by Alpha Wolf
But just then, all she could do was gape at the taut muscles of his back and firm buttocks, his excellently formed legs, even as she panted like a wounded dog herself, trying to catch her breath. She couldn’t even imagine what her pulse rate must be, but felt her heart thumping hard and fast inside her chest.
He started to move, then collapsed back onto the floor. “Melanie.” Her name was whispered through lips that only a short while ago could not have formed a human word.
“Wh-what are you?” she managed to demand shakily.
“Guess.” How could he have a sense of humor now, or imagine that she did? “Help. Please.”
Oh, lord. He was probably in pain. She had operated on the dog, cleaned and sutured the wound and given him antibiotics and painkillers appropriate for the canine patient he had been. But she was a veterinarian, not a medical doctor. And whoever—whatever—Drew was, he was clearly, at this moment, a human being who had suffered the same injury as the dog had.
“Drew,” she said as matter-of-factly as she was able, “I’m not equipped to handle an injury like this to a person. I’ll call 911.”
“No!” The word came out sharply, and he managed to turn his head and glare with amber eyes that hadn’t changed much from when he was in canine form.
In canine form! Oh, heavens. As frightened as she felt, on some level she was accepting this situation as if it were normal, describing it in her mind almost dispassionately, as though she was one of the people she had—was it only minutes ago?—considered lunatics. She had to be in shock.
“I’m a medical doctor, Melanie.” His voice was weak but clear. “I’ll tell you what to do to help me through this until I’m stabilized enough for you to call Patrick or Jonas to come and take me back to the base.”
“A medical doctor? Why didn’t you tell me?” And how absurd was that question? She was suddenly extremely perturbed that he had kept secret that he was a human physician. But that had to be some kind of internal rationalization, to keep her from focusing on that other little secret. Little? Hell, it was gigantic. He genuinely was a creature she had, until now, considered a piece of utter fiction.
Well, whatever he was, he was obviously a living being. She cared for all living creatures. It was her job. Her calling. She could at least attempt to make him more comfortable.
“You’re probably too heavy for me to lift,” she said, trying not to stammer. “Can you get up? I don’t have a bed or even a couch here that will fit you. Maybe if we get you next door…”
“I need to lie where I am right now.”
She couldn’t leave him on the cold floor any longer. She removed the towels from the crate and spread them on the floor, then got additional towels from shelves along the room’s outer wall. Quickly, she created a bed of sorts for him. “Here,” she said. “Let’s get you onto this.”
He managed to pull himself up, and with her help he rolled onto the towels. Now he was on his back, and she again thought of what a gorgeous specimen of male—human male—he was. Muscles? Oh, yes. His chest, with a scattering of dark hair up the center and down his abdomen, was as well-formed as a bodybuilder’s. His arms, too. And his most private parts—all human male’s, and all sexually enticing, even in repose. But the two wounds in his shoulder—the entry and exit wounds—looked raw, painful and bloody.
“Drew, you really need to have that shoulder looked at.” She grabbed yet another towel off a shelf and, kneeling, covered his hips. She stood near his feet with her arms crossed, carefully watching his face so she wouldn’t seem to be staring—much—at what she had concealed. Apparently he noticed anyway, since the area appeared to grow beneath the terrycloth covering. He was injured. This wasn’t the time for sexual awareness.
But it was there anyway.
“I’ll have it looked at later,” he breathed, obviously hurting, which brought her attention fully back to reality. “Patrick’s a doctor, too. Right now, here’s what I’d like you to do. Please.” He described how to clean the wounds and tape them closed, what veterinary medicines to use and in what doses they would work optimally for people. “I’ve studied such things as part of the work I’m doing at the base,” he told her.
And other matters relating to his health and well-being in both incarnations, she figured. How did that all work? She was full of questions. Number one, was she sane? Numbers two to infinity…but this wasn’t the time to ask. One thing she couldn’t help inquiring about. “Do you know who shot you? Did you see anyone?”
