Jennifer Ashley: Wild Wolf

He closed his eyes again. Misty looked down at him, at his hard, square jaw, firm cheekbones, forehead now creased with dirt. Graham’s hair was black, but he kept it buzzed short, a thin wash of darkness on his scalp. Graham couldn’t be called handsome, not like some of the other Shifters Misty had met, but there was something about him that made Misty like looking at him. His large body was hard with muscle, his face firm, eyes an intense gray that could pin even the boldest of people in place. A strong man, who even now strove not to show weakness.

After a few minutes, Graham opened his eyes again and nodded. Misty helped him sit up and then, after another time of rest, she helped him to stand.

Graham fell against her as soon as he gained his feet, and Misty struggled to hold his weight. After a while, he was able to move, and Misty guided him back to the rise, Graham’s every step labored.

Misty looked around for the hiker as they climbed up the wash, but she didn’t see him. She hoped he was all right, but the desert could be treacherous.

It took much longer to reach the niche in the rocks again, but finally Graham and Misty came to rest on the level ground near the boulders.

Graham stiffened as he leaned against the rocks, and he inhaled sharply. “In there? Are you crazy? I’m not going in there.”

“It’s a giant cave,” Misty said. “It’s cool inside—it gets bigger after the entrance. What’s the matter?”

She started through the niche. Graham gave a long growl, then sucked in a breath of pain as he pushed in behind her. She reached back and grabbed his hand, guiding him through.

They emerged into the cave . . .

But it was the wrong cave. The hollow in these rocks was cool, but nowhere near as big as the cave in which Misty had found the hiker. This niche was only about five feet deep, ending in a solid granite wall. There was no sign of the pool, or any water at all.

“Damn,” Misty said. “That cave was perfect. But at least you can rest here out of the sun. I can look again for the other one. It can’t be far away.”

Misty turned to leave, but Graham clamped his hand over her wrist. For a wounded man, he had a lot of strength.

His eyes were clear now as he glared down at her. “Give me that water.”

“What?” Misty fumbled with the canteen at her waistband. “You could say please .”

“I’m not joking. Give it to me.”

Graham was standing upright, without support, and no blood at all leaked around his wound. The tattoos on his arms were stark against his skin, almost luminous in the shadows.

Misty handed him the canteen. Graham jerked it from her, unscrewed the lid, and took a long sniff of the water inside.

“Shit.” His expletive filled the little cave before he upended the canteen and poured the water all over the dirt floor.

“No!” Misty shot her hands out, catching the falling droplets in her cupped palms. She brought her hands to her face and slurped the water, not caring how dirty she was.

Graham slapped her hands down, and the last of the water was lost.

“What are you doing?” Misty asked in a near screech.

“The hiker, where is he?”

“I told you, I don’t know.” Misty licked her lips, needing every drop of the beautiful water. “He was right behind me. I didn’t see where he went.”

“Shit,” Graham said. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

“Graham, what is wrong?”

“Damn it.” Graham scrubbed one hand over his short hair as he paced in a circle in shallow cave. “I drank that water.”

“So did I.”

Graham stopped. He grabbed Misty by the shoulders and yanked her to him, not gently. He looked into her eyes, his brows coming together. “You seem okay.”

“I’m fine. You’re the one who was shot.”

Graham released her and stepped back. “I know. And look at me.” He put his hands on his hips, standing upright. His face was no longer drawn and gray, and the spent look was gone from his eyes. He looked hale and well, tall and strong.

Graham ripped the tape from his side. Underneath, his skin was whole, the only thing left of the wound a patch of dried blood. He was completely and undeniably healed.

Misty reached out and touched his side to find warm, firm flesh. “I guess Shifters do heal fast.”

“Not that fast. There was magic in the water, and there’s only one kind of magic going around these days. At least around Shifters.”

“Magic? What are you talking about?”

“Bastards. They’ll do anything to get Shifters under their power again, and you went and handed me to them. Damn it.” He turned away, pacing again. “This is what I get for being nice to a human.”

Misty took a step back. “What the hell do you mean I handed you to them? Them who? I didn’t hand you to anybody.”

“You forced that water into me. Now I’m screwed. Shit. ” Graham balled both fists and slammed them into the rock wall.

He hit so hard Misty expected his fingers to break, but the wall chipped, and dirt pattered down like rain. Graham hit the wall again and again, the curse word sounding with each slam. He was enraged, and behind the rage on his stiff face, Misty saw fear.

“Graham, what is wrong?”

He swung to her. His eyes were white gray, a wolf’s eyes, and his snarl filled the cave. “ You are what is wrong. Don’t you understand? You have fucked me over .”

Misty’s lips parted, her breath hitching. He was furious, more so than she’d ever seen him, and he was mad at her .

Emotions tumbled through her. She’d been terrorized this morning, her fear for her brother overriding her fear for herself. She’d been rescued by Graham, who’d looked pissed off to do it. Then she’d been in danger of dying of heatstroke while she watched Graham start to expire with a bullet in his side. And now Graham was standing here, yelling at her .

Words wouldn’t come, and neither would her breath. Misty turned her back and walked outside. The sun was beating down hotter than before, afternoon well underway, but she didn’t care.

Graham came after her. He didn’t bother to stop her; he pushed past her and started down the hill.

A plume of dust rose in the desert about a mile away, a vehicle approaching. Graham went on down the wash, stepping through the slithering stones with agility. Misty picked her way down, the soles of her sandals split, her feet burning.

The dark spot in front of the dust plume enlarged until it became a large black pickup. It skidded a little in the soft dirt as it turned off the track and headed for the shack and Graham.

Even before the truck stopped, Dougal leapt out of the back door of the four-door cab, clad in a new shirt. Dougal ran at Graham, hurtling himself into Graham’s arms like a scared adolescent. Graham gathered his nephew into his embrace, holding him, rubbing his back.

The pickup halted, the driver’s and passenger’s doors opened, and two men got out of the cab. Misty recognized them as she drew near—Diego Escobar, a human who was the mate of her friend Cassidy, and Stuart Reid, a tall man Misty had met only a few times. Reid wasn’t Shifter, but he lived in Shiftertown and didn’t talk much about his past. He used to be a cop, as had Diego. Now they both worked for Diego’s private security company, DX Security.

Misty pressed her hand to her side and hurried the last few yards, breathing hard. The two men and Graham turned to watch her, but Dougal kept his face buried in Graham’s shoulder.

“Please say you have water,” Misty said as she reached them.

Diego silently held out a sports bottle. Misty upended it, pouring the liquid in a stream into her mouth. The water didn’t taste anywhere near as good as the water the hiker had given her, but it was wet, which was the point.