Howl Down the Moon, page 4
Now it was Rand’s turn to sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose as he walked back to the clinic. “So out of curiosity, when you reported him to the elders, what did they say?”
“That they were surprised at me because I wasn’t known for being the hothead Damien is,” Gabe admitted.
Rand could hear the contrition in his voice and began to feel like a hothead himself. “I see.”
“Is he okay?”
“I treated an infected bite mark. He’s fine now.”
“Good.”
“Thanks, Gabe. I’ll see you guys next week.”
“All right, Doc; see you then.”
Hanging up, Rand couldn’t believe how horribly he’d misjudged the situation. If even Gabriel was now saying a mistake had been made, then there was clearly more to the situation than Rand had assumed.
He wasn’t being looked after.
I just thought he should have someone to protect him for a change.
You’re saying I should have kept walking past him and left him there like everyone else?
If something happens, the council will know it wasn’t the first time.
Even if he curled up in a leaf pile somewhere, he’d still be cold.
Can’t he stay in?
Not only had Rand taken to allowing Mister Meow to remain in the clinic at night, but with the impending winter, he’d given up on ordering him out in the morning too. Instead, he’d purchased Mister Meow a fluffy bed, a climbing tower, and some toys. The cat had already rewarded him by slaying a family of mice, though Doc would have preferred it if Mister Meow hadn’t chosen his office chair to leave them on. Still, the pups were delighted to meet him, and what Rand had expected would be a disaster was an overwhelming success.
He was forced to concede that, in that instance, Luka had been the compassionate one. It had never occurred to Rand that Mister Meow could be anything but a nuisance. What kind of wolf kept another animal around that they didn’t intend to eat?
And yet, in the human world, where he’d received the bulk of his medical training, he’d met plenty of people who believed that if an animal didn’t like someone, or was afraid of them, then they weren’t a good person and should be avoided at all costs. Mister Meow hadn’t been afraid of Luka. Exactly the opposite. Recalling the way that cat had rubbed up against Luka in the office and meowed at the door after he’d gone, it seemed like he’d enjoyed Luka’s company. Could that mean that Mister Meow was a better judge of character than he was?
Chapter Four
THE STORM HAD blown in with a sudden and deathly swiftness, catching Luka off guard and miles from home with extraordinarily little to show for it. Snow stung his nose and left him half blind. His fur was beginning to become encrusted it with it. The driving wind had sent snow swirling into his ears, muffling the howling that surrounded him. Lowering his head, he struggled to keep hold of the fat raccoon he’d stolen from an owl almost an hour before. Talon marks were still healing on his shoulder and back, but he’d been desperate. Unable to run down his own and too exhausted to try again, he’d blindsided the owl, which hadn’t appreciated being driven away from its prey. It had only given up when Luka had laid over the top of the raccoon and refused to move, despite how many times it sank its talons into him.
He hadn’t dared try to eat it there though. The scent of bear had been close by, and bobcat, all predators facing the same struggle. The rapid disappearance of their prey into underground dens left them hungry, on edge, and on a collision course with one another.
Everything was covered in white and smelled of ice and frost. He could no longer tell if he was headed in the right direction to make it home, but he had to keep moving. Without a cave to hole up in, he would be forced to dig a den and allow the snow to bury him, hoping that his wolf would be able to exude enough heat to survive until the storm’s end.
It was getting harder to keep pressing forward, fighting against the wind, and that constantly mocking voice in the back of his head kept asking why. What was the point of forcing himself to endue this when there was nothing waiting on the other side? His wolf whined, reminding him how tired it was. All it wanted was to stop.
Staggering, he let go of the raccoon, his head down, staring at the thick snow beneath him. Pawing at the ground, he made a half-hearted effort to start digging before flopping down in the pile. Resting his head on his paws, he closed his eyes, shivering as that ever-present voice urged him to stop for a while. Maybe he’d get lucky and dream of the sun, of hot springs and laughter, warm summer days, and picnics with his parents and siblings, Liam and Lily.
