Wild Wolf

by Jennifer Ashley

  “And followed me? Creepy. Did you see what kind of car he has?”

  “Nope. Didn’t see him get into a car at all. Or anything.” He handed Misty the change. “Sorry about your store. Did they get the guys who did it?”

  “Yes. They’ve been arrested.”

  “Thank God. That was fast. I worked at a store that was robbed seven times, and no one ever found anyone. Cops were all over your place though.”

  Misty didn’t bother to mention the role Shifters had in taking down Flores and his little gang. She wasn’t sure which way Pedro leaned on Shifters.

  “Thanks, Pedro. See you.”

  Pedro said a cordial good-bye and turned to his next customer. Misty drank half a bottle of water walking back to her store, where Xavier met her and escorted her back inside.

  “You shouldn’t stay here,” Xav said as Misty looked around at her ruined store again.

  “I need to . . .” She stopped, and couldn’t finish.

  Misty felt Xav’s warm arm around her. “I’ll give you a ride back home. Our guys will watch over this place better than any security camera or cops on patrol. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

  One of the “guys” he talked about was Shane, a bear Shifter who lived next door to Eric, who now grinned at her from the back and gave her a wave. Misty had never seen Shane shift into a bear, a grizzly, but his bulk at the door did make her feel better. Sam Flores and men like him would never get past Shane.

  Misty gave Xav a smile and turned away, gathering up the cash from her register and safe to take to the bank. Flores had been so intent on his revenge on Paul he hadn’t bothered to rob her.

  One bunch of roses in her cooler had survived intact. Misty found a vase for them, and then Xavier helped her carry everything out to his truck, got her inside, drove her to the bank, and then home.

  “Thanks, Xavier. Lindsay is lucky to have you.”

  Xavier gave a laugh as he followed Misty out of the truck and into her house, the vase under his arm. “Lindsay and I have fun, but she can take me or leave me. She goes out with other guys, and I learned a while ago either to be fine with it or stop seeing her at all.”

  Misty knew he wasn’t wrong. Lindsay had told Misty that she wasn’t ready to settle down yet and look for a mate. She was only fifty, for the Goddess’s sake, she’d said, laughing. She had a lot of wild oats to sow, and female Shifters could sow some serious oats.

  “Sorry about that,” Misty said.

  Xavier shrugged. “We’re both young. I give her space, and she gives me space. Maybe one day . . .”

  “Well, she should take what she’s got while she can.”

  Misty headed for the kitchen and laid the roses on the counter, scarlet heads resting on paper towels. She took the vase from Xavier and started running water into it.

  Cool, flowing water, reminding her of the water in the cave. Sweet, burbling, enticing water. Misty had wanted to strip off her clothes and dive her hot body into the pool, except the hiker had been there.

  Truly weird how he’d happened to show up at the convenience store where she was. Made her shiver. Misty was grateful for Xavier’s presence and reassurance.

  “You’re sweet,” Xavier said, as Misty lifted the dripping vase to more paper towels on the counter.

  “Hmm?” she asked absently, snipping the last inch or so from the roses’ stems. “For what?”

  “For what you said about Lindsay. Graham should appreciate you better.”

  “I dumped him,” Misty said.

  Xav blinked. “You what?”

  “I said, I dumped him.” Misty tore off low-hanging leaves with more force than necessary and stuck the roses into the vase. “I’m tired of him assuming I’ll be there for him whenever he wants.” She jabbed the stems in. “He expects me to be waiting, as though I don’t exist when he isn’t around. But I have a life. If he doesn’t want me in his, then fine.” She stuck in the last rose, cleaned up the mess, and carried the vase to a table in the hall. The roses filled the space with bright color and fragrance.

  Xavier followed her. “I guess I get that.”

  “I mean, it’s not like we have a sex life or anything. I don’t know what Graham finds wrong about me, but he’s not interested.”

  “Not interested?” Xavier looked Misty up and down with flattering interest. “Is he insane?”

