Wild Wolf (4 page)

“That was smart. Stupid human thought I'd bring Paul out here so he could be ambushed and killed.” Graham's brows drew together. “Too stupid. Something's wrong.”

“What's wrong is I need to warn Paul. If Sam tracks him down, he's screwed.”

“Let's make sure we're not screwed first, all right? It will take Dougal a while to find civilization. Good thing Shifters heal fast.”

Graham already sounded a little stronger, but when Misty took his hand again, his grip was slack. “All that with Dougal—making him take out the bullet and then sending him for help—you did that so he wouldn't be scared.”

Graham's grin cracked through dirt on his face. “Yeah, you caught me.”

“Will he be all right?”

“Probably. He's been through a lot, and he's learned to be tough. Poor cub got stuck with
me
to bring him up. I'm the alpha of the alphas, but Dougal's not that dominant. Other cubs gave him hell for it when he was growing up, and my pack still does. He's the natural choice to be my successor, but they know he's not strong. The minute I drop dead, they'll be all over him trying to throw him out and take over.”

Misty's mouth popped open. “That's terrible.”

Graham shrugged. “It's a Shifter thing. They won't touch him while I'm around, and I'm coming up with ideas to keep him safe. But having to fight back all the time has made Dougal stronger.”

Misty squeezed Graham's big hand. “You're good to take care of him.”

“He's my sister's son. I didn't have a choice. That's another Shifter thing.”

“I bet you did have a choice. You could have had someone in your pack help you with him, right? You did it yourself because you felt sorry for him. You were being nice.”

Graham gave her a faintly startled look before his grin appeared again. “Don't tell anyone, all right? I've got a rep.”

“You're nice to me,” Misty said, stroking his shoulder.

“Because you're sexy as hell.”

He was joking. Graham always joked. In all the time she'd known him, he was either yelling at someone or joking with them. A serious talk was not something Graham did.

Also, in the eight months Graham and Misty had been going out, he'd never made any move to take Misty to bed. He'd kissed her . . . Wow, had he kissed her. Blood-sizzling, she-could-have-an-orgasm-just-kissing-him kisses. But nothing more.

Mostly Graham took her to clubs, like Coolers, or to out-of-the-way restaurants and bars that allowed Shifters. Other Shifters were always present at these sort-of dates, and much of the time, Misty had to drive herself to meet him there. Graham was very attentive during the dates, sitting with his arm around her, interested in her talk about her day and her opinions on whatever they discussed. When the date was over, he'd walk her to her pickup, kiss her good night, and wait until she drove safely out of the parking lot. Then she'd go home—alone.

Misty had been to Graham's house, where he lived with Dougal, but Graham had never let Misty go to the fight club—an unofficial arena where Shifters battled it out with each other for fun. Misty also never stayed the night with Graham, and he'd never been inside her house, though he knew where she lived. He'd come to her flower shop once, but only once—some customers had been reluctant to enter when he'd been there. Graham had decided he shouldn't scare away Misty's business, and never went back.

They'd never talked about their relationship. Graham didn't seem to be the kind of guy who wanted to discuss relationships. Misty was afraid he'd start ignoring her altogether if she brought it up.

Misty had her own friends now in Shiftertown, like the party-happy Shifter girl Lindsay, and Cassidy, a wildcat who was the sister of the Shiftertown leader. Lindsay, the font of all Shifter gossip, told Misty Graham wasn't seeing anyone else, so that wasn't the cause of the distance he kept with her. He wasn't gay either . . . that fact would be all over Shiftertown too.

Graham might die today. The sun was reaching its zenith, the shade from the shed narrowing to a sliver. In a few minutes, it would be gone altogether.

“Stay with me, Graham,” Misty said, massaging his shoulder.

“I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

The shade disappeared. The sun burned down on them, beating through Misty's thin tank top. She was in shorts too, which she wore when getting deliveries ready to go in the mornings, and the sun was hot on her skin.

Misty had lived in southern Nevada long enough to know what over a hundred degrees felt like, and this was it. It might get up to a hundred and ten today, and possibly higher than that. Out here, the temperature of the desert floor could rise to a hundred and twenty and more.

“We need shade,” Misty said.

“No kidding,” was Graham's helpful answer. “Not in that shed. Don't feel like lying on a rusty nail right now.”

Blood poisoning would finish him. There was only so much even Shifters could take.

A nice cool cave with an underground spring would be perfect. That was too much to hope for, but the mountain they were up against might have a niche or something out of the sun. The mining shaft was out, even if it hadn't been filled in. Old shafts were dangerously unstable and full of vertical shafts that could drop hundreds of feet.

