Touch the Sky

by Kari Cole

  Dancing in place between the house and clinic, Frost looked back and forth between Hannah and the pups.

  “Go on, darlin’. With the kids,” she told him, already running behind Sarah and Jessie toward the house. It was farther away than the clinic building, but no one needed to say they should go with the children.

  With her injury, she was slower than the other females. She waved them on when they looked back to her.

  Branches snapped in the woods ahead of her to the right, on the north side of the yard.

  Closer to the kids.

  Frost growled and sank into a crouch. Damn it, what was going on? Panic sweat broke out on her spine. Her wolf pushed against her skin, giving her strength to move quicker.

  One of the pups tripped—Justin—and his brother stopped with him.

  “Run!” Sarah shouted, almost to them now. In a move Lara Croft would envy, she grabbed both her sons by their scruffs and kept running for the house. They were just yards from the porch steps when something big and black burst from the woods only fifteen feet from them.

  Sarah and Jessie screamed. Hannah didn’t have the breath to make a sound, because in a blur of motion, Frost leapt through the air and hit the thing, sending them both tumbling to the ground to crash into another wrought iron patio set.

  Wolf snarling in her head, she ran faster than she ever had before. “Frost!”

  The black thing—a bear—stumbled to its feet and shook its filth-encrusted coat. White froth dripped from its bared fangs. Ignoring the immobile wolf at its feet, it looked toward Jessie, Sarah, and the pups scrambling up the porch steps, and roared.

  Every hair on Hannah’s body jumped straight up.

  She was no warrior. Like all werewolves, she wrestled with her pack during runs for fun and position. But she wasn’t a soldier. She’d never trained to fight. Why would she? She was the privileged daughter of a high-ranking member of a large, affluent pack in one of the largest cities in the United States. She didn’t care who got to eat before her after a hunt. She was beautiful, young, and unmated. The single males fought for her attention. They brought her the best morsels just to earn her favor.

  All of that was true. And so very long ago.

  Breath sawing in and out of her lungs, Hannah picked up a twin to the iron club chair she’d been sitting on and swung it like she’d seen her all-state high school boyfriend do during batting practice. Images of Sarah, a good-looking, laughing male, the boys, and several other people flashed through her head. Spots swam before her eyes, but she didn’t fall. The heavy metal smacked into the rabid bear so hard the cushion ties snapped and her arms went numb. The bear flew back several feet before plowing into the grass on its back.

  The chair fell from limp fingers and she lurched over to Frost. “Darlin’, please. Please be all right.”

  “Hannah!” Jessie shrieked from the porch.

  Hannah whipped her head up to see the bear rising on seemingly steady feet. She slapped her hand on the ground. Goddess take it. What was this creature? Rabid or not, it was sick and shouldn’t be raring to go. For that matter, how was it even still conscious?

  Her cousin shouted at her again, and dirt and twigs rose into the air, flying every which way. Some of them hit Hannah, but the bulk of it soared toward the snarling bear.

  Not one to look a gift horse—or in this case, a terrified witch—in the mouth, Hannah hefted Frost into her arms and staggered to her feet. Pain burned her side. Jeez Louise, Sarah was going to be mad about the stitches.

  Hannah made it as far as the steps when, like a too-dumb-to-live ingénue in a horror film, she tripped over her own feet and fell flat on her face. Well, flat on poor Frost.

  More wind and dirt pelted her. Over Jessie’s screaming and the pounding of her own heart, Hannah heard the crazed bear charging toward them. That was that. Her wolf had had enough and burst from within her like a firecracker on the Fourth of July. Clothing shredded and fell as her wolf, snarling to beat the band, turned to face their enemy.

  Please let Jessie have enough time to get herself and Frost inside.

  For a second, Hannah considered not looking, just sinking into her cozy mental space and letting whatever happened next belong to her beast.

  In other words, wussing out.

  But she didn’t—couldn’t—even if her wolf understood. Hannah was P-I-S-S-E-D, pissed. If she’d been in her human body, she’d be vibrating with rage. This thing had hurt Frost. Maybe even killed him. It had gone after the puppy-boys.

