Dani Harper - Storm Warrior

She murmured Jay’s favorite quote, one from Sherlock Holmes that normally would have irritated her: “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth…”

Must be.

Which meant she’d been a complete and total idiot.

“Rhys. I have to tell Rhys!” A chill ran through her as she remembered she’d ordered him to leave—what if he were already gone? No. He wouldn’t leave the horse. Not without making sure I knew. So was he still with Leo, or was he right over there in the barn, sound asleep?

Hell, with Leo in the hospital, Rhys probably wasn’t getting much more sleep than she was. And maybe, just maybe, he was thinking about Morgan too. She hoped so. Damned if she wanted to be the only person in this relationship who was totally miserable…

Damned if she wanted to be the only person in this relationship, period.

She got up and found Fred at the window. She hadn’t even heard him move, but his body language clearly spoke of high alert. His muzzle was pressed against the glass, but she couldn’t see much outside herself. The yard light was on the pitiful side, with barely enough wattage to cast a faint greenish glow on the buildings. “Whatcha looking at, bud?” she asked and rested her hand on his broad back, but Fred didn’t move. The faint rumble of thunder told her that a storm was moving in, and Morgan wondered if the dog was afraid of it. He didn’t look very fearful, however—beneath her hand, the fur along his spine bristled up into a thick ridge. A deep growl resonated from his throat, but he didn’t bark.

“Did you hear some coyotes out there?” Although she’d never seen one on her own land, bears wandered the area too. Only last month, she’d been called in to help examine an enormous black bear that had been tranked by wildlife officials in the middle of a Spokane Valley neighborhood. There was no hint of movement in the farmyard, though—at least not anywhere the light shone.

Maybe Fred had sensed Lucy moving around in the barn? Or perhaps even Rhys.

“Shall we go check it out?” she asked the dog. Truthfully, she wasn’t the least bit concerned if local wildlife was paying a visit to the farm. What she really wanted was to talk to Rhys, even if it was the middle of the night—or well into the wee hours, as her nainie would say. Morgan sighed as she got dressed. Didn’t feel like sleeping anyway. Thank heavens she had a couple more days off. Maybe she could grab a nap on the porch swing later…

Fred followed her readily to the kitchen and watched as she tied her shoes. He seemed keen to go yet wasn’t frantic to get out the door as many dogs would be. Morgan talked to him about the importance of staying with her as she snapped on his thick leather leash, yet all the while she had a mental picture of being dragged into the forest at high speed if the two hundred–plus pounds of dog decided to chase something.

She needn’t have worried. Fred didn’t launch himself out the door like a rocket, nor did he even tug at the leash in her hand. Instead, he walked beside her. He was still on high alert, and he swung his great head back and forth, watching, watching…It was like having a lion as an escort, decided Morgan. Fortified by Fred’s giant presence, she elected to do a quick sweep of the yard around the buildings, just in case. Behind the barn, she was stopped in her tracks—literally. Fred stood sideways, blocking her in the same way she’d seen seeing-eye dogs use their bodies to prevent their blind owners from making a dangerous misstep. He looked up at her, then looked away to growl at the storm approaching from the north. And gazed back at her again. Morgan frowned as she tried to make sense of the dog’s actions. Clearly he was trying to communicate something. Was it the storm that had been bothering him all along? If so, this was strange behavior. Most dogs bothered by thunder and lightning hid under the bed or in the basement—they didn’t venture outside to deliberately challenge it. But then she thought about the great black dog in Wales that had seemingly followed the tour bus wherever it went. Come to think of it, that dog—Rhyswr—had sat outside in a tremendous storm without so much as a tremble. Were all mastiffs a little on the odd side?

“Okay, storm bad , I get it.” And the dog might be right. The night was already dark due to the hidden moon, but the rapidly approaching clouds seemed blacker than black. Near-continuous lightning illumed the roiling mass with strange colors. She wasn’t usually afraid of storms, but something in the pit of her stomach was repelled by this one. Quickly, Morgan headed for the back door of the barn with Fred in tow. Thankfully the big dog didn’t try to go through the small entrance at the same time, but followed close behind her. She closed the door after him and stood for a few minutes until her eyes adjusted. The yard light’s pale, greenish rays barely penetrated the windows. Beside her, Fred was alert, but calm and quiet. Morgan was relieved by that—she hadn’t even thought of what might happen if he barked and startled Lucy. Finally she could see well enough to make her way to the mare’s box stall. It was empty.

Morgan went from stall to stall, expecting that Rhys had simply moved the horse to another spot. Dim as it was, it wouldn’t be possible to hide the pale-coated mare. The horse simply wasn’t in the stable anywhere.

“Rhys!” she yelled. “Rhys, where are you?” She ran to the stacked bales where the man had made his bed. A part of her reacted viscerally to the spot where passion had once rocked them both and bonded them. The rest of her was all too furious that he was sleeping peacefully under the quilts while her patient was MIA. She lunged forward to shake him awake—

Powerful arms grabbed her from behind. A hand the size of her whole face covered her mouth before she could yell for Fred, and she was yanked back against a hard, muscled body. She did her best to fight and managed to get in a couple of solid elbow jabs before his arms clamped down so hard her upper body could no longer move. She settled for kicking backward at her assailant’s shins and trying to get a leg between his and trip him as she was dragged inside the small dark tack room. Where was her dog? Why wasn’t he chewing this guy’s ass off?

“Be calm,” ordered a familiar voice in her ear. “You’ve no reason to fear, anwylyd. But you must be quiet. Gods alive, why are you here at this time?”

He released her and she whirled, slapping for the light switch on the wall. The forty-watt bulb was like high noon in the tiny windowless room, and she had to squint to focus. She didn’t need to see Rhys to yell at him, however. “Where is Lucy? And what have you done to my dog? And who the hell is that in your bed?”

In a heartbeat, he had his hand over her mouth again, and she was backed against the wall. “Your dog is unharmed, and there’s naught but straw and clothes in my bed made to look like me.” He paused and seemed to take a deep breath. “You must keep your voice low. The Fair Ones are coming, and there may be advance guards. You would be in danger if they learn of your presence here with me.”

She stilled and he removed his hand. “The Tylwyth Teg are coming here ?” she whispered.

“Aye. They’ve taken the horse, and fae law says they must return her by dawn.” He looked expectant, and his palm was open and at the ready, no doubt anticipating that he would have to muffle a flurry of angry protests.

Instead she was quiet for a long moment. “What can we do?” she asked finally.

The simple question caught him off guard. Wonder and hope crossed his features even as the harsh light made his face look just as battle hardened as he claimed to be. Morgan looked down and saw the sheathed sword and the dagger in his belt. “You’re going to fight them, aren’t you?”