Misty had done enough desert hiking to know that rocks in shade absorbed coolness overnight, and gave off that coolness during the day. Even on the hottest afternoons, a niche that had stayed in shadow all morning could be twenty degrees lower than the rocks just outside it.

Misty squeezed Graham's shoulder again. “I'm going to look for shade. I don't like to move you, but I don't want to watch you burn to a crisp either.”

“I'm worried about you more.” Graham reached for her hand, his brows drawing down. “Humans die fast in the heat.”

“I'm not that delicate. I'll be right back. Don't go away.”

“You are that delicate. And you think you're funny too.”

Misty leaned down and gave him a soft kiss across his cracked lips, her own as dry. Graham could barely move his mouth in response.

When Misty lifted her head, she saw a flash of naked emotion in Graham's eyes. Need, longing, loneliness, the weight of his position as alpha. On top of that, a tenderness for her.

Misty stilled a moment, soaking it in. She'd never seen any kind of sentiment in Graham for her. Liking yes, and he'd charged out here to rescue her today, but she'd never seen this flash of stark feeling.

She hated that this might be the last time she saw it. If he died today . . .

Misty wouldn't let him. She kissed Graham one more time then rose and brushed herself off. Graham watched her, still frowning. “You be careful, understand me?” he rumbled.

“I will.”

“If I have to come looking for you, I'll be pissed off.”

“I know.” She sent him another smile. “Be right back.”

Graham didn't answer. He moved a little, grunting in pain, but Misty made herself walk away from him.

She started for the ridge above them, finding a narrow wash that gave her a clear path upward through the scrub. She went slowly, picking her way along, the wash full of loose rocks. If she fell and broke something, they could both die out here before Dougal returned.

Misty made for a fold of rock that jutted out into the slope from the desert floor. These mountains looked smooth from the distance, but close to, they were clumped with boulders, tough weeds, creosote, and critters. The critters were mostly lizards and birds for now—not too many bugs liked the hot, dry afternoons. But in the evening, crawly things would be everywhere, including snakes. Snakes liked dusk, when they slithered out in droves to soak up the last warmth of the rocks. When the snakes emerged, so would the coyotes.

Misty rounded one particularly large clump of boulders and was rewarded with the sight of a narrow opening between two big rocks. Going carefully, keeping an eye out for snakes that might have come out early, she squeezed herself through the niche.

It was a tight fit. Misty held her breath and inched along, promising herself she'd go back if it got too tight. She couldn't afford to get stuck, and if Graham couldn't fit, the shelter would be useless to him.

Once more step, and Misty popped through. She stopped, looking around in surprise.

A giant cave opened out from the rocks, lit by sunlight streaming through a hole in the granite wall high above. Reflections danced everywhere, caused by a burbling spring that spread out into a pool at the far end of the cave.

“A nice cool cave with an underground spring,” Misty whispered. “What do you know?”

M
isty moved forward cautiously. The sound of trickling water made the thirst she was trying not to think about soar to life. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and her lips were aching and cracked. She
needed
that water.

Misty wasn't stupid enough to rush to it, scoop it into her hands, and gulp it down. Water in wild places was likely to be contaminated, especially out here, between a city and a nuclear testing site. Misty might be dying for the water, but she'd be foolish to drink it.

The cave, however, was blissfully cool. If she could get Graham this short distance, they could wait for Dougal here.

The cavern was gigantic from what she could see, as though the whole inside of the mountain had been carved out. The cut in the rock high above, letting in light and air, kept the place from being too damp, but the water cooled it. The faint chill felt like the one in her flower room, always pleasant on a hot afternoon.

Her flower room was nothing but smashed glass and petals now, Misty thought in sorrow. But she'd have to deal with her destroyed shop later. First, she needed to get Graham here where he could rest and cool down.

“Hey,” a voice said.

Misty jumped, her hand going to her chest, her heart banging. A man rose from the other side of the pool of water, where he'd been crouching in the shadows. He wasn't one of Flores's gang boys, she saw to her relief. He was a hiker—tall, with blond hair messy from perspiration, wind, and dirt, and wearing a T-shirt, canvas shorts, thick socks, and hiking boots. A backpack, one of the huge kind that could hold supplies for a multiday hike, lay on the ground near him.

“You lost?” he asked, peering at Misty. “Want some water?”

Yes, she wanted water. “You didn't drink from that stream, did you?” Misty's voice came out a croak.

“Didn't have to.” The man held up a bottle. “Brought it with me. You sound terrible. You need help?”

“My friend does.” Misty went toward him, stepping carefully, her sandals not made for desert walking. “Some gangbangers shot him.”