  So, no. She wasn’t going to tuck tail and hide inside her wolf. Mental eyes wide open, she faced their looming death.

  Amazing, the details you noticed in a split second. The bear weighed about four hundred pounds and was covered in gore and muck. It reeked like rancid garbage. A lather of spit dripped from its roaring mouth. Rheumy eyes with pinprick pupils fixed on them in mad intensity.

  Her wolf tensed, ready.

  A howl rent the air just before, inches away from Hannah’s beast, a huge, dark brown wolf tackled the bear. The wolf slashed with its hind claws and tried to snap its lethal jaws onto the bear’s throat, but the larger creature cuffed him and sent him sprawling.

  The wolf’s sharp, fresh scent proclaimed him to be Sheriff Ellis. Her wolf leapt toward him to assist. But he was already up and charging the bear, putting himself between her and the vile beast.

  Her wolf hopped around, searching for an angle of attack.

  “Vaughn, down!” a voice boomed behind her.

  The brown wolf flattened itself to the ground an instant before a rifle shot rang in the yard. Blood sprayed from the bear’s back. It roared and swung a deadly paw at the wolf, who dodged and herded Hannah’s wolf back.

  Another gunshot. Blood and worse flew from the bear’s head. Like it had collided with a wall, it stopped and toppled to the ground.

  A tall, muscled deputy with curling, dark blond hair strode past her and put two more bullets into the bear.

  The sheriff’s wolf turned and bared his teeth at her. An unmistakable stay-put look that her wolf was only too happy to obey.

  Several seconds passed. The brown wolf approached the unmoving bear and sniffed. He nodded once.

  The deputy’s shoulders rose and fell with deep, panting breaths. Then, “Sarah!”

  From inside the house came, “Here. We’re all here. No one’s hurt.”

  The deputy blew out a long, gusty breath and ran for the back door.

  Hannah wanted to follow, but her wolf had other ideas. Eyes fixed on the giant brown wolf, she watched as Sheriff Ellis inspected the bear. Lighter brown streaks of fur lined the wolf’s face, belly, and forepaws. After he sniffed the bear one last time, he turned and stalked back to stand before her. They didn’t move a single muscle. They didn’t even breathe.

  The look in the male’s eyes and his scent screamed anger. But Hannah and her wolf were incapable of running from this creature that outweighed them by almost a hundred pounds.

  Without warning, the male wolf blurred. Muscles bunched and flexed as the wolf became man. Dark brown fur gave way to smooth, light brown skin and raven hair. In seconds, a tall, gorgeously strong, naked, and furious male stood before her.

  His voice rumbled with the echo of his beast. “We’re going to talk, Ms. Shipton. No escaping this time.”

  Chapter Seven

  Vaughn stared down at the insane little wolf and tried not to snarl. What the hell had she been thinking? She was no match for a black bear three times her size. If he hadn’t gotten here when he did...

  The female’s ears rotated down and back, tail tucked between her legs.

  Shit. The control he’d always prided himself on seemed as elusive as a handful of fog these days. As if realizing they were causing the female distress, both wolf and eagle stilled. The instant quiet in his head made his ears ring.
<
br />   Both hands held out in a gesture of peace, he said, “Sorry. It’s all right.”

  The female’s head tilted, amber eyes glowing in the sun.

  She was a pretty thing, he’d give her that. Golden-blond fur with a hint of copper covered her sleek form. Like a German Shephard, she had a saddleback of gray and black fur. It also dusted her face before lightening to white along her muzzle and forepaws. Gorgeous all right, unlike that awful brown dye job she’d done on her human hair. He wished he could wash it away, see the real female beneath.

  He froze. Where the hell had that thought come from? Like he cared how some female he barely knew wore her hair.

  “Sorry,” he repeated when she curled in upon herself a fraction more. The scent of her blood hung in the air, reminding him how often he’d failed her. Twice now she’d been attacked in his territory, right under his nose. Why the hell was that?

  When she continued staring at him with those intent wolf’s eyes, he added, “It’s safe now. You all right?”

