Scintilla

by Elizabeth Noble

  Raul didn’t think the horror was from his wounds.

  “Hey,” Fahim said softly. Someone, probably Fahim was shaking Raul’s shoulder.

  Groaning, Raul sat up, wrapped the blanket around his waist and shifted back to human.

  “The US border is a few miles ahead. We need a plan,” Fahim said.

  “We’re American citizens. Everything about us can be verified, why don’t we just go to the nearest crossing, tell them we were on vacation, got mugged or something and…”

  “Stolen truck. And we don’t want anyone to know we were here,” Raul said.

  “I’m the only one among us with the ID needed to get back into the States. We could get a legitimate vehicle and I could likely conceal you two long enough to drive through like regular people do,” Fahim said. He held up one finger. “But as someone whose job it is to follow a paper trail, trust me when I say if anyone can prove we were in Mexico when that prison blew up, they’ll eventually tie us to it.”

  “We have to go back the way we came,” Raul added. His hatred of the idea that one of them was going to sit and wait for Fahim’s return came roaring back with renewed vengeance.

  “I don’t even know how I got here,” Brandon said. “I don’t know if there was some kind of trail.” He had the computer tower wedged between his knees and was using an old screwdriver to take it apart as he talked. Pulling something from inside he announced, “There! Got it.” Looking over at Fahim he added, “Now you can make this go away.”

  Apparently, Brandon and Fahim had been having quite the chat while Raul was asleep—unconscious. Fahim reached over and wrapped the fingers of one hand around the machine and lifted it away from Brandon. Raul saw the muscles of Fahim’s arm tense, and his knuckles went white for a second before the computer terminal shattered into shiny, black sand. Brandon pulled a face then brushed the grit from his legs and off the seat.

  “Are you able to do that to, say… a pickup truck?” Raul asked.

  Brandon and Fahim turned at the same time, obviously surprised to hear Raul talk. “Yes,” Fahim said softly.

  The scenery was slightly different. Now Raul could see the border fencing in the distance. He must’ve dozed off again. They’d stopped and parked. It was probably what had woken Raul up again.

  A muscle in Brandon’s jaw jumped and his Adam’s apple jerked when he swallowed. His features were an unpleasant mingling of guilt, fear and concern. He broke eye contact, looking out the front window.

  “You need to get out of this fucking hot truck, get water and food.” Brandon paused, pulled in a deep breath and said more sternly, “You’re going first.”

  “No. I’m not. Even wounded, I’m better equipped to survive longer in these conditions. Werewolves can go longer than jinn or humans on minimal or no water. You need to start doing whatever you can do to make sure our cover story survives investigation,” Raul argued.

  Fahim looked from one to the other. “You’re both right.”

  Fahim got out of the truck and walked a few feet away, turned in a circle then returned. “There’s no shelter, but there are some rocks and clumps of bushes not far off the road.” He was talking to Brandon.

  Fahim climbed back into the truck and started the engine, driving a few dozen yards from the road. He got back out and began circling the truck brushing one finger along the side as he walked.

  “This will camouflage it enough no one will see you until they walk into this vehicle. We don’t have water, or decent reflective material and the sun won’t set for…,” a glance at his watch, “…another few hours. We’re coming to the hottest part of the day. Raul’s right, you—or I—will shrivel like raisins out here.” He made his way around the truck to Brandon’s side.

  “No! We can’t just leave….”

  Before Brandon could do or say any more, Fahim opened the truck door and pulled Brandon out then wrapped both arms around his shoulders. Jealousy reared up in Raul but before he had time to so much as shift and snarl, Fahim and Brandon vanished.

  A sharp spike of loneliness pierced Raul. Fahim had an analytical mind, and was right, of course. That didn’t stop Raul from feeling abandoned and vulnerable, which was silly.

  Without much thought he grabbed the blanket, shoved the back-passenger door open and tumbled out of the truck. His bare feet hit hot sand.

