Wild Wolf (18 page)

“No,” Misty whispered.

She had no clue what Oison's pointing finger could do—shoot fire? Cast another spell? Move back and forth while he admonished them? Misty wanted to claw her way to the cubs, to protect them, but she couldn't move.

Graham was moving instead. He was shifting as he dragged himself to the cubs, leaving a trail of blood smeared on the polished black floor. He leapt at Oison, his mouth wide, teeth bared. Oison spun out of his way nimbly, but Graham followed him with great agility, his claws going for Oison's throat.

Oison dropped, rolled across the ground, and came up with his sword in his hand. The blade hummed, runes on it glowing like fire.

He shouted a word, pointing the sword at Graham. Graham fell in midair, his body thumping to the rock floor with an awful sound. The cubs ran to him, positioning themselves on either side of him, howling furiously.

Oison kept shouting words Misty didn't understand. Graham was silent, but he rocked in pain. The intensity of the pain came to Misty as though threads connected her with Graham, squeezing her heart, making her ache for him.

She could stop this. She could kill Oison . . . somehow. If only she could get to her feet.

Matt darted out and sank his teeth into Oison's boot. The Fae snarled and brought his sword down toward Matt. Kyle howled.

Misty heard a popping sound, and a wiry hand closed over Oison's wrist. The chain mail shattered, and Oison dropped his sword again. Oison swung around, face dark with rage, to face a man as tall as he was but his opposite—dark-skinned to his pale, black-haired to his white. Only their eyes were the same, black voids into nothing.

Reid.
The name whispered through Misty's mind.

Dougal, looking terrified, was right behind Reid. Dougal ran to Graham, but Graham gave a loud growl, and Dougal straightened up and hurried to Misty. “You okay, Misty? Can you get up?”

Misty could only look at him, her pain so strong even moving her eyes hurt. Dougal looked lost, not knowing what to do.

Reid, on the other hand, had shoved Oison away from the little group, and was grappling with him by the fountain. The cubs still yapped and growled, but they'd positioned themselves between the fight and Graham and Misty, as though determined to guard the fallen.

Reid raised a weapon—a tire iron, Misty's foggy brain registered. He brought it down on Oison, not hitting him, but pressing it onto Oison's bare skin.

Whatever was supposed to happen, Misty didn't know. Reid looked surprised when Oison turned and took the tire iron in both hands, tugging it away from Reid. Oison held it up, laughing, chanting words Misty didn't understand.

Reid took a step back, scowling. The two Fae looked so different and yet the same—one in medieval-looking chain mail and silver cloak, Reid in jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers.

Reid raised his hands, clenched them, and shouted in a guttural language. Oison's smile evaporated as the iron bar in his hands started to bend, then undulate, then came apart into dozens of tiny fragments.

These fragments slid out of Oison's hands, paused in midair, then dove at Oison like a swarm of ferocious bees. The iron particles slammed into the Fae's face and neck, cutting into him anywhere the chain mail didn't cover.

Oison clawed at his face. Reid spun away from him and sprinted for Misty. He grabbed one cub by the scruff of the neck, fell on his knees beside Misty, and wrapped his other arm around her.

Misty screamed in pain, and then the cave went away. She was lying back in the basement, under the opening to the outside world, the warm Las Vegas sunshine touching her like a lover's caress.

"Y
ou have to save her,” Graham said. He was in excruciating pain himself and could barely get the words out, but he didn't care.

Misty lay on his bed, her eyelids fluttering as she moved into and out of consciousness. Reid stood on one side of her, Neal Ingram, the Guardian, on the other, and they both looked grim.

Reid, who possessed the very helpful skill of teleporting, had gotten them out of the cave. He'd taken Misty first with one cub then popped back moments later for Dougal and the second cub.

Reid had returned a final time for Graham just as Oison was struggling up and groping for his sword. Oison's face and neck had run with blood, the Fae looking as though he'd been stung by a thousand hornets. Graham had wished he didn't hurt so bad so he could laugh.

Reid had come in with a bang, grabbed Graham, and popped them both out again.

Graham knew they'd never have survived without Reid. Which sucked, because now he owed Reid a debt. A big one.

But Misty came first. “Can you fix her?” Graham asked Neal, who had some skill in healing. Graham didn't like the presence of Neal's sword, which leaned in the corner, glinting softly in the afternoon sunlight. The Guardian's sword turned dead or dying Shifters to dust, sending their souls to the Summerland. Neal wouldn't use it on Misty, she being human, but the reminder of loss was sharp.

“I don't know,” Neal said. “This is a Fae wound, from a Fae sword. Healing her will be different from stitching her up and putting a bandage on her.”

“But you'll fix her,” Graham repeated in a hard voice.

“What about you?” Neal looked at the makeshift bandage wrapped around Graham's bare side, which was already stained with blood. “You need a healer.”

“Misty first. She can't die.”