He shook his head slowly, and the movement seemed to cause him pain. “No, damn it. It was dark. I was off the base, looking for…” His voice trailed off. “Never mind. But I’m aware of my surroundings when I’m…changed. My senses are enhanced, and I was watching for…I thought myself a whole lot more observant that I obviously was.”
“Why won’t you tell me what you were looking for?”
He didn’t respond, which annoyed the heck out of her.
“Look, if you want me to help you—”
“There are things I can’t talk about,” he said. “National security.”
How convenient. “Okay, then tell me this,” she said. “What do you really do at the base, Major? And don’t just tell me it’s classified. Or ‘national security.’”
His dark, silvering hair was mussed, and there were lines of pain around his eyes, but he smiled slightly. “You don’t give up, do you, Melanie? Look, help me out here, and in exchange, I’ll tell you everything I can.”
Feeling insulted, Melanie shot back, “I’d never withhold help to get information.”
“You’re not in the military,” he responded wryly. “Okay. The two aren’t tied together. But please do as I ask. I’ll forever be in your debt. Oh, and one more thing. As you help me get into shape for transporting to the base, see if you can come up with a way to keep the werewolf groupies and media from assuming I was a dog you treated last night that changed this morning into a person.”
“But you were the dog I treated last night.” Melanie was amazed that she could laugh, even a little.
“Yes, but let’s keep that our little secret, shall we?”
And this time, when Melanie considered what she thought about men and their awful little secrets, she nearly choked.
A painful while later, Drew sat in the chair where Melanie had spent the night. His lap was draped strategically with a towel. He couldn’t help watching Melanie’s every move as she did as he requested, carefully wiping away the blood, then cleaning and taping his wound closed as skillfully as if she treated humans every day. The antibiotics she had on hand were not ideal, but what he needed would be available at the base.
For now, he had requested that she do a temporary patch job to keep him from bleeding more until he could get genuine human medical stitches. That was exactly what she was doing. And doing an excellent job of it.
If only he felt stronger. At least he hadn’t fainted from the pain…yet.
What was Melanie really thinking, though, after seeing what she had? She acted almost accepting. Scared, yes. Even angry. Humorous. But accepting. How could she?
Well, logically, she couldn’t discount what she had seen with her own eyes. And now that she knew, what would she do with that information?
The look of concentration on her lovely face as she worked gave him an urge to reach out and smooth away the frown that marred her high forehead. While he was at it, he wanted to run his fingers through her long, brown hair. She obviously hadn’t intended to accomplish any further medical treatments this night—rather, this morning—so her hair was loose around her shoulders instead of fastened in her usual clip behind her head. As always, her scent was a soft combination of lavender and rose and something more exotic. Jasmine, perhaps.
And her fingers—long and slender and adept at accomplishing the medical attention he needed. He had seen her avoid staring at his bare body earlier, and, despite how badly he ached, he’d been well aware of how he had responded physically.
>
A bad idea, of course—even if he hadn’t been shot. But no worries. Now that she knew what he was, she’d have no interest in mindless, hot sex with him. As long as she didn’t intend to profit from her knowledge…
“Ouch!” he gasped as she did one final pinch to pull the edges of his torn skin together. That hurt, damn it! Not that his change had been any more of a piece of cake than usual. In fact, it had been a lot worse, since he was injured. He always anticipated the normal stretching and tearing sensation and had learned to simply slip through them. But his wounds had added another agonizing dimension. And the underlying pain hadn’t eased. This additional tug had been extra agony.
“Sorry,” Melanie said. “I…you’re not going to nip at me, are you? That’s what my patients do if I hurt them during treatment.”
He turned to glower at her and found her attempting an evil, yet wobbly, grin.
“You did that on purpose,” he growled, even as he stifled an urge to grab the back of her sexy, long neck and bring her closer for a kiss.