  “You know what it is to be a human around Shifters. I liked Graham as soon as I saw him, but he drives me crazy. What is wrong with me? I’m pretty sure he backs off me because I’m not Shifter. I bet that’s why Lindsay keeps it cool with you too.”

  Xavier started to shake his head, and ended up shrugging. “Yeah, I figured that.”

  “Look at us. We’re both two perfectly nice people. Why are we hanging around waiting on Shifters instead of finding other perfectly nice humans to be with? We’re no better than the Shifter groupies.”

  Xav let out another laugh. “Are you sure you’ve only been drinking water?”

  “Very sure. But I’m still thirsty. I must have gotten seriously dehydrated. I’ll start on the booze as soon as I feel better.”

  “Why don’t you drink some more water and lie down or something?” Xav said. “I’ll be here, standing guard, so you don’t have to worry about anything. You had an ordeal.”

  Misty sighed. “See? I’m right—you are sweet. Lindsay doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

  Xav actually started to blush. Misty went around him and back to the fridge to grab a bottle of water with electrolytes. On the way out of the kitchen, she paused next to Xavier, rose on her tiptoes, and kissed his cheek.

  “That’s dangerous,” Xav said in a low voice.

  Misty walked away from him, opened the bottle, and gulped down a third of the water on her way to the bedroom.

  She fell asleep very quickly. She tried to think about Xav’s handsome face, but it was instantly blotted out by Graham’s hard, intense stare, and then she was asleep and dreaming.

  • • •

  Misty thought she was back in the huge cave she’d found. Water burbled in the middle of it, this time in an ornate, gigantic fountain that flowed into a river of water. Flowers and vines snaked around the fountain, up the rock walls, across the floor. These flowers shouldn’t be thriving, not out here. Desert flowers could be gorgeous, but these were from a hothouse garden—large puffs of white hyacinths, climbing yellow roses, and red and pink dots of sweet william, mixed with tropical flowers like bird-of-paradise. Everything was beautiful in a bizarre kind of way.

  Misty’s mouth went drier than ever as she gazed at the fountain. She needed that water.

  Come. Drink.

  The hiker stood near the fountain. He was no longer the scruffy, dirt-stained, sweaty man who’d talked to her in the desert and the convenience store. His face was clean, sharp, and his hair, white blond, flowed to his waist in a long, straight wave. Some women would kill for hair like that.

  Misty couldn’t see what the hiker wore now, but whatever it was shimmered and caught the light.

  “Come,” the hiker said again. His voice was deeper than when she’d first heard it, the vowels long, consonants soft. “Rest. Slake your thirst.”

  Misty licked her lips, finding them dry and cracked, her mouth parched.

  “Drink,” the hiker whispered.

  Misty took a step forward. Then she stopped. Everything inside her screamed at her not to go near that fountain, as enticing as it was.

  The hiker spoke again, his voice smooth and coaxing. “The Shifter is dying. Take him the water. It is the only thing that will save him.”

  What Shifter? Then Misty saw Graham lying on the ground, flowering vines encircling him. His face was wan, blood coated his bare torso, and his breathing was rapid and shallow. He opened wolf gray eyes and stared right at her.

 
“Misty.” The word was faint, scratchy, Graham’s voice nowhere near as rich as the hiker’s. “Help me.”

  “Only the water will cure him,” the hiker said. “Take it.”

  He reached into the fountain then lifted his hand and let droplets trickle back into the river with a silvery sound. Misty’s thirst jumped higher.

  No, something inside her pleaded. Don’t.

  But this was only a dream. It didn’t matter what she did in a dream, did it?

  “Misty,” Graham said again. “Please help me, love. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

  Misty froze again, staring at Graham. He looked back at her, sorrow in his eyes.

  Now she knew it was a dream. Because no way in hell would Graham ever say in a cultured tone, Please help me, love. I’m so sorry I hurt you.

  The dream Graham blinked, scowled, and took a deep breath. “Don’t listen to the bastard. He’s tricking you. He thinks humans are easy.” He sounded much more like himself—gruff, gravelly, impatient.

