Rob Thurman - Roadkill

Stubborn, ruthless, would cheat in a heartbeat, and was sneaky as hell; it usually gave him the advantage over me. It might do the same for him with Suyolak. In my heart, though, I was as tame as Delilah mocked me for being. Rafferty while in human form was a healer, first, last, and always, but as a wolf, he was Wolf. He hunted with no regret and killed enemies with a double helping of glee. He wasn’t ashamed of it either. He was who he was… to the brink and beyond. He simply happened to be two widely different creatures.

As a healer, he healed and he didn’t ask if you deserved to be made whole. As a wolf, he killed and whether you’d deserved it or not, I didn’t ask. Because he was the normal Wolf, the predator. I was the one in the butterfly collar and if I hadn’t been sick and stuck, I might have merited the ridiculous thing regardless.

“Not better than him, but you can take him.” I nodded before having my last look at the trees, the snow, the blue sky that was a different blue to human eyes than wolf ones. I had already studied my hands; now I felt my face. Stubble, lean jaw, thick eyebrows. I’d missed this face. It was only half of the whole of me, but I’d missed it.

“I can take him.”

“Okay, then. You can,” I agreed with the same confidence Rafferty was putting out there, then smiled. It was the moment I never thought we’d get. If he took down that ancient Rom and cured me, it would be good. But if he took Suyolak and couldn’t make me what I was, it would still be good, because I was able to say a real good-bye, one that, at the end of the road, had nothing to do with whether he could take Suyolak or not; one that was for him and me and our past wandering years.

Hope for the best; prepare for the worst.

“By the way, in college? I slept with that girl you were sleeping with junior year.” Good-byes shouldn’t be melancholy. They should be until we meet again. They also shouldn’t include getting the crap knocked out of you on the memory of a snow slope, so I ran the last bit together a little hurriedly. “But you weren’t actually dating, so it didn’t count.” I gave him a quick happy- go-lucky, life-is-good smile, the one my parents had said I’d had since the day I was born-a grinning golden retriever born of Wolves. “Be seeing you.”

I opened my eyes quickly and was back in the car. There was no snow or the smell of pine. There was the smell of old vinyl, the faint scent of ancient baby food and dirty diapers, pot, cedar chips, and a long-gone hamster, and a puck and two humans or semihumans who hadn’t had a chance to bathe in a while. The mummy cat smelled almost like gingerbread cookies, the kind Mom had made at Christmas, and I smelled like fries.

Rafferty just smelled pissed. “Goodfellow, where’s the damn water bottle you spray your cat with? I have some serious behavior modification to do.” To me, he accused, “You slept with Natalya? She was six feet tall, a model, and a Wolf. Orthodox. My mom, if she were alive, would’ve loved her. I might’ve dated her. I thought about dating her. You son of a bitch.”

I grinned and panted in the fine spray aimed at my face. Ah, refreshing. Mummy cats were pussies, literally, if that slowed them down. I kept on grinning as we chased Suyolak until he went to ground like all prey. I could do that, because it was all about the here and now. My cousin cursing at the wheel. Left-over fries to munch. A tug-of-war as a sex-starved puck unsuccessfully tried to steal my racy calendars while desperately declaring monogamy and celibacy as the number one killer, miles ahead of heart disease. Then, when he lost the tug-of-war, pulling out a white and gold peri feather to slowly run through his fingers-a sensation he seemed to be memorizing. There was also the Auphe unconsciously humming under his breath along with Barry Manilow on the radio, the sunglasses beginning to slide down his nose as he seemed to find a meditation groove-no matter how evil and unnatural Manilow was. The ninja/ samurai/assassin-could-be if didn’t-wannabe glancing sideways at his brother as if slicing his throat to stop the non-melody was out of the question, but the fantasy of it not completely so.

It was good, all of it. The future was a myth, the past as lost as the innocence that falls away with a baby’s first breath. The here and now…

It was what made life worth living.

We ended up back in Wyoming at Yellowstone Park right before twilight. I’d never been there before. Rangers wouldn’t let Sophia scam the tourists, so no parks for us as kids, but I damn sure knew a lot of red-light districts like the back of my hand. Then when Niko and I were on the run from the Auphe, hoping to hide as best as we could, wide-open spaces made up of thousands of acres weren’t what we were looking for. That was a Where’s Waldo? freebie right there.

Rafferty parked past the West Entrance just as most people were leaving, trickling out in carloads. We wouldn’t have made it in if the park ranger at the station hadn’t decided to keel over almost face- first into his beef stew. Luckily, he barely missed it and began snoring loudly enough that I hoped a passing lonely bear didn’t molest him. With an irritable healer along for the ride, who needed Obi-Wan and his hoodoo protection for what I’d always strongly suspected were his love droids?

Yeah, I almost jumped in with Robin to fight for Catcher’s calendars, but who could blame me? Delilah and I hadn’t had a whole lot of alone time on the trip and that had nothing to do with her possibly having orders to kill me. When you weighed possible death against certain sex, I was the same as any other guy-I was willing to toss those dice. But time hadn’t been kind to Cal junior. It wasn’t the best road trip I could’ve imagined-in that or any respect. Surrounded by death and very little sex, I could’ve gotten the same if I were a hundred and stuck in a nursing home-if there were nursing homes for Auphe. What a way to spend the prime of my life: all but celibate, attacked daily, more Auphe than I’d ever been, and with all the porn hogged by a monster-sized wolf in a butterfly collar.

Life pissed me the fuck off.

We drove to the first parking area we could find. It was empty by the time we arrived… except for a certain black truck. They said Death rode a pale horse. In fiction maybe, but in the real world, Death rode in a coffin in the back of a very plain, unnoticeable black truck. I was out of the car and at the back of that truck in seconds. Rafferty didn’t say anything to stop my progress, which was a good-enough go-ahead for me. If Suyolak had been there, I’d have been on the asphalt with a healer footprint on my back. Rafferty wasn’t letting anyone get ahead of him on this guy.

The doors were unlocked, which meant only one thing, but I opened them warily all the same. I’d seen what this guy could do. I’d felt what he could do. I’d nearly lost my life because of him and the twisted virus he’d turned loose at the hotel.

Dying was inevitable. You came into this world with an expiration date and there wasn’t much you could do about that. Like Rafferty had said, your heart has only so many beats in it. There were the unexpected ones too, like milk going bad a week early. It came with the territory when you fought for a living. I didn’t mind dying, the same way I didn’t mind winter. Both were coming, one way or the other. However, if I curdled early, I wanted to go out fighting all the way. I didn’t want to have some bubonic-plague-spreading asshole pointing a finger at me, and like that sour milk being poured down a drain, so I’d go-without landing a blow. Someday someone or something would kill me. Fact. But I wanted them to see the scars of that encounter every time they looked in a mirror.