by L. E. Horn
The admission shocked me, and it didn’t fit with what I’d pegged for Garrett. Yet I remembered his reaction when he’d admitted they were gone and the looks I’d seen on his face since. I realized I’d blamed Garrett for Peter and Josh getting away. What right did I have to blame him? I might not like him, but Sam had said he was a good enforcer. It isn’t his fault. He thought they were safe in the house.
“It wasn’t his fault,” I admitted.
“Josh said they were playing the game and the dog needed to go out. They decided to take him for a walk in the backyard. He doesn’t remember anything else. At some point, their wulves took over.”
They took the dog for a walk. If this was anyone’s fault, it was mine.
Chris opened the back door to the house and Keen barreled out, dancing at my feet. When I hesitated, he swung it wider. “Come on, Liam. I brought fried chicken from town.”
I shook my head, unable to get Peter out of it. “Not hungry.”
“Who said that was a request?” Chris grabbed me by the arm and pulled me through the door. “Your body might be fighting an infection. Eating is mandatory.”
I could smell the chicken, and we found Josh and Sam in the kitchen heating it up in the microwave. Josh moved as though his body hurt, and he refused to meet our eyes. But I was happy to see him functioning at all. Sam’s eyes scanned my face as we entered, and her lips tightened before she gestured to a chair.
“Sit. We’ve got things ready to go.”
I almost tripped over Havoc, who lay stretched out on the floor, taking up a substantial piece of real estate. The pup appeared to be out cold. I envied his oblivion.
“Maybe I should take him home with me for now.” Guilt consumed me, because if they hadn’t gone out to walk Havoc, Peter might be sitting at the table right now.
“No,” Chris said.
“He’s ours now.” Josh spoke the first clear words I’d heard from him. “Why do you want him back?”
He carried his plate and put it on the table before sitting. With big sunken circles around his eyes and the skin tight over his cheekbones, he looked as though he’d walked through hell.
I glanced to Chris. “You have bigger things to worry about.”
“Don’t blame this on Havoc,” Josh said, frowning. “We could have just let him out but decided a walk would be nice.” He rubbed his face. “I remember Havoc took off, like he smelled something, and we went after him. After that, it all goes black.”
Chris’s eyebrows rose. “So you remember Havoc chasing something?” When Josh nodded, he looked at me. “Hunt reflex. Could have triggered the wulf in them.”
“The remnants of their clothing might offer a clue,” Sam suggested. “I could go and look—”
“That can wait,” Chris said. “Where they went and what they chased is not that important.”
A muscle jumped in Josh’s jaw as he handed me the coleslaw. “Anyway, you can’t have Havoc back. He’s our dog now.”
“Yeah, even sleeps on the bed.” Chris grimaced, but his face relaxed a bit. “We need a bigger bed. And due to the activity at one end of Havoc or the other, we’re getting rid of some annoying knickknacks we picked up over the years.”
I glanced around, noticing the lower shelves in the hall and the open ones in the kitchen alcove now stood empty. “Keen ate my entire collection of action figures,” I said, helping myself to a few spoonfuls of coleslaw.
Josh winced. “Those might have been worth something.”
“Not anymore.” I managed a smile, and Josh gave me one back, albeit shaky around the edges.
Okay. If a big silly puppy can put a smile on our faces after a day like this, he’s here for a reason. And he’s staying.
Keen suddenly raised her head, and I heard the crunch of tires on gravel. Havoc slumbered on.
“Hayek,” Chris said, rising. When I pushed back my chair, he held up a hand. “Stay. Eat.”
Hayek was here for Peter, and I wanted to hear what he had to say. But Sam put her hand on my arm, so I gritted my teeth. And stayed.
Eating was another matter. When I noticed Josh picking at his coleslaw, I made a point of shoveling in a mouthful. By the time Chris and Hayek appeared in the kitchen, I’d managed to choke down a few.
“How is he?” I asked as soon as Hayek nodded me a greeting.
“Resting,” the doctor said, settling at the table. “I want him kept sedated for a few days. It’s for the best, right now.”
I knew “resting” was doc lingo for everything from near death to taking a nap, but I hadn’t really expected anything more. Hayek’s dark eyes roamed the table, scanned Josh, whose focus remained on his plate, and came to rest squarely on me. He reached out and shoved the plate of chicken my way.