  A second passed. Two. Then magic, warm and tingling, flowed over him as she shifted in an instant. Long, mousy-brown hair—lighter than it had been yesterday—hung over her human face and shoulders. Cassandra Shipton rose from a crouch, gifting him with a glimpse of dirt-streaked, creamy skin and a long, lean body. Too much white showed around her sky blue irises. Pale and panting, she stared at him.

  Vaughn opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Not that he was much of a talker. But words completely failed him as he stared back at her. For some reason, the curve of her mouth fascinated him. It was—

  With a shudder, Ms. Shipton blinked hard. She flashed him a look filled with confusion. Then she turned and darted up the porch steps. “Frost!”

  If he hadn’t been tongue-tied before, the sight of that female running upstairs in nothing but her birthday suit would have done it. Probably a good thing the slap he gave himself was only mental, otherwise he might have a concussion.

  “Frost, are you all right, darlin’?” Ms. Shipton dropped to her knees beside the gray wolf. “You’re bleeding.”

  The panic in her voice had Vaughn leaping up the steps to crouch beside her just as the screen door banged open.

  “Are you okay?” Jessie Mills asked—no, demanded. She grabbed Ms. Shipton’s chin, turning her head this way and that.

  Ms. Shipton jerked out of the nursery owner’s grip. “I’m fine. Frost’s hurt.”

  Blood streaked across the timber wolf’s left shoulder, and he seemed a bit dazed.

  “You’re bleeding, too,” Vaughn said, a growl he couldn’t tamp down rumbling in his voice. “You tore your stitches.”

  “Let me see,” Sarah said, pushing open the screen door.

  Dean followed on her heels, a whining pup in each hand, cradled against his chest. “Shh, it’s all right now.”

  Before Sarah could knock Vaughn aside to reach her patient, Ms. Shipton said, “I’m fine. Really. Please. Look at Frost.” She shuddered, her voice almost a moan. “Oh, goddess. Does he have rabies now? Please tell me there’s something you can do.”

  “Goddess” had sounded like gawdess. Why did she have a Southern accent all of a sudden?

  The breeze kicked up, swirling the scents of blood, fear, grief, and death around the suddenly crowded porch. Vaughn’s blood pressure surged like a geyser about to blow. Was she just going to ignore her own freaking silver shotgun wounds?

  “Ms. Shipton. You’re bleeding. Again,” he ground out between his teeth.

  Head whipping around, her hair lashing him across the face, she narrowed wolf-gold eyes on him. “I don’t care. He’s what matters. I can’t lose him, too.”

  Vaughn’s beasts snapped and snarled in his head, demanding his attention.

  A heavy, tacklebox-sized med kit slammed down on the porch. “Stop baring your teeth, Vaughn,” Sarah ordered. “Bandage Cassandra’s wound until I can look at it if it’s bothering you so much.”

  Heat burned his face all the way to the tips of his ears. What the hell was wrong with him?

  He opened the med kit and found some antiseptic wipes. He ripped the package open and froze. His hands were big and rough. Dirty, too. He had no business touching the injured female’s delicate skin.

  From inside, his wolf nudged him toward Ms. Shipton. Actually, nudged was too soft a word for what the beast had done. Pushed or, hell, shoved was more accurate. An image flashed in Vaughn’s mind of nuzzling her cheek. Her pale skin looked soft and cool and his—

  No, he told his wolf.

  Another image popped up: Vaughn brushing his whole front along her side like a wolf offering friendship, then wrapping his arms around her like the humans do.

  He blinked. The urge to do just that almost overwhelmed him. No way. Nope.

  As he started to wipe away the blood dripping down Ms. Shipton’s side, his wolf sighed.

  She jerked and leaned away. “That’s cold. Leave it, please. I’m fine.”

  “Sarah, you’re not going to yell at her about ripping her stitches?” Dean asked. “You love telling people off about their stitches. It’s one of your joys in life.”

  Sarah gently stroked the wolf’s head, murmuring to him before she looked at her mate. “No, I don’t much feel like yelling at the female who saved our sons’ lives. Maybe later.”

  Dean jerked as if someone had shoved a cattle prod up his ass. “Wh-what?”

  “That—that thing came out of the woods and went straight for me and the boys. I don’t know if I’d have beaten it to the house if Frost hadn’t tackled it. Then Cassandra bought us time to get inside by bashing it with the chair.”