  “Ouch, shit, mother fuck!” Raul danced around while he shifted. He ripped a rubber pad from the truck bed but had to shift back to human to handle it without shredding it to bits.

  Hopping from one foot to the other, he shoved the matting under the truck bed then wound the blanket around him again. He shimmed under the truck, hoping it wasn’t leaking any fluids. Raul was leaking fluids, however. Bright, red fluid. The blanket was folded to create a cushion and as much as it hurt, he rolled to his injured side and pressed against the scratchy material. He sucked in a breath and pretended the moisture from his eyes was because he must have sand in them.

  Never mind truck fluids and the lack of water, the infection would probably kill him much sooner.

  He shifted to his full werewolf form. There was barely an inch to spare between his shoulders and the underside of the truck. He wiggled his toes to clear sand and grit away and reminded himself not to get up quickly or he’d knock himself cold hitting his head on the axle.

  Raul tried to sleep, but his mind wouldn’t stop churning. Here he was, within spitting distance from the border into the United States, in the hot sun, under a truck, wounded with no food or water. He tried to convince himself he’d had worse days, but honestly couldn’t remember when.

  Those circumstances weren’t what he feared the most, however. It was the expression Brandon wore. Raul had seen it before. Other species, humans in particular, were in love with the idea of loving a werewolf partner—mate, husband, lover—but didn’t fully realize the reality of a werewolf’s nature.

  Protect.

  That’s what werewolves did. They protected their mates, lovers, children and sometimes strangers. They protected them at all costs, and occasionally to devastating effects.

  Werewolves would kill without hesitation to protect.

  Not everyone who wasn’t a werewolf could come to grips with the reality of that part of a werewolf’s psyche.

  Raul thought Brandon understood and had worked it through in his mind. He’d told Raul how he’d read; researched werewolves and he’d been making an effort to learn about werewolf culture.

  Reality could often trump what one learned from a book or the internet.

  The expression on Brandon’s face told Raul maybe Brandon wasn’t actually prepared for what a relationship with a werewolf might truly entail. Raul had let himself be drawn in and fall in love with a human man who couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see the complexity and sheer overwhelming drive that was as much a part of Raul as his internal organs. Raul did what any werewolf would do; protect who he loved to the fullest. Even if that meant turning the man he loved against him.

  Movement of the truck above him made Raul snarl and jerk upright. He remembered too late he couldn’t sit up then blinked and shook his head, confused because he hadn’t bashed his own skull in.

  It was dark. Stars dotted the sky and he was no longer bleeding—much.

  “Whoa, whoa…” Fahim stood a few feet away, one arm held out. “No need to go and get all snarly and have mauling tendencies. Just me, friend.” There was a cell phone in Fahim’s other hand and he was talking to someone. “What do I do to help him? He’s shifted and I don’t think he’s going to attack, he’s rational.”

  “Get water into him and feed him. Then put him somewhere he can stay shifted and get a good twenty-four hours of sleep.”

  Raul cocked his head and stared at the phone. It took a minute for his addled brain to process Tad was on the other end of the conversation. He felt hot and cold, his eyes weren’t focusing properly, and he was shivering again. Raul wished his cousin were here instead of on the phone. He reminded himself
Fahim was here. Fahim had been his friend since they were very young.

  Brandon might hate Raul, but Raul wasn’t alone, his best friend and his cousin were going to get him home safely. Raul wasn’t going to die out here, in the desert, in Mexico. The scant shrubs and never-ending border fence tilted.

  While Raul was considering that event Fahim stepped close fast.

  “Gotta go.” He stuffed his phone into a pocket and grabbed Raul’s shoulders. “Sit there, in one spot.” A bottle of water was produced from another pocket. “This’ll probably be easier if you’re human.” Fahim bumped the bottle against Raul’s arm.

  Raul shifted to his human form and gripped the bottle. Fahim opened it and kept one hand on the bottom while Raul guzzled the water. “Thank you,” Raul croaked when the bottle was empty. “I guess the pockets were a good idea.”