“Not really.” She seemed to sober quickly. “I don’t enjoy hurting any creature…er, patient. Anyone.”
“I figured.” He couldn’t quite look away from her sad blue eyes. Not at first. But he remained in pain even after the initial shock of this last inadvertent assault ebbed, and he didn’t want her to know how much. “All right,” he finally said. “You’ve done a great job patching me. Now, can I borrow a phone? I need a ride back to my place.”
“I’ll drive you—to a hospital in Baltimore. Here’s what I’ve come up with to keep your secret from the media.”
Surprise shot through him. She had apparently taken his request seriously. He’d have imagined she would gladly turn him over to the media or anyone else just to get him away from her, whatever he was.
Especially if she could profit from it—like the last woman he’d cared for had tried.
Instead, Melanie had apparently given his dilemma genuine consideration. And her idea made sense. He nodded as she explained that, if anyone asked, she had found him—a wounded man—as she was walking home late last night. He had been coming to her place to make sure she was all right, since she had received a threatening phone call a day or so ago. And with all the craziness around here, she figured he’d been shot by one of the werewolf-chasing nuts.
As a result, after she had determined that his wounds weren’t life-threatening, she did some first aid, then drove him to a place where he could receive appropriate medical treatment. Around here, someone would undoubtedly claim he was a werewolf shot in animal form, who then changed back into a human. In a more sophisticated area, that kind of nonsense would never be in question. Meantime, on their way to Baltimore, she would call Chief Ellenbogen to report this latest crime—at least as bad as the mauled tourist.
“Sounds like a hell of a good approach,” he told her, feeling pleased and amazed that she was apparently willing to lie to protect him, no matter what she thought of him. “Only one change I can think of.”
“What’s that?” she asked, her determined expression turning wary, as if she expected him to poke holes in her plan.
“We’ll have one of the guys from the base meet us on the way. I’ll need some clothes when I show up at the hospital.”
He enjoyed watching the flush steal up her neck and face at the latter comment. “Probably,” she agreed. “At least pants. I’m not sure we can rip a shirt and smear it with your blood in a way that would prove what we’re claiming happened. You wouldn’t necessarily have dripped blood on the ground, and I’ve bandages I can show that have your human blood on them—it’s different when you’re in your other form?” He nodded, impressed by how her mind grasped details so quickly and thoroughly. “But maybe you simply weren’t wearing a shirt when you were shot.”
“And my shirt was off because…?”
“Because—well, let’s change the story. You were already in my house, and we were…well, engaging in some sexual conduct. You heard a noise and went outside half-dressed. That’s when you were shot.”
“That’d work.” And the idea of them engaging in sexual conduct…well, he must be feeling a little better, since the idea made him glad the towel bunched in his lap enough to conceal his growing interest. “But…why are you helping me, Melanie, after seeing what you did?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear her answer.
A beat. And then…“Because you were shot. Grunge was shot. And the Worleys, and who knows who else? Unless, do…people…like you deserve it? Do you harm others, the way the legends say?”
“No!” Drew replied sharply, then inhaled as another wave of pain shot through him. When he could talk again, he said, “Look, I’ll call Jonas Truro and make arrangements for us to meet with my clothes. And on our drive to the hospital, I’ll tell you what I can.”
None of this was really happening, of course, Melanie thought a short while later as she drove her minivan along the twisting highway north, toward the Francis Scott Key Bridge linking the Eastern Shore to the mainland. Shock? Hell, she had to be delirious. Hallucinating.
Except, beside her in the passenger seat, rode Drew Connell.
He was silent a lot of the time, although now and then she heard a sharply indrawn breath as he fought the pain of his wounds. The only light came from her headlights on the road, so she could only see a shadowy outline of his body. His human male body.
The body that had belonged to a wolfen-appearing dog when she had taken it inside her clinic.
And then had looked so gorgeous, naked, after she had watched him change from a dog to this man. No! That hadn’t happened. It couldn’t be real.