  “You hit it with a chair?” Vaughn asked. His voice echoed in his head as if he were hearing himself from very far away. She faced that creature as a human? A skinny, fragile, injured human?

  “It’s not like I could have tackled it, too,” Ms. Shipton said in a tone that clearly said she thought he was the idiot in this scenario. “I was in my skin.”

  “So you hit it. With a chair,” Vaughn repeated. Slowly. Enunciating every word.

  The irritated eye roll she sent his way had him grinding his teeth. “Yes, sheriff,” she said with a sniff. “And yes, it was scary and horrible. Thank the goddess Jessie was here.”

  Vaughn eyed the woman who stood over them, massaging her forehead and temples as if she had a massive headache.

  “Sorry about your yard, Sarah,” Jessie said.

  Sarah waved off that bizarre comment.

  “The—the yard?” Dean sounded as confused as Vaughn felt.

  “I whipped up the first few layers of earth and cast them at the bear.” Jessie pointed to a ten-foot-wide swath near the overturned patio set. It looked like a tornado had touched down. The grass had been ripped away. A furrow dug into the earth. Bits of leaves, grass, twigs, and dirt were strewn everywhere. When he and Dean continued staring at her openmouthed, she huffed. “I am a witch, remember.”

  “Right, right,” Dean said, jiggling his still-trembling sons.

  “Why didn’t you hit it with the patio set?” Vaughn asked. Iron was a good deal harder than some sticks and stones.

  Much like Ms. Shipton had done, Jessie rolled her eyes. “I’m a witch, not telekinetic.”

  As if that explained anything.

  “Healer, please. Can you take care of Frost now?” Ms. Shipton pleaded.

  “Already on it,” Sarah said. “Doesn’t seem like anything’s broken, though he may have a slight concussion. The cut is superficial and already clotting.”

  “No rabies then?”

  “It’s not rabies,” Vaughn said.

  “What?”

  “The bear. It doesn’t have rabies. Shifters can’t contract rabies.”

  “Shifter?”

  As if they’d spoken a magic word, a greasy, gut-curdling wave of energy
sputtered across the yard. Vaughn didn’t have to look to know that the bear had changed back into a man.

  “Wha—what?” Ms. Shipton said. Then, “Oh, goddess.”

  Vaughn followed her line of sight to the dead male lying in the middle of Dean and Sarah’s yard. From the porch, most of the gore wasn’t visible, though it was gruesome enough. “Dean, you might want to cover up the body before some human comes back here,” Sarah said.

  It was a miracle no one had burst in on their little party already. Where the hell was Vaughn’s head? He should have had things secured by now. He looked at the damp antiseptic wipe in his hand. Hell, he couldn’t even clean a wound properly.

  Dean was no better. “Christ. Right.” He shook his head, visibly pulling himself together. “Ted and some of the others are dealing with the chaos in town. Luke should be here any minute.”

  “Jessie, could you hold the boys?” Sarah asked. “I don’t want them inside alone.”

  “Sure.” Jessie opened her arms. “Come here, sweet puppies. Give me a cuddle.”

  Dean transferred his sons over to the witch and she sat down next to their mother. “Stay,” he told them, and ran to the small shed on the side of the yard, presumably in search of something to hide the corpse from prying eyes until they could deal with it properly.

  The healer’s magic thickened the air and the wolf whined. Ms. Shipton sucked in a breath, tensing as if to push Sarah away.

  Vaughn dropped the wipe and grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back. “Easy, Ms. Shipton.”

  Her beast’s energy still pulsed just under the surface. It was like touching a low-level electrical current. His own wolf surged in response, pushing against his skin. Ms. Shipton gasped and pivoted on her knees to face him. The move pulled her out from under his hands, his fingers trailing over her back and down her arm. Her eyes flared wider and his skin tingled with their combined power.

  Damn.

  “For goddess’s sake, would you stop calling me Ms. Shipton?” she said. “It’s—ugh. Just call me Cassandra. Ms. Shipton sounds like you’re talking to your second grade teacher. Your really old second-grade teacher.”