Storm Warrior (The Grim Series)

by Harper, Dani

  Morgan dressed quickly in the darkness. She suspected her sweater was inside out and one of her bra straps felt twisted around, but such things didn’t matter under her jacket. She promised Gwen to ask about some milk for her and left the room. She was thankful to see a scattering of emergency lights in the hallway and along the sweeping stairs. Gwen’s ghosts didn’t worry Morgan—she was much more concerned about breaking her neck.

  The lobby that had seemed so quaint and charming a few hours ago looked different in the dark. With its antique furniture and heavy woodwork, it resembled a scene from an old movie. A horror movie, maybe something with Boris Karloff or Bela Lugosi. All it needed were cobwebs. Morgan’s ringing of the countertop bell brought no response, but she wasn’t surprised, considering it was the middle of the night. She hadn’t been overly optimistic about finding a flashlight—what Gwen called a torch. On impulse, she borrowed an umbrella that someone had left by the door and headed outside.

  The storm had moved fast. Lightning now flickered in the hills, and thunder growled faintly after it. The rain hadn’t diminished, however. Morgan gripped the umbrella with both hands and turned it against the wind, hoping it wouldn’t blow inside out. She’d have a hard time explaining to its owner what she’d been doing. She wasn’t sure she could explain it to herself. She just had this burning need to make sure the dog was all right.

  Rain blew under the umbrella and soaked her until she finally gave up on it altogether and folded it under her arm. She walked around the building slowly, using a hand to feel her way along the walls. The entire town was dark, its quaint streetlights useless. There were candles lit in the windows of the pub across the road, but there were no other signs of life as she rounded the corner to the back. Suddenly she caught sight of the dog. He was right where she had seen him from the window, still sitting in the mostly empty parking lot. And still staring at her.

  Morgan hurried under the back-door awning. It didn’t offer a lot of protection from the sideways rain, but it was something. “Come here, boy. C’mon, it’s too miserable to be out here. Come inside with me like a good boy, c’mon.” She crouched and waggled her fingers, then drew the tinfoil packet from her pocket and unwrapped the roast bone she’d saved. “Look what I brought for you.” She waved it, hoping the animal would catch the scent. While she might have imagined the dog’s surprise, there was no denying the dog wasn’t moving. As still as a concrete statue, he stared at her as always.

  “All right, then, bud, I’ll come to you.” She was already soaked to the skin, so a little more rain couldn’t hurt. Experience told her that making eye contact with a strange dog communicated challenge or threat, and so she kept her eyes averted. She stopped five or six yards away and gently tossed the bone at his feet. Then she turned sideways and just stood there, waiting. Ordinarily that was a clear canine invitation to investigate. But the dog didn’t come over to sniff her as she had hoped. Nor did she hear any sounds to indicate that he was checking out the bone. She turned her head and was amazed to find the animal was gone! The roast bone lay untouched on the wet pavement.

  “Damn it,” she muttered in frustration. Leaving the bone, she hurried back to the hotel and fumbled in her soggy pocket with cold, numb fingers for a key card. Which was worse, Morgan wondered, that she was being followed by a disappearing dog or that she’d been dumb enough to go out in such weather to try to help it? I could have been struck by lightning, for heaven’s sake. And just what would she have done with the dog if she’d managed to coax him inside? The canine outweighed most humans. It would be like wedging a wet pony into her cozy hotel room. At least she had an understanding roommate. Gwen would no doubt have welcomed a chance to test the dog’s energy or some such thing.

  Morgan replaced the umbrella in the lobby, then decided to leave her soggy shoes by the radiator there. She peeled off her socks and hung them on the radiator as well—they wouldn’t catch fire, would they?—then made her way down the hall barefoot, guided by the strange yellowish glow of the emergency lights. The hotel had a quaint cooler that offered slices of pie and cake, squares of cheese, and biscuits. Luckily, there was a pint of milk left, and she dropped the last of her pocket change into the cigar box next to the cooler. At least her roommate would have her sleep aid. Morgan wondered idly if any of the foods could help her resume dreaming. Cake before bed will give you nightmares, Nainie Jones used to say. Wasn’t there anything that would give you incredibly sexy fantasies? Morgan would like nothing better than to continue the amazing dream she’d been having. Well, one thing could be better—if she really did have a lover she felt so deeply connected with.