The man's eyes widened. “Oh, jeez. Are they still around?”

“No, they ran off. Leaving us stranded.”

His eyes remained wide. They were dark eyes, a nice contrast with his light-colored hair. The man wasn't much older than Misty, she realized as she reached him. And in great shape. He was tall and lean, his muscles ropy, his skin tanned a liquid brown.

He handed Misty the bottle and watched while she took a sip. Then a gulp. The water tasted good, silken and smooth, cool from the insulated canteen. Misty kept on drinking until the last droplet flowed into her mouth.

“Sorry,” she gasped. “Didn't mean to drain it.”

“It's all right. I have more. The water is supposed to be inside you, not the bottle. Did you call for help?”

“Another friend went. We couldn't get a signal.” Misty looked hopefully at the cell phone on his belt.

He shook his head. “Lost contact about five miles back. Let's get your friend in here, out of the sun.”

“Thanks.” Misty felt better, first with the water wetting her mouth like sweet nectar; second, because she had someone to help her with Graham. This guy was strong. Everything would be all right.

She handed the canteen back to the hiker, and he gave her another one. “Keep it. You need it, and so will your friend. Show me where he is.”

The hiker followed Misty out through the crack in the rocks. The heat hit her like a wall, the sunshine seeming more intense after the cool relief of the cave.

“This way,” Misty said as the hiker emerged behind her.

The shack was still in sight. Misty picked her way back down the wash, rocks rolling under her feet and those of the hiker behind her. Misty's soles were burning by the time she reached relatively level ground, her toes bloody from loose rocks.

Graham lay where she'd left him, on his back, eyes closed, one hand behind his head. Misty jogged the last few yards and dropped to her knees beside him, alarmed by the too-shallow rise and fall of his chest. The blood had dried around the duct tape, but the flesh looked swollen and angry.

Graham cracked open his eyes. His gaze was unfocused, and he could barely raise the lids. “You came back.” He sounded surprised, pleased, relieved.

“Like I have anywhere else to go. I found some help. There's a cave not far away, out of the sun. There was a hiker there, and he gave me some water.”

Graham blinked a few times. He sniffed once, twice, then turned his head and inhaled in Misty's direction.

“I don't like the way you smell,” he growled.

“Thanks a lot. You're pretty rank yourself.”

Graham didn't smile. “I mean you smell . . . wrong. What hiker?”

“Him.” Misty looked up to point at the thin guy, but he wasn't there.

She stood up, scanning the wash and then the desert around them. She didn't see him anywhere. “He was right behind me.”

Graham struggled to raise his head, grunting with effort. Misty knelt beside him again. “Stop. Let me give you some water.”

Misty unscrewed the canteen's lid, its slender chain clanking against the container's metal side. She put her hand behind Graham's head and supported him while she more or less poured the water into his mouth.

Graham made a face and tried to spit it out.

“No,” Misty said firmly. “Drink it. It's more important for the water to be inside you than in the bottle.”

The hiker had said that, but he was right. Graham held his breath and swallowed the water, scowling the entire time. “Rank,” he said.

Misty had thought the water tasted good, possibly because she'd been parched. “Have some more,” she said.

“No. I'll live.”

Graham tried to sit up and ended up crashing down again. “Shit. Hurts.”

“No kidding. Do you think you could make it up to the cave? It's getting hotter.”

Graham looked up the rise to the boulders on the ridge and took a breath. “Yeah, I can make it. Give me a second.”

He closed his eyes again. Misty looked down at him, at his hard, square jaw, firm cheekbones, forehead now creased with dirt. Graham's hair was black, but he kept it buzzed short, a thin wash of darkness on his scalp. Graham couldn't be called handsome, not like some of the other Shifters Misty had met, but there was something about him that made Misty like looking at him. His large body was hard with muscle, his face firm, eyes an intense gray that could pin even the boldest of people in place. A strong man, who even now strove not to show weakness.

After a few minutes, Graham opened his eyes again and nodded. Misty helped him sit up and then, after another time of rest, she helped him to stand.

Graham fell against her as soon as he gained his feet, and Misty struggled to hold his weight. After a while, he was able to move, and Misty guided him back to the rise, Graham's every step labored.

Misty looked around for the hiker as they climbed up the wash, but she didn't see him. She hoped he was all right, but the desert could be treacherous.

It took much longer to reach the niche in the rocks again, but finally Graham and Misty came to rest on the level ground near the boulders.

Graham stiffened as he leaned against the rocks, and he inhaled sharply. “In there? Are you crazy? I'm not going in there.”

“It's a giant cave,” Misty said. “It's cool inside—it gets bigger after the entrance. What's the matter?”