“Eat,” he said.
Everyone wanted me to eat, when my best friend was . . . what? Frustration surged, and on its heels came anger. I glared at Hayek.
He was made of stern stuff, the doc. “Don’t give me that crap,” he said. “Until we get the test results, we have to assume you’ve been exposed to the same thing Josh and Peter have. Your body needs resources to fight this. So eat.”
I made no effort to calm down. “Fight it? How do we fight it? This isn’t your garden variety cold.”
Hayek helped himself to a chicken leg, taking a large bite before putting it on his plate. “You really have no idea, do you?” He glanced at Chris, who shrugged.
“Told him,” the enforcer said, grimacing as Josh heaped more coleslaw onto his plate. “But he’s likely forgotten. Hey, I’m not a rabbit.” This last was directed to Josh.
“Listen to the doc,” Josh said, adding a final spoonful.
Hayek locked eyes with me. “Your transition to wulf comes with fringe benefits.”
“Yeah, I know. Better health, longer life.” I swallowed. “In theory, anyway.”
“Regardless of what’s going on with this possible viral mutation, you are a wulf, now. And that means you are capable of fighting off most infections.”
The doc’s matter-of-fact tone helped ramp down my anger. “Are you saying my body might be able to fight this?”
Chris dropped a well-gnawed drumstick onto his plate. I noticed he had yet to touch the coleslaw. He offered, “It might be why your wulf doesn’t look like Dillon’s or the others. Maybe your body is fighting the mutant virus.”
I experienced the first stirrings of much needed hope, boosted when Sam’s leg brushed mine beneath the table. “Just how strong is this healing ability?”
“Pretty strong,” Hayek said. “Although we aren’t invincible. It tackles most cancers without breaking sweat. Some of the stronger influenza outbreaks have challenged it, but it pulled us through the Black Death with flying colors.”
I think my eyebrows had joined my hairline. “It cures cancer? And the plague?” I glanced at Chris. “So . . . Peter might be able to get over this?”
“If we can buy him enough time, that is my hope,” Hayek said. He rolled his eyes toward my plate. “But your bodies need sufficient resources to fight it. So . . . eat.”
I applied myself to the food with considerably more gusto, though I can’t say my appetite was up to the usual wulf standards. Peter remained the focus of my thoughts, which then drifted to the enforcer who watched over him.
As the conversation trailed off to nothing, I grabbed a clean plate and loaded it up. Sam’s steady gaze assessed me—but she didn’t attempt to follow. I told Keen to stay and headed out the door.
The waning crescent moon hung overhead as I walked to the barn. I couldn’t remember noticing when dusk had arrived, but it was already full dark. Garrett sat where we’d left him, staring at Peter’s still form. I noticed he was wearing surgical gloves, so he must have checked on the wulfan at least once. He looked at me and peeled them off when he saw the plate but didn’t take it from me.
“I appreciate the effort, but I’m not hungry.”
I snorted, making him look at me. “Apparen
tly eating isn’t optional. Doctor’s orders.”
Garrett’s eyebrows lifted and for a moment I wondered if he’d debate who was in charge here, but he nodded, and a corner of his mouth twitched up. “Yeah. He’s right. We have to keep our strength up.” His eyes tracked toward Peter.
“This is not your fault, Garrett.” The words were out before I realized they were the reason I’d come out here. “We’re doing the best we can with a terrible situation. No one could have guessed that a walk in the backyard would end like this.”
He shook his head. “They were my responsibility, and I let them down.”
“You gave them respect, as adults. We’re all in the dark on this thing.”
I sensed his blue gaze survey me. “Can I ask you something?” When I nodded, he continued. “How are you doing, really? Is your wulf pushing the boundaries of your control?”
My heart pounded, but I appreciated his honest evaluation. And he had a right to ask the question. I thought of Dillon and looked away.
“My wulf is a new thing for me,” I said, struggling to describe the presence within that still seemed so foreign. “I haven’t got a normal to compare it to. Sometimes he’s there, wanting out. But so far, I’ve been able to control him.”