  At this point, no lover had appeared in her life at all. She had had plenty of dates and boyfriends, but no relationships that were truly serious, nothing that coaxed the embers of her heart into flame—or whatever was supposed to happen. It’s probably my own fault. Morgan had never really looked for love, always supposing that she’d find someone later. Later, after graduation, after college, after she got through her practicum, after she set up her clinic, after she had more time…To be honest, she’d nursed a small hope that she’d meet someone special while she was on vacation. And wasn’t that just narrowing things down for the universe? Don’t bother me with love until three weeks in such and such a year when I’m finally on holiday.

  She laughed at herself even as she carefully watched her feet on the stairs—and she didn’t see the monstrous dog sitting above her on the landing until she was nearly eye level with it! She yelped and gripped the railing, nearly losing both the milk and her footing. But in the seconds it took her to recover and look again, the creature had vanished.

  “Okay, now this is just crazy.” Morgan looked down the hall. There was no place for such a big animal to hide. The emergency lights were sparse and faint, but she wouldn’t miss seeing a black dog against a yellow wall. “I’m obviously overtired,” she muttered. She’d been thinking way too much about the dog lately—small wonder that she thought she saw him for an instant. The fact that she hadn’t been thinking about the dog at all in the moments before she saw him notwithstanding. It was just a strange night, and she needed to go back to bed.

  Gwen was delighted with the milk. Morgan was just grateful that her bare feet and wet clothes wouldn’t be noticed in the dark. She toweled off her hair in the bathroom and hoped her clothes would be dry by morning. Her flannel sleep shirt felt like bliss. The bed did too; although, it had been a whole lot warmer in her dream.

  She fell asleep thinking about the sexy stranger, but she dreamed of the dog instead. She was back in America, back in the Spokane Valley. Going about her daily tasks. Working at the clinic, shopping, banking, picking up the mail. And everywhere she went, the enormous black creature was at her side. His broad back was level with her waist, and she could rest her hand there as she walked. She could feel the warmth from the dog, the texture of his fur. More than that, she felt as if he belonged there, had always been there.

  When morning came, she was surprised to find that she missed him.

  Kindness was in the woman’s voice; concern warmed her pale-blue eyes. For him. Most people in his country either pretended not to see him or made a hasty departure. They knew what he was about, what his dark purpose was, and they feared him.

  Not Morgan Edwards. She didn’t seem to be aware of the significance of his presence or perhaps didn’t care. Instead, she had noticed him, watched him, even worried about him. She’d ventured out in a storm to make sure he was all right, not knowing he was unaffected by the rain. Offered him food, not knowing he didn’t eat. And finally, she had invited him inside.

  Inside. He’d long forgotten what that was like. To be warm and comfortable, if he was able to feel such things, but also to be welcome. Wanted. Curiosity, in itself a novelty, compelled him to accept the woman’s invitation, if only for a moment. He’d watched her with interest, admired the fearless efficiency in the way she moved. She’d been startled when she came face-to-face with him—bu
t she hadn’t screamed. He’d been startled too. Morgan Edwards was pretty by human standards and almost as finely featured as the fae themselves. Yet, while their hair was fine and icy white, hers was thick and glossy, its waves the color of a newly hulled chestnut. He didn’t breathe, yet her scent had filled his nostrils, crept into his lungs to nestle by his unbeating heart and warm it. It shouldn’t be possible.

  He’d vanished then, returned to the elements outside, to the cold and familiar darkness. Yet a faint spark had been fanned to life inside him, some emotion he could not name. Emotion was a stranger, must be a stranger, and yet he felt something. Because of Morgan Edwards.

  But the woman was marked, and he must not interfere. He was forbidden to interfere. Destiny ruled over life and death, the Tylwyth Teg had said, before charging him with his terrible task. What destiny has decreed, you will herald. It cannot be altered or defied. Yet, for the first time in centuries, he considered that perhaps the Fair Ones were wrong.