She started through the niche. Graham gave a long growl, then sucked in a breath of pain as he pushed in behind her. She reached back and grabbed his hand, guiding him through.

They emerged into the cave . . .

But it was the wrong cave. The hollow in these rocks was cool, but nowhere near as big as the cave in which Misty had found the hiker. This niche was only about five feet deep, ending in a solid granite wall. There was no sign of the pool, or any water at all.

“Damn,” Misty said. “That cave was perfect. But at least you can rest here out of the sun. I can look again for the other one. It can't be far away.”

Misty turned to leave, but Graham clamped his hand over her wrist. For a wounded man, he had a lot of strength.

His eyes were clear now as he glared down at her. “Give me that water.”

“What?” Misty fumbled with the canteen at her waistband. “You could say
please
.”

“I'm not joking. Give it to me.”

Graham was standing upright, without support, and no blood at all leaked around his wound. The tattoos on his arms were stark against his skin, almost luminous in the shadows.

Misty handed him the canteen. Graham jerked it from her, unscrewed the lid, and took a long sniff of the water inside.

“Shit.” His expletive filled the little cave before he upended the canteen and poured the water all over the dirt floor.

“No!” Misty shot her hands out, catching the falling droplets in her cupped palms. She brought her hands to her face and slurped the water, not caring how dirty she was.

Graham slapped her hands down, and the last of the water was lost.

“What are you doing?” Misty asked in a near screech.

“The hiker, where is he?”

“I told you, I don't know.” Misty licked her lips, needing every drop of the beautiful water. “He was right behind me. I didn't see where he went.”

“Shit,” Graham said. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

“Graham,
what
is wrong?”

“Damn it.” Graham scrubbed one hand over his short hair as he paced in a circle in shallow cave. “I drank that water.”

“So did I.”

Graham stopped. He grabbed Misty by the shoulders and yanked her to him, not gently. He looked into her eyes, his brows coming together. “You seem okay.”

“I'm fine. You're the one who was shot.”

Graham released her and stepped back. “I know. And look at me.” He put his hands on his hips, standing upright. His face was no longer drawn and gray, and the spent look was gone from his eyes. He looked hale and well, tall and strong.

Graham ripped the tape from his side. Underneath, his skin was whole, the only thing left of the wound a patch of dried blood. He was completely and undeniably healed.

Misty reached out and touched his side to find warm, firm flesh. “I guess Shifters do heal fast.”

“Not
that
fast. There was magic in the water, and there's only one kind of magic going around these days. At least around Shifters.”

“Magic? What are you talking about?”

“Bastards. They'll do anything to get Shifters under their power again, and you went and handed me to them. Damn it.” He turned away, pacing again. “This is what I get for being nice to a human.”

Misty took a step back. “What the hell do you mean I
handed
you to them?
Them
who? I didn't hand you to anybody.”

“You forced that water into me. Now I'm screwed.
Shit.
” Graham balled both fists and slammed them into the rock wall.

He hit so hard Misty expected his fingers to break, but the wall chipped, and dirt pattered down like rain. Graham hit the wall again and again, the curse word sounding with each slam. He was enraged, and behind the rage on his stiff face, Misty saw fear.

“Graham,
what
is wrong?”

He swung to her. His eyes were white gray, a wolf's eyes, and his snarl filled the cave. “
You
are what is wrong. Don't you understand? You have
fucked me over
.”

Misty's lips parted, her breath hitching. He was furious, more so than she'd ever seen him, and he was mad at
her
.

Emotions tumbled through her. She'd been terrorized this morning, her fear for her brother overriding her fear for herself. She'd been rescued by Graham, who'd looked pissed off to do it. Then she'd been in danger of dying of heatstroke while she watched Graham start to expire with a bullet in his side. And now Graham was standing here, yelling at
her
.

Words wouldn't come, and neither would her breath. Misty turned her back and walked outside. The sun was beating down hotter than before, afternoon well underway, but she didn't care.

Graham came after her. He didn't bother to stop her; he pushed past her and started down the hill.

A plume of dust rose in the desert about a mile away, a vehicle approaching. Graham went on down the wash, stepping through the slithering stones with agility. Misty picked her way down, the soles of her sandals split, her feet burning.

The dark spot in front of the dust plume enlarged until it became a large black pickup. It skidded a little in the soft dirt as it turned off the track and headed for the shack and Graham.

Even before the truck stopped, Dougal leapt out of the back door of the four-door cab, clad in a new shirt. Dougal ran at Graham, hurtling himself into Graham's arms like a scared adolescent. Graham gathered his nephew into his embrace, holding him, rubbing his back.