His gaze traced the lines of my face and seemed satisfied. “Whatever this is, you don’t appear to be following the pattern of Josh and Peter. But you aren’t wulfan.”
I thought of my partial changes. Of Dillon and of the madness, yet recognition, in his eyes. “No, I don’t think I would follow the same path. Dillon didn’t suffer memory loss that I know of. Only insanity.”
“Well, so far, you seem pretty sane,” he said.
I nodded, a small part of me relaxing at his assessment.
“Thanks for the food.” He stood up. “I’m going to wash my hands. Can you watch him for me? I could close the gate, but . . .” He trailed off, turned, and disappeared into the bathroom.
I moved to look into the cage. Hayek had inserted an IV into the silver wulf’s foreleg. I stared at it as though it were a symbol of hope, and maybe it was. Fight, my friend. If Hayek was right, the wulfan healing ability had tackled some of history’s most vicious attempts to wipe humans off the face of the Earth. And won. Could it cure us of this virus, too?
Lost in thought, it startled me when a small hand folded into mine. I’d been so preoccupied that I hadn’t sensed Sam come into the barn. The warmth of her skin penetrated straight through to my heart, reminding me that I had much to fight for.
She seemed to sense my resolve, and her grip tightened. “How is he?”
I shrugged. “Drugged. Alive.” We stood and watched him breathe until Garrett returned. He noticed our joined hands, but turned his gaze to the food, sinking his teeth into a thigh.
“Let’s go home,” Sam said.
Garrett, chewing, gave us a small wave as we left. Chris came out of the house as we approached, bringing Keen with him. His eyes flicked over our hands, and he frowned as he walked us to the SUV.
“How’s work going?” he asked.
“I tell ya,” groaned Sam, “it’s a steep learning curve.”
The torment in her voice startled a laugh out of me. “Our tech has been cramming Sam full of info,” I explained to a confused Chris. “I keep having to rescue her.” I let go of Sam’s hand as we walked to opposite sides of the vehicle.
Chris continued to frown. “You guys . . . be careful, all right?”
I met his eyes, making it clear I knew what he meant. “Always. Let me know . . .” I trailed off, couldn’t finish.
“We’ll look after him.” He gave a brisk nod. “See you tomorrow.”
I got in, started the truck, and turned it around on autopilot, my inner eye focused on Peter as I’d last seen him.
“We’ll get through this,” Sam said.
I recognized the difference between that comment and an assertion that Peter would be fine, but I wasn’t the only one needing reassurance.
“If the wulf can handle the plague, this should be child’s play.” I forced a smile.
I glanced at her, and her eyes shone silver through the darkness.
“We’ll be fine,” I added.
Sam’s teeth flashed white. “Yes,” she growled. “We will.”
* * *
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NIGHTSHIFTER.
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The Nightshifter Series
Get NIGHTSHATTER (Book 2) on April 30!
Acknowledgments
IT IS TRUE THAT NO book is published without an army of support, and NIGHTSHIFTER is no exception. My friend/publisher/editor/consultant Susan Lisoway stayed entrenched for a much longer haul than anticipated. The loyalty of the entire Hayek clan remained impressive and I couldn’t have done it without Pat, Stewart, Gillian, and Austin. Support came in many forms, including my editor Paula Chiarcos, who helped me develop my characters to their fullest. I will be forever grateful to my friends, alpha readers, and beta critics who provided invaluable assistance with the finishing touches of the stories and encouragement that I was onto something that people would enjoy. My copy editor and proofreader, Barbara Holliday, polished my writing to a brilliant shine. Last, but certainly not least, my husband, who has kept life in motion while I’ve been planted in front of my computer.
Thanks to all of you from the depths of my heart!
About the Author
Author and artist, L.E. Horn, is a full-time speculative fiction writer.
Her interests led to a degree in Animal Science and a lifelong fascination with our unconscious animal nature—our inner “Wild Child.” She particularly loves to explore the qualities we believe distinguish us from the creatures whose planet we share. Her discoveries, combined with her vivid imagination, spill over into everything she writes and lend depth and insight to her interspecies relationships.
L.E. Horn shares a country home with her husband and many interesting animals that, as she puts it, “Inspire me by pointing out what should be obvious on a minute-by-minute basis. The challenge keeps me happy and humble.”