  Fahim laughed and pushed another bottle of water into Raul’s hands. His laugh sounded good to Raul’s ears. “Wait here while I get rid of the rest of the truck.”

  Raul scooted in a circle so he could keep his eyes on Fahim. Large chunks of what was their truck sat a few feet away. One by one Fahim grabbed them and turned them into dust. When he was finished, he scuffed the side of his boots along the ground to mix the remains with the desert sand.

  Once he completed his task, Fahim returned to Raul and hauled him to his feet. Raul made a grab for the blanket.

  “Seriously, half of Arizona has seen you naked and now you get shy?” Fahim asked.

  “DNA evidence,” Raul said.

  “Oh, well, that’s different.” Fahim stooped and snatched the blanket. He tossed it over his shoulder and wrinkled his nose. “We’re burning this.” With both arms around Raul, Fahim reminded him, “Deep breaths.”

  Raul decided he officially hated traveling via effrit jinni more than any other method. The heat and dark of the desert changed in an instant to a room bathed in soft light and glorious, blasting air conditioning. Fahim didn’t let go of his shoulders and Brandon rushed forward, bucket in hand. He got there just in time for Raul’s stomach to lurch and force burning, slimy bile up and out of his mouth. He coughed and gagged then wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

  “I went to the store and bought bandaging supplies,” Brandon said.

  Raul nodded. “Thanks.”

  With Brandon on one side and Fahim on the other, they got Raul down the hall to the bathroom. Raul took care of some pressing business then showered, being careful about getting too much water into his wound. When he left the bathroom, Brandon was leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom door with a handful of gauze, bandages and a tube that read antiseptic.

  “Lay down and I’ll do my best with this.” Brandon waved one hand at Raul’s bedroom.

  Fahim arrived with a plate full of sandwiches and Raul’s stomach snarled more viciously than his werewolf self ever could. Waving Raul along, Fahim said, “Move yourself or I can move you. Tad says you need to eat, shift and sleep.”

  Raul sighed and made his way to his bedroom and eased onto the bed. He ate while Brandon further cleaned his wound, then applied the antiseptic cream and lastly, he taped gauze to Raul’s side. Brandon didn’t make eye contact, and other than to give Raul instructions to move one way or the other, he didn’t engage in conversation.

  “Is it very painful?” Brandon asked after he’d finished.

  Raul nodded. “Oh yeah.”

  “Thank you for not leaving me to fend for myself,” Brandon whispered.

  Raul shifted his weight and groaned. “Tracking you down was never a question. I’d never leave you if you needed help.”

  Brandon offered him a small smile and nodded at the plate. “You should finish it all.”

  Brandon waited until Raul finished his food and set the plate on the nightstand. Brandon’s gaze shifted for the briefest second to the bottle of lube sitting there as well. “Lay back.”

  Raul did as he was told, pulling the sheet over his legs and hips. Brandon wiggled his fingers then put them over Raul’s wound, hovering close but not touching. Warmth radiated across Raul’s side, it was comforting and eased his pain.

  “We need to get out of here. Bissett and Tala are still in the wind and this is the first place they’ll look for us,” Raul said then yawned. “Bissett has the resources to find out where we’ve been living. He probably knew all along.”

  “Uh huh. I think we can hold them off until tomorrow when you’re better able to travel,” Fahim said. He put a hand on Brandon’s shoulder. “He needs to rest.” He pointed at Raul. “You need to rest.”

  Brandon bit his lower lip, reached out to Raul then curled his fingers into a loose fist before his hand dropped to his side. He looked over Raul, but never looked him in the eye, turned and left the room.

  Raul shifted to werewolf. It was nice to sleep in a bed that wasn’t moving. The room was cool. Sandwiches and water made him feel much better. He drifted off to sleep. Real sleep this time. The room was filling with sunshine when he woke up. Again, Brandon was working his magic with an electrical current to Raul’s side which had calmed to a dull ache.

  “Thank you,” Raul murmured.