  The hiker’s voice rose to drown out Graham’s. “He needs the water. He will die. Would you let him die to assuage your pride? Save him, Misty.”

  No, she wouldn’t let Graham die. All she had to do, at least in the dream, was take him a drink of that water.

  Misty started forward. One little scoop, and Graham would feel better. Then the dream would go away, and she could sleep in peace.

  A growl made her halt. The growl wasn’t huge and fierce, like Graham’s, but small, childish, and insistent. And at her feet.

  Misty looked down. Two wolf cubs stared back up at her. Their muzzles were fuzzy, their eyes big, their ears perked. Both bared little wolf teeth in full snarls. When they grew up, those snarls would be frightening; right now, they were tiny but unceasing.

  Misty had met these two before, Matt and Kyle, orphaned twins who lived in Shiftertown. They could shift into twin three-year-old boys, but they liked to stay in wolf form, better for running around and playing, they’d once explained.

  “Where’d you two come from?” Misty asked.

  Both cubs wagged their tails, but when Misty tried to step past them, they got in front of her again, little bodies vibrating with their growls.

  “Leave them,” the hiker said. “They don’t understand.”

  One of the cubs, Kyle or Matt—she could never tell them apart—turned to the hiker, planted his little feet, and howled at him. The hiker hissed and pointed his finger at Kyle . . . or Matt.

  Misty didn’t like the pointing finger. She expected lightning or something to come out of it, and since this was a dream, it probably could.

  Misty leapt between the hiker and the cubs. “Don’t even think about hurting them,” she shouted. “And get the hell out of my dream.”

  The hiker started for her. Matt and Kyle were going insane, trying to move around her to attack. Misty put her arms out in an attempt to protect them and Graham behind them.

  “Leave the Shifters alone!”

  The hiss turned to a snarl, a cold, nasty sound, and then all Misty could feel was ice. It coated the flowers and killed them instantly, then started toward Graham.

  Misty snatched up the cubs under her arms—these little squirming guys were heavy. She flung herself and them on top of Graham, trying to shield him from the creeping ice.

  “Hey, I’m starting to like this dream,” Graham said, his voice still too weak.

  Kyle and Matt wriggled out of Misty’s grasp. Tails moving fast, they licked Graham’s face. “Shit,” he said, screwing his eyes shut. “Now I’m hating it again.”

  Kyle and Matt raised their heads and began growling anew. Misty looked up, and screamed.

  The fountain had turned into a wave of ice, and now it was coming for them. The ice rose, frost white but with blackness in the center. It dove straight for them. Misty scooped Kyle and Matt underneath her, and stretched out on Graham’s hard body. Graham’s arms came around her, warm, strong, and caring.

  The black wave washed over them, engulfing them, sucking them down into hideous darkness.

  Misty screamed again and jumped awake.

  Two men stood at the foot of her bed. One was Xavier. The other was Reid, tall and tight-bodied, like the hiker, but with dark hair instead of white blond. He had the same kind of eyes though, dark and mind-sucking, staring straight through her.

  Misty yelped again and grabbed at the blankets. In her mad scramble, she tangled herself up, overbalanced, and rolled straight off the bed and onto the floor.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  "You all right?” Xavier’s firm hand was there to help her to her feet.

  Misty pushed her hair out of her face, plopped back down on the bed, and let out her breath. She was wearing only a long T-shirt, which covered her underwear, thankfully. “How do you think I am? I just woke up with two men standing over my bed.”

  “Reid and I heard you screaming.”

  “Had a bad dream. Sorry, I’m still a little shaky. And thirsty.” She licked the inside of her mouth.

  Xav and Reid were staring at her as though they’d never seen a woman wake up from a bad dream before. Misty stood up, pushing aside the blankets, and started out of the room.

  She heard Xav and Reid follow as she padded down her narrow hall and out into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator, yanked out a bottle of water, and saw it was the last. “Need to go to the store.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Xav said. “I’ll send someone shopping for you, until we’re sure it’s safe for you to go out.”