“Drew?” She didn’t like the shrillness that had crept back into her voice. “It’s time. Talk to me. Maybe that will help keep your mind off your pain.” And make me wake up to reality again.
“Worth a try.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “So, what do you want to know? Why am I a freak of nature? Why is the legend so prevalent in Mary Glen? What do I do at the base—at least as much as I can reveal without violating its top secrecy?” The more he spoke, the less his tone sounded forced and in pain.
“That’s right,” she said curtly. She clutched the steering wheel even harder, watching the road carefully. Otherwise, she might run off the narrow pavement in the darkness and kill both of them.
Or could he even die at all, let alone in an accident?
“That was supposed to be multiple choice.” This time Drew’s voice expressed both humor and a touch of exasperation. “Which do you really want to know?”
“All of them. What would you want to know, if you were in my situation? First, though, tell me everything about…shapeshifters. Werewolves. Apparently they do exist. Why? How? And how is their presence usually kept so secret?”
Melanie braked as a reflection of her headlights glowed briefly in the eyes of a small creature at the side of the road. Another shapeshifter? Only if people morphed into raccoons as well as larger creatures.
Drew apparently sensed what she was thinking again, since he said, “Don’t run over Cousin Rocky.” She must have flinched, since he laughed. “Just kidding—this time. If that animal was a kindred spirit, I’m not aware of it. Besides, the only shapeshifters of my acquaintance change into wolves and large cats like lynxes and tigers, a couple of raptors, not smaller creatures. And truth be told, Melanie, I don’t think I can explain everything you’re asking even if I wanted to.”
She aimed a brief but irritated glare at him. “Go ahead. Change the way you did, right in front of me, and then say you can’t explain it. Or are you going to claim now that I was hallucinating?”
“The point is that I don’t know everything, even though I’ve made it part of my life’s work to learn it. I’ll probably never find out where we come from. My current hypothesis, which is shared by most of us who’ve researched the area, is that we evolved in our own way just like non-shifting humans did. My family has had werewolves in it for generations, but no one h
as an answer about how it all began. There are all sorts of fictional works that revolve around shapeshifting as magic, or the result of being bitten by another shapeshifter, or even willing oneself into a transition. That’s all hype.”
“So what’s true?” Melanie asked, driving even more slowly, in case more animals jumped into her path. She hadn’t stopped shaking for hours, it seemed, although her trembling was less intense now. Even so, she wondered if she should be driving. But what choice did she have? He certainly couldn’t.
She hazarded a glance toward Drew. He had leaned back in his seat, and his eyes drooped closed. Great. Was he going to fall asleep on her, or pretend to, so he’d have an excuse not to talk after all?
“What’s true,” he eventually said, “is that shapeshifting runs in families. It’s hereditary. I’ve studied research done by my ancestors and others who went into medical fields to learn all we could about our situation. There is a shapeshifting gene, and it’s dominant.”
“So every time people—er, whatever—like you have children, they, too, are shapeshifters?”
“Yes. Same usually goes in mixed marriages, so to speak.”
Melanie’s foot twitched on the gas pedal, but she lifted it off quickly to avoid going any faster. “You mean, your kind mates—is that the right term?—with others who aren’t like you?”
“More often than not,” he said.
“Why would any person in his or her right mind…or are these situations where the truth isn’t revealed, or at least not till it’s too late?”
He didn’t respond for many long seconds, and Melanie glanced at him again. His posture was now stiff. No way was he falling asleep. And when he spoke, he might as well have been growling like a real wolf. “Oh, the truth is revealed, all right. And sometimes, that’s a huge mistake.”
She must have hit a nerve. Had Drew been in a relationship with a normal person and been dumped when she learned what he really was? If so, Melanie couldn’t help sympathizing with the woman. But she definitely could understand why, whoever that woman was, she had been attracted to Drew in the first place. In his human form. The way he was now….