  THREE

  Spokane Valley, Washington, USA

  Barely home a week, Morgan found herself on the run from morning to night, and this day was no exception. She’d had four surgeries that morning and several appointments and walk-ins in the afternoon. Most were for dogs and cats, but a snake, a chinchilla, and a tree frog came through the door as well. She’d spent an hour after the clinic closed poring through books and searching the Internet for the nutritional needs of pink-toed tarantulas, thanks to a frantic phone call from twelve-year-old Ryan White about his beloved Ozzie. The pictures creeped her out, but in the end Morgan was able to call Ryan back with some suggestions for Ozzie’s diet.

  Exhaustion dragged at her as she switched off the lights. The three animal health techs—Cindy, Melinda, and Russell—were working out wonderfully. As assistants, they had made a huge difference in the last few months, but the clinic was busier than ever. Maybe it was time to bring on a fourth vet. Jay was on call tonight, and Grady was already heading out to a local riding stable for a foaling. Morgan was just grateful it wasn’t her turn as she locked the doors behind her. The clinic was located in an industrial park on the edge of town, and most people had gone home by now. It was blissfully quiet. She paused outside her car door to breathe in the cooling air, rich with the scents of late summer fields—

  The attack came out of nowhere. She was grabbed by the shirtfront and pushed backward over the hood of her car. Morgan found herself face-to-face with a rough-looking man with a scraggly goatee. His bloodshot blue eyes were set in a pallid face marked with open sores, and he was holding a knife to her throat.

  “I’ll cut you, bitch. Understand? Where’s your fuckin’ purse?”

  “In the car. It’s in the car—in the trunk,” she breathed, afraid to move.

  “Why the hell’s it in there? You lyin’ to me?”

  She held her hands up. “No. No. I don’t need it in the clinic; it’s in the way there. I lock it in the trunk where it’s safe.”

  He snorted at that. Still holding the front of her shirt, he yanked her to her feet but didn’t let go. “Open it,” he said, waving the knife. Morgan fumbled for her keys with shaking fingers, then scrabbled through them for the right one, and somehow managed to get it into the keyhole. The sores on the man’s face were a clue, but her brain felt paralyzed. Suddenly she knew. Meth. The guy was a meth user and probably needed cash for a cheap hit. He might not hurt her if she could pay him off…unless he had a big drug debt. She unlocked the trunk and tried to step back.

  “Naw-aw,” he said, giving her a hard shake. “Get it for me, bitch.”

  She must have tossed her purse a little too hard this morning—she’d been in such a hurry. It was way at the back of the trunk, and she’d have to crawl halfway inside to get it. Every instinct she had warned her not to do so. “Look, there’s some cash in my purse, and I can write you a check.” She tried to sound reasonable, tried to keep her voice level, calm. “You can take the car too. I’m locked out of the clinic, and I’d have a long walk to town from here, so you’d get away, no problem.”

  “Shut up and get the fuckin’ purse.” He brought the knife close again, and she nodded quickly. He shoved her back as he finally released her shirt.

  In one movement, Morgan threw the keys at his face, spun, and took off running with everything she had. She ran straight for the road that linked the industrial park with the highway leading into town. She’d hoped her assailant would focus on the purse, maybe the car, but instead, he was right on her heels.

  Omigod, omigod, omigod…She hadn’t done any sprinting since high school, but fear gave her adrenaline. Still, she could hear the man close behind her, yelling, swearing. Morgan ran for her life, praying that someone would drive by and see her, but there wasn’t a car in sight. She ran on and on, her lungs beginning to burn. Suddenly, she slid on a chunk of gravel and went down hard. The man was on her in a split second, the knife a gleaming arc—

  It didn’t connect. With a blood-curdling roar, a massive black shape crashed into her assailant, knocking him away from her. Morgan scrambled to get to her feet as the pair grappled—the man screaming shrilly and stabbing at the dark fury that was trying to get at his throat.