  Brandon’s hand moved toward Raul’s forehead, but he pulled back before touching Raul. “It’s almost healed. I figured we could stay until it’s dark. Everything is loaded into the van. You should get some more sleep.”

  When he stood to leave Raul saw how Brandon’s pants bulged. Raul had half a hardon. Brandon’s simple act of using his electricity to take away Raul’s pain affected them both profoundly.

  Maybe Brandon didn’t hate him, but he was clearly disturbed and possibly was rethinking what was between them.

  Raul didn’t want to see an end come to what had begun between them. He loved Brandon, he knew that and not saying the words sooner was a grievous error. Would it have changed anything? Raul had no idea. What hurt the most was that now he might never be able to find out.

  Chapter 17

  Brandon glanced in the rear-view mirror and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Next he looked down at the speedometer, glanced front and then focused on the side-view mirror before looking forward again.

  “If you don’t quit doing that, you’ll drive off the road or up a tree and then the cops will surely notice us,” Fahim said. “Again, I suggest, maybe I should drive.”

  “I can’t sit and do nothing,” Brandon said.

  Fahim snorted. “Unless you run alongside the car and push while you steer, driving is the very definition of ‘doing nothing’.”

  When they passed a speed limit sign Brandon spat, “Crap.” He took his foot off the gas pedal and hit the brake.

  Fahim cringed when the car behind them switched lanes and the sound of a blowing horn screamed by them.

  “You were two miles over the limit! No one ever gets stopped for being two miles over the limit. However, they do get stopped for causing a pile up on the highway!” Fahim snarked.

  “That guy was too close,” Brandon complained.

  A hearty snarl came from the back of the van. Brandon ventured a look behind him.

  Raul sat up, rubbed his head a few times until his hair stood up and pointed out multiple directions. “Christ almighty!” He barked. “A road trip with you two is worse than with two teen girls! Or two toddler girls!” He punched the pillow he’d been using and shoved the blankets around before he resettled in the makeshift bed. “You both insisted I rest so shut it.”

  Fahim glanced sideways at Brandon then back at Raul. “A road trip with a wounded werewolf is no picnic either.” He tapped Brandon’s shoulder. “Rest stop, one mile. Let’s rest. We can get some food, stretch our legs and see if their bathrooms are on that list of best restrooms on the highway.”

  Brandon was going to protest but another growl from Raul changed his mind.

  “Okay.” He checked the rear and side view mirrors—twice—turned to check for cars coming up behind him then flicked on the turn signal and guided the van
to the right and off the highway.

  He picked a parking spot a few rows from the buildings and among other vehicles.

  There was no diner, but the vending machines were well stocked, the food wasn’t past the expiration date and the place was clean. Brandon wasn’t sure why he was so anxious to be back in Rio Rico. He had nowhere to go anymore. Returning to Boston was out of the question, even if Seafind survived, Brandon didn’t want anything to do with it anymore.

  He stole a few glances at Raul as they walked back to the van. Raul didn’t leave you.

  “My turn,” Fahim said and held out one hand.

  Brandon nodded and dropped the van keys in his palm. “I guess that’s fair.”

  Raul blew out a harsh breath and climbed into the back, getting settled on the bed again. He reached around and tapped Brandon’s arm.

  “I have an extra.” He held out a small pillow.

  “Thanks.” Brandon moved around until he found a fairly comfortable position and shoved the pillow behind his head.

  Brandon caught a glimpse of Fahim smiling softly at him. “He didn’t offer me a pillow,” Fahim whispered.

  That fact wasn’t something Brandon needed pointing out, but he nodded just the same. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the scenery rolling by then massaged the back of his neck, yet the utter exhaustion wouldn’t go away. The roadside blurred into long streaks of colors that eventually blended together.

  Raul didn’t leave you.

  Red splattered behind Brandon’s eyelids. Skin and muscle all blood red and in tatters.

  Raul’s jaws clamped around Zoe and ripped her apart. Werewolves will kill to protect.