Liam had been so tiny. Just an adorably fluffy pup with fur more tawny than brown and eyes like sunshine. Such a good pup. He’d barely cried, loved nosing after Lily and curling up in Luka’s arms, snuggling so peacefully whenever anyone cuddled him. At night, they’d sit out on the porch swing, watch the fireflies, and listen to his father play his guitar until the little ones were sleeping. Content. Loved.
Sighing, he was glad the cold beneath his belly was no longer so sharp. Maybe his wolf was right; lying here was warmer. His thoughts calmed so even memories faded. Exhaling, he’d almost given in to the lull of sleep when his peace was shattered by frantic screaming. Startled, he was on his feet before he had time to consider that it was the same old nightmare hitting again. A good thing, too, because this was no dream.
A second, frenzied scream joined the first, quickly followed by at least one more. Whipping his head side to side, he peered through the dense snowfall, trying to locate where the noise was coming from, but the wind made it difficult. Snorting, he allowed himself to consider the fact that the sounds had been the wind, but that didn’t explain the scream that still remained loud and long.
Leaving the raccoon behind, he floundered through deep drifts, changing direction when the noise grew fainter the farther he struggled in that direction. Retracing his path, the cries grew more frantic seconds before he spilled over the rim of a bank onto slick, snow-covered ice. Sliding, he ended up half spun around before he could dig claws in.
The frantic splashing and yelling was louder here, and as he struggled across the ice, back legs sliding out from beneath him several times, he finally glimpsed the source. Several feet away, the river wasn’t frozen, and three figures were clear: two in the water—one of those in fur, the other in skin—and one wolf on the ice, trying to pull the furred wolf from the water. The other figure—in skin—was apparently trying to shove the furred one from below while the ice cracked around all three.
Shit!
What the hell were they doing out here in this weather? Their cries made his heart ache, sending him back to another time, another place, where he’d listened helplessly to more screams and high-pitched wailing. He took two steps forward before pausing for a moment, wondering if he was about to make another huge mistake. Hadn’t Doc said for him to keep his hands off other wolves?
“Hang on, please hang on!” one of the small wolves was frantically yelling to the other while trying to inch closer on already precarious ice.
Scrambling, he reached them just as the ice beneath the third one gave way, spilling them into the water too. Without a second thought, he leapt into the water, the shock of it stealing his breath away. Grabbing the small wolf by the scruff of its neck, Luka tried to fling it up onto the ice, but it was too heavy, and his wolf wasn’t strong enough. Using his front paws, he scrabbed at the lip of the ice, breaking more of it away, rearing and crashing into the ice to make a path back toward the shore.
Pain shot through his foreleg, sharp enough to make him whine around the fur in his mouth, but he was determined not to let it go. Closer to shore, the ice grew thicker, firmer, and he was finally able to scrabble up, dragging the small wolf behind him. Standing was impossible, so he used his back legs to scoot himself across the ice, until he’d deposited the small wolf on the bank and lay there panting. One of the others had shifted and struggled to pull themselves over the edge of the ice but was unable to manage it.
Fur heavy and stiffening with ice, Luka crawled back to that struggling wolf, leaning until he could grasp his fur and yank him to safety too.
He was so tired now. Panting, he rested his head against the edge of the river, barely registering the insistent whines and whimpers of the two he’d rescued, wishing they’d settle down for a moment, let him rest.
One, or maybe both, nudged at his shoulder and paw, sending another surge of intense pain rushing through him. Jerking his head up, he started to snarl, when it suddenly dawned on him what they wanted. There had been three of them, not two. He wasn’t done yet.
Turning, he made another trip out onto the ice, to see the third one, still in human form, clinging to a branch several feet out into the water. Pale, face pressed to the bark, eyes closed, he knew they wouldn’t be able to hold on for long, not with the way the water there rushed around them. The distance between them, short as it would have been on a warm day, was daunting when faced with the need to swim against the current with an injured paw. Heavy clothes were weighing this one down, restricting his ability to shift even if he was capable of it. Drowning was imminent unless Luka was strong enough to get him out, which his wolf couldn’t.
