “Saving my life. Again.”

“Thank you for saving mine.”

We just stare into each other's eyes for a second. I do love his eyes. Honest. Penetrating. Fathomless. And like mine, lustful. Fuck it. I lean down, gently pressing my lips to his. Don't know if it's the shock or exhaustion but his don't move under mine. Still nice. Sweet. Haven't had a sweet kiss in years. Forgot I liked them. I break away with a smile. “Think nothing of it, Blondie.” He stares at me, dumbstruck. I love having that kind of effect on a man, especially this one. I grab the clean shirt from the dash, handing it to him. “Now get dressed. Pit stop's over.”

I move to the backseat to gather more provisions, including my faux fur jacket which I slip on, a soda, pillow and blanket for Jason. As I do, I glance back at my hero. My grin stretches across my whole face as he presses his fingers to his lips, I presume to make sure they're real. That what I did was real. God, is he adorable. And good. Even after all the shit I pulled tonight, that man didn't hesitate. Holy shit, he took a bullet for me tonight.
For me
.

As I stare at him, something comes over me, through me, like nothing I've ever felt before. Gratitude? Respect maybe? Both of those, but something else. Something stronger. It warms me from the inside. A spark, like the moment an orchestra begins playing a masterpiece. It's not lust, though that is certainly there. Whatever it is, it is scary as fuck. But I can't wait to hear the rest.

No time for reflection though. I have thousands of miles for that. I climb into the driver's seat and hand my knight the pillow and blanket. “Here. You ready to rock?”