Jodi Redford - Maximum Witch

Grim fury firing his determination, he started to turn. A small stream of bubbles broke from the woman’s mouth. He froze, disbelief seizing him.

What the hell? He inched closer, his focus glued to her slackened lips. Was she… breathing ?

He swept his gaze lower and swore he detected the faint rise and fall of her chest. Maybe it was merely his imagination, or an optical illusion perpetuated by the constant ebb and flow of water buffeting her.

Cursing the present lack of fingers that hindered him from performing a thorough examination, he shot a glance in the direction of the leviathan’s limp body. Not giving himself time to rethink the wisdom of abandoning his shark form while a deadly predator lay less than fifty feet away, he shifted into his human skin and pressed his middle and index fingers against her carotid artery.

Sure enough, the steady drumming of her pulse verified his suspicions. He exhaled in bewildered shock, expelling his own series of oxygen-loaded bubbles.

His brain immediately snapped into investigative mode and began cycling through probabilities. Could she be a water shifter? One that didn’t require gills while in human form, like him? Possibly, but something kept him from clinging too tightly to that theory. For starters, it made no sense that she wouldn’t have shifted into her alter form when the leviathan snatched her. Even with an ability to breathe under water, a shifter remained a thousand times more vulnerable in their human skin. Unless she’d been unconscious when the beast grabbed her—and what were the odds?—she wouldn’t have left herself open to attack.

Well, whatever the hell she was, he couldn’t leave her stranded in the middle of the damn Atlantic.

He hugged her to him and kicked away from the sandy bottom, propelling them upward. Being deprived the use of his other arm made the task of swimming longer and more difficult than it should have been, but finally he broke the water’s surface. He bobbed for a moment, the slumped torso of his dead-to-the-world companion secured within the crook of his arm while he scanned the vista. The shoreline was closer than he’d anticipated, thank the gods.

Keeping the woman anchored close to his chest, he plowed along with the waves, riding their powerful currents rather than attempting to go it on his own. The choice to conserve his energy paid off, and roughly fifteen minutes later, the tide deposited them on a deserted stretch of beach. Catching her beneath the knees, he staggered toward the nearby dunes. It wasn’t the girl’s weight that made his gait awkward—hell, even dripping wet she weighed next to nothing—but it always took him a moment to acquire his land legs.

After reaching a concealing cluster of sea oats, he carefully lowered the woman onto the sand and knelt beside her. Ignoring the bite marks on his lower calves which were beginning to sting like hell, he worriedly surveyed the girl’s pale face. She hadn’t so much as fluttered an eyelash. Now that they were on land the steady flow of her breaths was readily apparent. Her lungs obviously hadn’t filled with seawater, one more clue that revealed her to be something beyond human.

Which sure as shit complicated things. As sheriff of parish nine, it wasn’t only his responsibility to keep order within his district, but also to keep the citizens of Savannah as blissfully ignorant of the slightly less-than-normal creatures splashing around their coastal waters. He couldn’t risk taking the girl to the hospital, not without knowing exactly what she was.

Awarding the ever-darkening sky a wary glance, he rose to his feet. Full nightfall was rapidly approaching. Whatever he ultimately planned to do, it needed to be done soon. Scrubbing a hand along his jaw, he eyed the female again. The best course of action would be taking her back to his place and having his buddy Boone check her over. Though Boone wasn’t a doc, per se, he was a vet, and possessed enough medical know-how to hopefully treat whatever was wrong with the girl.

Fortunately, Max was less than a ten-minute jog from his bungalow. Un fortunately, that journey required a stroll across a popular section of beach. Even at this time of evening, there was always the chance beachcombers would be out and about. Considering he was buck naked and would be carrying an unconscious woman, the odds of someone not raising an alarm were slim to none.

“Fuck.” Much as he didn’t like it, he’d have to risk leaving her alone while he swam back to his house and grabbed his car. He dropped onto his haunches and smoothed a wet straggle of hair off the delicate slope of her forehead. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m only leaving you for a few. I promise. We’re gonna get you someplace safe and all fixed up. You’re gonna be okay.” Hopefully .

She didn’t stir. Not that he’d expected her to. After reassuring himself she was properly hidden behind the protective screen of tall grasses, he climbed atop the dunes. Keeping hunkered low enough not to draw attention in case a car passed by, he scoped his surroundings for any memorable landmarks. About thirty yards down the road and across the street a mailbox shaped like a purple sailboat flanked a driveway. With that image branded into his memory, he ran back down the beach and dove into the surf. He shifted into his shark, figuring it’d cut his trip time in half, and less than five minutes later he was sprinting toward the deck of his bungalow.

He yanked the French doors open and raced inside the house. His cell phone sat on the kitchen table. Snatching it up, he hit the speed dial for Boone’s number and thundered into his bedroom. He snagged a pair of sweats and wrenched them on one-handed. Boone’s voice mail clicked on and after leaving him a clipped, desperate message to haul his ass over there with his medic kit pronto, Max hung up and hurried to the front door. He slowed his frantic pace just long enough to jam his feet into a pair of sneakers and snagged his key ring from its hook before barreling outside. Beeping the alarm on his Jeep, he hopped behind the wheel and powered up the engine. Heavy-metal music blared from the speakers, and he quickly flicked the volume down as he rammed the gears in reverse and roared out of the drive.

Traffic was nonexistent, making it an uneventful trip back to the spot where he’d left the woman. If you could call his heart thudding hard enough to beat a hasty exit from his chest remotely uneventful. He pulled snug to the side of the road to avoid a potential accident from oncoming motorists and jumped out of the Jeep, double-checking to ensure he spotted the sailboat mailbox in the distance. Satisfied he was in the right location, he jogged across the dunes, the dry, crispy tufts of grass snapping beneath his feet. Winded and frantic, he reached the bottom and spied the scattered footprints he’d earlier left in the sand.

His heart in his throat, he dashed toward the curtain of sea oats. He pushed them aside, and his pulse slowly eased to normal when he spotted his girl.

Surprise flickered through him. His girl. Where the hell did that come from? Grunting, he sat on his haunches and gathered her into his arms. Her head lolled back on his biceps, her damp hair sending wet rivulets down his skin, but she didn’t wake. She’d been out of it for at least thirty minutes. Was that normal? Worry once again kicking him into high gear, he clasped her to his chest and barreled up the dunes to the road and his waiting Jeep. Freeing his left hand, he tugged the rear passenger door open and bundled her onto the bench seat, carefully positioning her so she wouldn’t roll off and hit her head.

He climbed behind the wheel and stomped on the gas. Adrenaline was running rampant through his veins, making his fingers shake and his stomach clench. Somehow he kept the vehicle on the road and made record time reaching his house. Boone hadn’t shown up yet. Praying his friend wasn’t working a double at the animal clinic, Max rushed inside with the female, beelining for his room. He settled her on the bed and stared at her, suddenly uncertain what he should be doing.