Shifting, the sting of the water was more painful against skin, icy shards leaving him gasping, sucking water in that made him choke. The pain in his wrist was worse now and the water tasted of blood. Dimly, he became aware that something felt wrong, then the young wolf lost his hold, and only a quick lunge allowed Luka to grab his coat. Wrapping his good arm around him, he reached with the other to try to pull himself toward shore, only to glimpse a piece of bone sticking out of his wrist. Panic began to set in and then fear. Kicking his legs, he fought to propel himself free of the current, twice feeling the water lap over his head, choking him as he struggled. The young wolf was dead weight against his chest, the arm Luka had locked around him the only thing that was keeping him from drowning. He couldn’t tell if the young one was still alive, but he couldn’t let him go either.
When the back of his head hit the ice, Luka felt an overwhelming sense of relief. All he had to do now was get the small wolf up onto it. Shoving, he soon realized that was easier said than done. It took several tries before he was able to get the limp form halfway up, grateful when two snouts appeared, mouths opening to sink their teeth into the sodden coat and pull.
Feeling the weight slip away from him was a relief. He could rest now. Closing his eyes against water that slapped him across the face, he tried to muster the energy to crawl out one more time. But with one good arm and fingers that could no longer feel, he made little more than a half-hearted attempt. Water tugged at him, swirling around his legs. Taking deep, ragged breaths, he tried to gather his strength and push past the pain. One good heave and he could escape the water.
Nothing prepared him for the shock of something solid slamming into his side, driving the air out of him and knocking him free of his precarious perch. The current spun him around, carrying him away from the ledge and the two young wolves still dragging their friend toward the bank. Water splashed up his nose, blinded him, left him choking and disoriented as he spun through the current, which dragged him into the blackness of its depths.
ONLY A FOOL would be out on a day like today, Slade told himself for the dozenth time that afternoon. Too bad he hadn’t considered the possibility of this happening when he’d headed out before sunrise, hoping to surprise a deer. The trek away from his cabin had led him down the mountain and into the valley below to lie in wait for prey that never came. All the smart animals had the good sense to stay put on a day like this.
Slade had followed the river for a while and caught the scent of rabbit several times without ever seeing one. Near noon, he’d happened upon a battle between a muskrat and a mink and slaughtered them both, sating his appetite but leaving him nothing to carry home, not that he expected to make it back up the mountain tonight.
Fortunately, he had prepared for events such as this, stashing firewood and provisions in several caves stretched across his territory. He didn’t have much farther to go before he reached one. A mile, maybe less. Following the river helped keep him oriented, but even he knew he’d have difficulty spotting some of the markers he’d left for himself. Keeping a steady pace, he was grateful to have the wind at his back, allowing him to keep most of the snow out of his eyes. It would have made the trek far more difficult to have to fight the wind as well as the drifts.
He caught scent of the intruder before he saw him, lying naked and pale along the bank of the river, most of his body still submerged in the water. The smell of him read wolf, but not exactly pack, at least not from the scent of him. Shifting, Slade let the backpack fall from his shoulders so he could kneel beside the other wolf, fully expecting it to be a corpse he was checking on; after all, it had happened before. His heart clenched at that memory, which he quickly shoved down and sought to lock away as he tugged the limp form from the water. The wolf let out a groan, startling Slade. Bruises, gashes, and scrapes stood out against his skin, but the worst injury was the bone sticking out of his wrist and the raw edges around it. There was no time to assess out here. Rummaging in his pack, Slade withdrew a thick wool cloak and wrapped it around the injured wolf. As carefully as he could, Slade hoisted the unconscious wolf over his shoulder. Slade was relieved to learn he didn’t weigh too much. It would make running in human form easier, especially over slick terrain.
With all the care and swiftness he could muster, Slade spirited the other wolf to his cave, carrying him deep into the shelter. There, Slade had wood, kindling, fresh water, food, blankets, and medicinal supplies—all of which this wolf was going to need if he was to survive. After laying him on the pallet along the wall, Slade hastily covered him so he could get the fire started.
