Dani Harper - Storm Warrior

Somebody banged on the door, making her jump. “You in there, Morgan?” It was Jay.

“Yup, I’m here.” She knew he wouldn’t open the door, not with the red warning light on. “Finishing up the X-rays on that ferret.”

“I just got off the phone with the cops. They found the guy. They’ve got him locked up right now, waiting for you to ID him.”

“Really?” Relief washed over her, and suddenly she felt shaky all over. She was glad the younger vet couldn’t see her. “That’s great news, Jay, thanks.”

“Thought you’d want to know. I put the officer’s number on your desk. If you want someone to go with you, Grady and I are both available.”

“Thanks.” She was grateful for such good friends who were willing to back her up, but she wanted to do this by herself. She was hoping the process would be similar to what she’d seen on TV, where she could point the man out of a lineup from behind one-way glass. Maybe even by watching video footage in another room completely. However it was done, it would be satisfying to say, “That’s him,” and know her attacker was in jail.

And if the black dog hadn’t intervened, her attacker would have been her killer —and likely never caught. It was fitting that she’d named the big canine on the clinic records with a Welsh word she’d borrowed from some of her grandmother’s stories. Rhyswr. Hero.

He was surprised to awaken. He’d expected to be dead; he should be dead. But then the last time he’d thought that, the Tylwyth Teg had stepped in.

They wouldn’t have saved him this time.

He’d disobeyed the Fair Ones, using the powers they themselves had given him. He’d abandoned the land he was bound to, traveled the high winds in the guise of dark mist, crossed the cold seas, all on his own errand. He’d saved Morgan Edwards, a mortal marked for death, planning to forfeit his immortality and trade his life for hers.

Yet, she had turned around and saved him . It shouldn’t be possible. He breathed when he had not breathed for centuries. It hurt to breathe, but that was even more of a miracle. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt anything. Not only did he live, he was mortal.

Morgan called him Rhyswr. She’d whispered the Welsh word to him many times as she’d tended him. He knew what it meant although he didn’t feel like a hero. Rhyswr. Still, there was something strangely familiar about it. Long-forgotten memories began to rise to the surface of his mind, fragmented images, thoughts. Rhyswr, Rhyswr…

Rhys! He was Rhys ! He hadn’t heard his own name spoken since before the Romans captured him, hadn’t remembered it since the Tylwyth Teg changed him. Even fettered by this bestial form, he felt a rush of freedom course through him like strong drink. He felt something else too. A deep stirring in his heart for this woman who had given him so much.

Rhys made a decision. He had not known freedom or choice in nearly two thousand years. This one time, he would both choose to serve and choose whom he would serve. Wherever Morgan Edwards went, he would follow her. He would be her protector to the end of his days.

The big mastiff slept most of the time but was healing well. Morgan often snatched a few minutes throughout the day to sit with the dog, while she fingered the heavy metal collar around his muscled neck. Not only were there no tags or nameplate, she could find no fasteners, no buckles or clasps. It was like nothing she’d ever seen, and she’d been unable to remove it. Thick silver coils and links interlocked in an intricate Celtic design. An inset to the left of the throat framed a silvery creature inlaid with blue stones. It was definitely a canine, perhaps a hunting dog of some sort. The collar itself seemed more like a chain mail torque from a museum than any kind of pet restraint. It was as mysterious as the animal that wore it.

“Where did you come from, Rhyswr?” she asked the sleeping dog. “Where are your owners? They’ve got to be missing you.” The mastiff must belong to American tourists, she had decided. It would certainly explain why the dog was following her bus, and more importantly, it was the only possible explanation for how the animal had gotten to the United States. However, she had been the sole American on her particular tour. Had the dog become separated from an earlier group? It was easy to picture frantic owners searching, backtracking, and finally finding their oversize pet in time to take it home. But what were the chances that his home was right here in Spokane Valley?

The coincidences were almost beyond belief, but Morgan had been right that her partner Jay would believe her. He’d whistled at the strange story yet immediately begun coming up with ideas for locating the owners.

Morgan had already contacted the travel agency, the tour company, even the British consulate. She’d left many messages for the older woman who had been her tour buddy too. Wouldn’t Gwen be amazed to know that the so-called grim had apparently followed Morgan home? So far, however, her calls hadn’t been returned. Perhaps her new friend was busy traveling somewhere else.

With Jay’s help, Morgan managed to phone or e-mail every veterinarian, animal shelter, kennel club, groomer, and pet shop in the northwestern United States. Jay found a pair of mastiff breeders in the state that Morgan hadn’t known about, although calls to them revealed that their dogs were all brindle, not black. In fact, they insisted that mastiffs were never black. The breeders were happy to pass the information on to their association, however. There were ads running in two different Spokane newspapers and one in a tristate publication. Jay had even placed an ad in a couple of paranormal e-newsletters and several online forums that Morgan had never heard of. A week had gone by, then two, and still no one seemed to be missing a giant black dog with an expensive collar. It made no sense at all.

“Well, Rhyswr, that’s it,” she told the dog as she snapped her cell phone shut. She was sitting on the floor and decided she had little hope of getting up. It wasn’t just that the oversize city yellow pages weighed heavily in her lap—the dog was dozing with his massive head resting on her leg. He might as well have been a pony. “I don’t think there’s anyone left on the planet I can contact.” Morgan stroked the dog’s velvety ears, worked her fingers into the thick glossy fur of his neck, and smiled as he nudged his head back in a clear signal for her to continue. “I’m really sorry that your owners have been so careless with you. But you’re welcome to come and live with me. What do you think about that?”

The dog thumped his tail without opening his golden eyes.

“I’ll take that as a yes. I know you’re still stiff and sore, but it’s time to get you out of my office. It’s starting to smell kind of doggy in here, you know? You’ll like my place. I’ve got some land and a whole lot of trees, just right for a big fella like you.” His tail thumped again and she smiled. “Somehow I can’t picture you in my car, even if I open the sunroof, so I’ve got the keys to the clinic van. If that doesn’t work, well, I guess there’s always the livestock trailer.”

Transporting the dog proved to be easier than she expected. She’d been afraid that the step up into the van would be difficult for the injured animal, but she’d forgotten how tall he was. Although his wound made him slow, Rhyswr walked into the van almost effortlessly and sat calmly with his nose at her shoulder as she drove to her home in a rural area north of the city limits. When she’d bought the run-down farm two years ago, she’d wondered if she was making a mistake. The commute would be long, and while the sprawling old house was in much better shape than the barns and outbuildings, it had still required a great deal of upgrading. But the farm had rapidly become her sanctuary. And for a king-size canine, it would be heaven on earth.