Page 16 of Shadow of Death

“She won’t heal you because she wants me to come,” he said, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Who knows why she does what she does?” I said. The last thing I would do was reinforce that someone agreed with him.

He smirked, and I shot him a glare.

“It’s not funny.”

“Of course not,” he said, making a mockery of a straight face.

“So what do we do? I think I’m going to have to at least wrap it.”

“I’ve got Doc McGuere coming. He’s got more experience setting bones than anyone else here.”

“The vet?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Shifters don’t break bones easily, and if we do, shifting heals them,” he explained. He knelt on the couch near me, a pair of scissors in hand. “We’re going to have to cut the jeans. Easiest way to do it.”

I nodded, watching as he carefully took the scissors and started cutting up the fabric. He worked quickly, his hands steady, revealing the swelling skin that was already becoming discolored.

“What if it’s just a sprain?” I asked.

“That’s not a sprain,” he said. Just as he finished, there was a knock on the door. Kicks called out, “Come in!”

The door creaked open, and in stepped Doc McGuere, a grizzled man with sharp eyes and a demeanor that spoke of years of dealing with both animals and shifters. He carried a worn leather bag, its contents clinking softly as he set it down beside the couch.

“Let’s take a look at this leg,” he said, his voice a gravelly rumble. He knelt beside Kicks, inspecting the injury with practiced efficiency. “Yep. It’s a break.”

“Are you sure? We don’t even have an X-ray,” I said.

Kicks looked at me. “It’s a break.”

Doc nodded, pulling out a series of bandages from his bag and handing a bowl to Kicks. “Mix that up, will you?”

The vet worked quickly, his hands moving with the confidence of someone who had done this countless times before, just probably not on people.

“There you go,” he said about ten minutes later. “Keep it elevated and stay off it as much as you can for at least the first few weeks.”

“Thank you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Chapter Seven

I was sittingon my favorite rock near the river, the sun on my face and children’s laughter ringing out over the sound of the running water. I knew I was dreaming. Consciousness in my dreams was a weird quirk that had been happening lately. All I could hope was that I’d keep having these dreams once I left.

This land, the pack territory, was the only place I’d ever felt peaceful in my adult life. Even when I’d lived in California with my mother, by the time I went to New York, all that my old home held for me was haunted memories of sickness and death. Even now I couldn’t think of California without remembering my mother’s life fading away.

I picked up a scent on the air that was different, human. I turned and Widow Herbert was walking unnoticed through the pack, coming to sit beside me. It wasn’t surprising that I’d conjure her up for this dream.

She laid a hand on my arm, smiling. “We don’t have long to speak before you wake,” she said. “See that?” She pointed to a wolf with dark gray hair and yellow eyes staring at us from across the river.

“What is that? Is that Kicks?” It wasn’t the form he took when he shifted, but this was a dream. Maybe my subconscious saw him differently, more wolflike, less beast.

“That’s not Kicks, but you need to befriend it. Learn to tame it.”

“It doesn’t look very friendly.”

“If you treat it like he’s against you, battle him, he will just grow stronger and angrier.”

Knocking woke me from where I’d been asleep on the couch the next afternoon, my foot propped up.