Little wind could permeate this deep into the cave, which was helpful in getting the fire lit. Breaking out the first aid kit, Slade finally took the time to assess the other wolf, confirming that the wrist was indeed the most serious injury. Broken, with a faded, barely formed bond mark on it. He wouldn’t die from it though; even an infection wouldn’t kill him as fast as hypothermia would if Slade couldn’t get him warmed up.
Making a split-second decision, Slade decided to fix the broken bone quick and dirty, roughly snapping it back into place and wrapping it in bandages, grateful when the wolf didn’t twitch when he did. He knew the kind of agony resulting from setting a bone and was glad the gods had been merciful enough to spare him that. Gathering all the other blankets, Slade spread them over the cot and the prone wolf there before sliding in behind him. He only hoped the fire and his own body heat would be enough to warm the wolf.
Breath hissing out from between his teeth, Slade tried not to yelp at how cold the other wolf’s skin was against his. Curling tightly to him, Slade hugged the little wolf, running his hands rapidly up and down his back and arms. The silent wolf wasn’t shivering, but Slade was, teeth chattering at the feel of all that icy flesh.
“How the hell did you end up in that water?” Slade murmured. “We must be the same breed of idiot, to be out here in this storm. Are more of you going to wash up along the river? You don’t carry another’s scent on you, but the water could have washed it away.”
As he talked, he listened for any sign of the wolf’s heart rate increasing, but it remained steadily slow. Keeping up a stream of pointless conversation was easy; he did it all the time when the silence of a solitary existence got to be too much for him. He might as well have been silent now for how much of a response he got from the other wolf, even as the day gave way to night. The back of Slade’s body felt like a furnace between the heat of the fire that was filling the space and the heavy blankets on top of them. Little beads of sweat were forming in the space between his shoulders. But his body heat didn’t seem to be translating well to the other wolf. Slade’s chest and belly stayed cold where he was pressed to the other, whose skin still lacked warmth, though not as icy as it had been before, and his pulse remained slow.
A healthy wolf would have been conscious by now, Slade reasoned. Which meant this one had been sick before whatever misfortune befell him. Had this been his cabin, he’d have been able to radio it in on the CB if cell phone reception was as impossible as he figured it would be. Here, all he could do was hope that the other wolf’s condition would improve by morning.
A sudden shift in breathing gave Slade a moment of hope, but when no inhale followed a raspy exhale, Slade gave the other wolf a gentle shake.
Nothing.
Pressing two fingers to the wolf’s throat, Slade was shocked to discover that his pulse had grown dangerously slow, and he still wasn’t breathing. Carefully rolling the other wolf onto his back, Slade knelt beside him, trying to recall the steps of rescue breathing.
Tipping the other wolf’s head back, he listened again for breathing, but there was none. Two breaths, the wolf’s chest rose with each of them, so there shouldn’t be an obstruction, but when Slade listened and watched for it to rise on its own, it didn’t, and while the pulse was still there, it was weaker. For the next few minutes, he focused on giving those two breaths every six or seven seconds and was rewarded, at last, when the other wolf started breathing on his own again.
Slade doubted he, or the wolf in his arms, was going to be able to handle a repeat of that. His nerves were frazzled, and the rescued wolf was giving no signs at all of pulling through this. Studying the pale face, Slade was certain he’d seen him before. Those delicate features, high cheekbones, and full lips had been radiant with color then and bronze from the sun. Younger too and frustrated.
Slade had been tracking a moose, and the young wolf had been stalking through the reeds, trying to sneak up on a goose. The great honking explosion of noise that erupted from beside the river had sent crows scattering into the sky, their caws screaming angry complaints as they’d flown away. That young wolf had come scrambling out of the marshy flats beside the bank, fur sodden and muddy, feathers swirling in the air around him as three geese beat him with their wings, biting his ears and sides while angrily fussing at him.