She couldn't. Graham touched her white skin, his heart burning when her eyes flickered. She wasn't waking up, but not sleeping either.

Reid said, “A human hospital won't be able to help her.”

“But you can, right?” Graham demanded. “You're Fae. You made iron slivers go into Oison. Can you counteract magic from a Fae sword?”

Graham knew he was babbling, but watching Misty lie in his bed, pale and sweating, made him sick. His fault. Oison had wanted Graham, and Misty had gotten caught in between.

Neal seemed to understand. His voice was gentle, without its usual Lupine growl. “The answer is, we don't know.”

“Well, what the hell good are you, then?”

Reid and Neal glanced at each other, neither taking offense. Graham was terrified, and he knew Neal smelled that. Neal would also smell his weakness, plus the Fae curse that was killing him.

“The Guardian's mate in the Austin Shiftertown,” Neal said. “She's a healer. I've already called her.”

“She's half Fae, right?” Graham stopped and took a breath as more pain flashed through his side. “That's all we need, more effing Fae.”

Neal didn't answer. There was no reason to. The woman would come, and Graham wouldn't stop her having a look at Misty. Graham knew things were bad when he would welcome a Fae-blood's help.

“Why don't you sit down until she comes?” Reid said. “You can't do anything for Misty standing over her, breathing on her.”

“Shut it, Fae. She's my mate.”

Neal blinked, turned his head, and pinned Graham with a Shifter stare. Guardians could get away with looking alphas in the eye, because Guardians were a whole other hierarchy of Shifters. They followed the dominance line of their packs and clans, but they had their own rules, and they got away with shit no other Shifter did.

Graham had no idea why he'd blurted out that Misty was his mate. Except that it was true. Misty was the mate of his heart. He knew it. His heart knew it. His brain just needed to catch up.

“You've mate-claimed her?” Neal asked.

“Yes. Right now. I claim her as mate, under the sun, the Father God, and in front of witnesses. That would be you and Reid.”

Neal gave Graham the ghost of a smile. The man was taciturn—hell, dead silent most of the time. But right now he looked almost amused.

“The Goddess's blessing on you,” Neal said. “Both of you. Your Lupines are going to be pissed off.”

“They can bite me.”

Another twitch of lips from Neal. “They probably will.”

“You still need to lie down,” Reid said, giving Graham a scowl. “You have a gunshot wound, freshly reopened. Dying of it won't help Misty.”

“If I lie down, I'll sleep,” Graham said. “If I sleep, I'll dream, and Oison will be there. Who the hell knows what he can do to me then?”

“Have you tried surrounding yourself with iron?” Reid asked.

“Our whole lives are surrounded by iron,” Graham said. “Or steel. Doesn't seem to help, does it? Besides, you smacked him with the tire iron, and he laughed at you. He shouldn't have been able to grab that bar, but he did. He was only hurt by it because you turned it into bullets. How did you do that, by the way?”

“I'm an ironmaster,” Reid said. “At least, I was in Faerie. That cave is a little piece of Faerie, so I could work my magic there. I can make iron do whatever I want in Faerie. That's one reason the
hoch alfar
hate the
dokk alfar
.”

“I bet there's more to it than that,” Graham said. “What I don't get is how we got there. I wasn't asleep. And you teleported to it. I thought you had to see a place before you could teleport there. But you never said you'd been to the cave.”

“I hadn't,” Reid said. “I do have to see a place, yes—unless I'm moving along a ley line. Then I follow the ley line's pull. Several ley lines intersect in that basement, I discovered. I suggest you seal it up and build the house elsewhere.”

Ideas came together in Graham's head. “When the cubs disappeared down there, they must have followed a ley line that came out . . . at Misty's store?”

“I haven't had time yet, but I'll go down and see where they all lead,” Reid said. “One goes to the cave in the desert—which can be there or not, as Oison chooses, it seems. He must be working some powerful spells, including ones to help him resist iron.”

“Great. Iron is the badass magical weapon against Fae,” Graham said. “Without that, what have we got?”

“Spells that help resist iron are temporary,” Reid said. “And Fae can't resist iron when it's embedded in their brains.”

Neal gave a short laugh. The man was opening up in a big way today. “Wish I could have seen that.”

“I don't know if I killed him,” Reid said. “Since Misty and Graham are still hurt, I'd say I didn't.”

“Too bad,” Neal said.

“Tell me about it.” Graham dragged in a breath that sent agony through him. “You can leave. I'll stay with Misty until the healer gets here.”

Reid and Neal exchanged a glance. “You sure?” Neal asked.

“You want me to rest. I'll rest with her. But I won't sleep.”

Another glance. Goddess, they were like nannies. Finally Neal took up his sword and buckled it onto his back. Reid gave Graham a last look, and the two men left the room together.