  Misty regarded him sharply as she pried open the water bottle. “You said you got Flores. Who else is after me?”

  Xav exchanged a look with Reid. Xav started to say, “We’re not sure . . .” but Reid cut him off.

  “Tell me about the dream.”

  Misty took several gulps of water, letting the wetness slosh around her mouth before she answered. “I saw that hiker, and the cave again.”

  “Every detail,” Reid said.

  Reid looked a lot like the hiker. Not exactly, but enough to be unnerving. His build was similar, though the shape of his face was different. The greatest similarity was his eyes. Reid’s coal dark eyes had the same kind of intense focus as the hiker’s.

  Misty related the dream to the two of them, remembering more of it as she spoke. She described the pool, Graham lying hurt nearby, the hiker’s commands, the wave of ice, and the two wolf cubs trying to stop her.

  Reid listened without blinking. How did anyone not blink for that long?

  “Fae water,” Reid said.

  Misty glanced at her bottle. “What water?”

  “Spelled. One drink holds you in thrall, giving the Fae a way to find you, no matter where you are. The only thing that will slake your thirst is another drink of the water. The Fae will make you his slave, forcing you to do his bidding in exchange for another sip. But the satisfaction doesn’t last, and you will be as thirsty as before. More, even. Those enslaved end up parched and dying, no matter how much water they drink.”

  Fear worked its way through Misty. “But wait, that’s not right. It was just a dream. I’m thirsty because I was stuck out in the desert for hours. I was starting to get heatstroke. It takes a long time to cool the body down again.”

  “No,” Reid said. “The person you describe is a hoch alfar. How he got to the place in the desert you were, I don’t know. There must be a ley line there.”

  “What the hell is a hock . . what?”

  Xav answered. “A Fae. They come into human mythology as fairies. You know, as in fairy tales, fairy godmothers. But apparently, they’re evil bastards, not the cute things with wings.” He jerked his thumb at Reid. “He’s a Fae.”

  Reid looked annoyed. “I am dokk alfar. Dark Fae. Not the evil-bastard kind.”

  “Depends on your point of view,” Xav sai
d without smiling.

  Misty opened her mouth to argue some more—they had to be insane—but Xav’s words made her remember something. “Wait a minute.”

  Sucking on more water, Misty left the kitchen and made her way back down the hall, the tile floor cool to her bare feet. The bedroom she used as her home office was comfortingly cluttered, her computer and sheets of invoices waiting for her to catalog them, her shelves filled with books on flowers and plants.

  Misty scanned the shelves, which contained books about everything from scientific studies of rose growing to the meanings of flowers in Victorian times. She had books on the care of cut flowers, flower arranging, how commercial flowers were grown and cultivated, and the history of every flower imaginable and how to grow them.

  Misty also collected unusual books about flowers, buying them at antique stores, flea markets, garage sales, and used bookstores. She’d found fascinating gems filled with flower lore from centuries past.

  There it was. Misty reached to the top shelf and pulled out a small book, leather bound, with the binding still pretty good. The book had been published in 1907, and by the quantity of handwritten notes and underlining inside, had been used quite a bit. She’d found the book at the bottom of a cardboard box of old paperback romances; the indifferent flea market vendor had charged her a dollar for the entire box.

  She sat down at her desk, opened the book, and scanned it for what she was looking for. Misty found the slanting pen strokes of the little volume’s unknown previous owner strangely calming. Whoever it was had written such notes as, Only attempt under a waxing moon; Make sure the flowers have bloomed three days on the bush and are cut in the morning; Scatter the leftover petals across water in the light of the setting sun.

  Misty flipped through until she found the entry she was looking for. To counter Faery magic.

  She read, her heart beating faster. Gather petals of red roses, washed three times, chopped with a fine-bladed knife. Immerse in alcohol, and drink by the light of the moon. Drink four quantities. Bury leftover rose petals in the earth, turn thrice, and open to the cleansing rays of the moon, the Mother Goddess.