  It was a dog—the dog—but…but…

  The red splatter on the pavement slapped her astonished brain back into reality. One of the man’s arms was already torn and useless. In another few seconds, the animal would surely kill him, and so she had to make a fast decision. It went against all common sense and reason, it contradicted all her training, and it was terribly dangerous, perhaps even deadly. But in her heart, Morgan Edwards believed she had to interrupt the dog’s attack. She forced herself to approach the savage animal and slapped his muscled flank as hard as she could. “No!” She threw every bit of authority she could muster into her voice. “Stop it. Stop it now. Get off him.” She reached over the broad back with a courage she didn’t know she had, closed her hands over the ornate metal collar, and pulled it with all her strength.

  For a moment, nothing happened. She half expected the mastiff to turn on her, and there would be nothing she could do about it. This close, the creature seemed big enough to bite her in half. Then the massive dog yielded and began to back away from the man. Morgan kept both hands on the wide, heavy collar, focusing all her attention on the dog, watching for signals in his body language, knowing he might decide to attack her at any moment. “That-a-boy. Good dog, good boy. Come away from him. That’s the way.”

  She didn’t see the wildly swinging knife until it was buried hilt deep in the dog’s side. A horrible gurgling bellow rang in her ears, and the animal spun toward his assailant, nearly yanking Morgan off her feet.

  The man crab-scuttled backward, torn and bloody with his ruined arm tucked tight against his chest. He was wild-eyed and gibbered incoherently as the big dog snarled and snapped at him. “Stay with me, buddy,” she whispered. Morgan knew she couldn’t hold the creature back if he lunged, but she held on just the same.

  Surprisingly, the dog didn’t move. The man did, however. He staggered to his feet and tried to walk backward, then turned and ran unsteadily toward the highway. Morgan’s hands were cramped from gripping the collar, but she waited until the man was gone before letting go.

  The dog seemed to have been waiting too. As soon as his enemy was out of sight, the great creature sank to the pavement with a deep moan.

  Morgan peeled off the bloodied green scrubs and threw them into the clinic laundry basket. She put her jeans and T-shirt on reluctantly—at three in the morning, they felt like cardboard. She was dead tired, and all she really wanted was to crawl into bed. Any bed. If she had to stay up much longer, the table in the staff room was going to look really appealing.

  Still, it was a privilege to be tired. She thanked her lucky stars, Jesus, Buddha, her guardian angel, karma, the universe—anyone and anything that might be responsible for sending the big dog to save her. And for sending Jay Browning to help her save the dog. As the youngest m
ember of her practice, he didn’t look like a veterinarian, not with the long ponytail, the crystals and charms around his neck, and the T-shirts that promoted UFO conventions. But his unorthodox appearance—and interests—couldn’t hide the fact that he was clever, capable, and talented. He had been driving back to the clinic to finish up a pharmaceutical order. Instead, he’d found Morgan kneeling over the massive canine in the middle of the road, tearing up her cotton jacket to make pressure bandages. Jay had called the police on his cell, then pitched in.

  They’d applied the bandages to reduce the bleeding, then carefully rolled the dog onto a tarp. By then, no less than three patrol cars had arrived. Two teams went in search of the attacker. The remaining two officers ended up interviewing Morgan while helping the vets heft the dog into the back of Jay’s pickup. At the clinic, it again took all four of them to muscle the unconscious animal onto a stainless steel table.

  The senior partner took his hat off and fanned himself with it, his face red with exertion. “That’s not a dog; that’s an Angus cow.”

  The younger officer lifted the dog’s eyelid. “He doesn’t look good. Are you sure he isn’t dead?”

  “He’s alive,” Morgan said. “And I plan to keep him that way.”

  She sounded more confident than she felt. Transporting him had used up many precious minutes. By the time she was ready to operate, the dog’s gums were pale and his pulse thready—he’d lost a great deal of blood. Luckily Jay was a perfect partner for this dance. He ran the gas and started an IV, laid out instruments and sutures for her as she operated on the worst of the dog’s injuries. The angle of the knife had caused it to nick other organs, including the heart, before coming to rest in a lung. It took every ounce of skill Morgan had, but she was determined and the dog was strong.

  By the time she sutured the last of his wounds, she knew the dog would live.