“Thought we'd never be alone.” Graham sat on his big bed, swinging his legs onto the mattress and adjusting himself to lean against the headboard. He wore only jeans, his feet bare, the bandage squeezing his side in an annoying way.

Misty didn't respond. Her hair was sweaty and damp, still in the ponytail. The first night Graham had met her, at Coolers, she'd worn her hair in a softer style, with wisps curling around her forehead. She'd regarded Graham with her dark brown eyes, unafraid, and asked him if he was a Shifter.

And look what he'd done to her.

Misty should have run from him that night and never come back. But she had come back. She'd met him the second time by chance on top of a parking garage at the county courthouse, and then she'd sought Graham out in Shiftertown to tell him a bad man had asked her to spy on Shifters. That night, Graham had kissed her for the first time.

He'd never been able to forget the taste of her. Graham had drunk her last night as well, finding an even sweeter taste between her legs.

If she died, Graham would force his way into Faerie, hunt down Oison, and chop him into a million tiny pieces.

Misty's wound wasn't very deep, so Neal had said when he'd cleaned her up and bandaged her. But with Fae wounds, it didn't matter how deep they were. A scratch could be deadly.

“Stay with me, love.” Graham took her hot hand in his and caressed her limp fingers. “I can't let you go.”

Graham had lost everyone in his life. His father and mother, his sister—Dougal's mother—all dead in the wild. Graham and Dougal were the only ones left of the pack. And Rita had died, Graham's one cub with her.

Alone, always alone. Graham had found more Shifters in his clan, then they'd been rounded up into Shiftertowns, practically living on top of one another, but it made no difference. A wolf without a pack was nothing.

But a wolf could start a pack. He needed a mate, and cubs. When Dougal mated as well, there would be many little ones running around.

The idea of being alone forever terrified the hell out of Graham. He'd never told anyone that.

“Stay with me, Misty.”

He leaned down and kissed her hair, squeezing her hand. Misty never opened her eyes, never acknowledged him. She was here next to him, but Graham was still alone.

No, not quite. Kyle and Matt pushed the door open, concern in their wolf-pup eyes. They preferred staying wolf these days, Graham noted, unless they wanted to chatter to Misty.

Now they put their paws on the bed, looking up at Graham's high mattress. Graham lifted them both. After wagging tails and pushing noses into his palm, the two cubs lay down at Misty's feet, one on either corner of the bed.

Guarding her, Graham thought. Guards who closed their eyes almost immediately, and started to snore.

 • • • 

M
isty swam toward consciousness, but that way lay pain. She thought she heard her brother's voice . . .
Paul, I need to take care of him.

She was twelve again, and sick in bed with the flu, fever making her delirious. Her father was off pursuing one of his wild schemes, her mother was in Newport Beach in her new house with her new life. Only Misty was there to take care of Paul.
I have to get up. I have to look after him.

But Graham was there too. She heard him rumbling something and relaxed. If anyone could take care of Paul, it was Graham.

She heard other voices, ones she didn't know. A woman with low, almost velvety tones, a man with an Irish accent. What were they all doing here?

Present reality caught up to her. She'd been stabbed, with a wound that seared, and Graham had been hurt. Where was she? Was Graham all right? Were the cubs?

She started up to find a heavy hand pressing her back down. “Stay still,” Graham said.

Misty subsided. Graham sounded as strong as ever, though she heard the weakness in his voice. Faint, but there.

The pain returned. Pain had seeped through the darkness of her dreams, but it had been muffled, like sounds through a thick blanket. Now it raced over her, spreading through her body from one hot core.

“The cut isn't too deep,” the woman's voice said. “But deep enough. I can try.”

“What is
that
?” Graham's voice held great suspicion.

“Something my father gave me. He thinks it will help.”

“Your Fae father.”

The Irishman spoke. “You knew that when you called us.”

Graham growled something wordless. “You're a Guardian,” he said. “Why do you have to be in here? You make me nervous.”

“The sword helps,” the woman answered in soothing tones. “Sean and I do this together. If you want her to get better, you have to stand over there and be quiet.”

Misty wanted to laugh, but it hurt too much. Graham hated being told what to do, especially by a female.

The Irishman, who must be Sean, gave a low chuckle. “I'll let no harm come to her. Andrea knows what she's doing. Now I'm going to draw the sword, but I promise, I'm not stabbing anyone with it.”

A faint
ting
as metal touched metal. Then a touch on Misty's side. She cried out, cringing away, as pain intensified.

“What are you doing?” Graham said immediately.

“Calm down.” Andrea's voice again. “I can see the spells. They're complex, a mesh. It will take a bit for me to untangle them.”

“Just do it,” Graham rumbled.

“She will,” the Irishman said. “Stop interrupting.”

Graham made another noise of impatience, but he subsided. He must be truly worried if he actually shut up.

Misty felt the cold of animal noses touching her arm. Little noses. Two of them. She wanted to smile, but couldn't move.