A Shift in the Water (14 page)

Static. White noise. It started as a whisper in her ears and built up to a roar.
So this is what it means to hear your heartbeat in your ears.
Even her thoughts were thicker than molasses. One step and she toppled over, her head missing the coffee table by a fraction of an inch. At her side, the wolf sniffed her face. He whimpered, nudged her hand, pawed at her shoulder, and swiped a cold nose over her forehead.

Mara wrapped her arms around his chest. The roar turned into a single note, then a second, a third: her song. The one she’d heard off and on for months. The wolf’s whines grew louder. “I don’t want to die,” she whispered. The wolf struggled to his feet, bringing Mara up on her knees with him. He looked back at her, made a low sound in his throat, and padded forward. Mara shuffled alongside. Another step and she got one hand on the arm of her sofa and another on his neck. He stood perfectly still as she found her footing. Step by step, they made it into the bedroom. The wolf kept her upright and pressed to the wall the whole time. She didn’t bother getting undressed—couldn’t have even if she’d wanted to—before she fell into bed.

The wolf lay down next to her. Mara buried her face in his fur. He smelled like the outdoors, like her Christmas tree, and strength. The pounding in her head lessened, but something inside her was itching to escape. Her palms dampened and a sheen of sweat broke out on her brow. She was cold. She started to shake. Tears soaked the wolf’s pelt. He made a surprised sound and licked her arm.

Mara rolled away and reached for her phone. She had to call Adam. Or 911. The phone slipped from her grip and landed with a crack on her hardwood floor. It clattered away a few inches, but the distance might as well have been a mile. A low moan escaped her throat.
I can’t die like this. Alone.

She was too dizzy and tired to move.
You’ll be too tired to get out of bed. Then you’ll be too tired to stay awake.
Doctor Pendergast’s words came back to haunt her. It wasn’t supposed to be this quick.

The wolf licked her hand and she turned her head back to him. She wasn’t alone. He watched her with pain in his eyes.

“Do me . . . a favor,” she whispered. “When they come. Whoever comes. Be nice. Don’t let them. Lock you up.” Mara couldn’t stop her tears. She closed her eyes, ready for whatever end life had planned for her. It was out of her hands.

The wolf jumped down, grabbed the phone in his mouth, and deposited it next to her. Fingers grasped, slipped, and shook. The room spun.

A sharp bark brought her back. He leapt up onto the bed, dropping down next to her and pressing his back to her side. Animals knew. Didn’t they? When it was the end?

Mara reached for his sleek body and wrapped her arms around him. She wasn’t alone. He wriggled closer. “Don’t leave me,” she sobbed. He shook his head and laid his muzzle on her wrist. He’d stay until the end. She wasn’t alone.

The ground rushed up to meet her body: hip, shoulder, and the back of her head. Her eyes flew open. The bedroom was dark, the air heavy and moist. Had she left the window open? It smelled like rain. A clicking sound from the bed drew her attention.
What the hell? Why am I on the floor?
It took her several deep breaths to wonder more than that. Why wasn’t she dead? She felt . . . good. Well, other than the bruises she was sure she was going to have along the left side of her body. Her headache was gone. Her hands were steady. She rose slowly, not trusting her legs to support her, but they did without protest.
Did I imagine it? I was dying.
A piece of shattered plastic dug into the ball of her foot. Her phone. She hadn’t imagined it. The wolf. She needed the wolf.

“Bud?”

Mara slid forward. She flicked on her bedside lamp and covered her mouth, stifling a gasp.

On her bed, curled in a fetal position, was a naked, shivering man.

Seven

Mara watched the man for several long seconds. His back was well muscled, but several deep scars and burns crisscrossed the tanned skin. His mane of hair was a color she’d never seen before on a man. Somewhere between straw and granite, it fell in gentle waves past the nape of his neck. His arms wrapped around his knees. He was a mass of corded strength. His face was buried in her pillow and his body shook violently.

Is that my wolf?
She shook her head. What else—who else—could he be?

Mara crawled onto the bed. She reached out and touched his shoulder. He flinched and cried out, a mournful, pained, fearful sound.

“Shh, I’m not going to hurt you. Can you move? Look at me?”

The man’s teeth chattered.

“Hang on, let me turn on the electric blanket.” Mara stretched over the naked man. Her shirt rode up. The warm skin of her abdomen brushed the man’s arm. He made a small sound of longing. She spun the dial, sending the temperature of the blanket up to maximum.

“Okay. I’m going to help you under the blankets now. Relax.” Mara slid her hands under his calves, feeling the coarse hair, the hard muscles. She lifted his legs enough to pull a corner of the blanket out from under them. Little by little, she maneuvered his thighs, his hips. When she reached his ass, her cheeks heated and she stammered out an apology, but he didn’t seem to notice or care that her hands were on his naked body.

Soon the blanket covered his shivering form. It didn’t seem to make much difference. If anything, he trembled more violently. She draped her own body around his, sharing in whatever heat she possessed. The man in her arms shuddered. A bit of moisture coated her fingertips. She brushed his hair away from his face. The strands of silver and flax were soft and clean and slipped over her fingers like silk.

After a few minutes, his teeth were no longer clicking together and the tremors slowed.

“Ar . . . ra?” His voice was no more than a hoarse whisper, filled with desperation.

“I’m right here.”

His muscles tensed as if he wanted to turn over, but after a breath he let his body go limp with a quiet keening sound.

“What do you need? Should I call a doctor?” Mara checked his pulse. It was rapid, but strong. His skin was cool. She laid her hand against his forehead. Cool and clammy.

He shook his head and grunted. A breath hissed out from between chapped, firm lips. He couldn’t seem to form words.

“Food?”

He managed a small nod and relaxed again.

Mara stroked the thick mane of hair, brushing the stubble along his angular jaw. The half of his face she could see was beautiful with strong cheekbones and full lips. His eyes were closed. He leaned into her.

“It’ll be a few minutes. Will you be okay?” Her lips were not far from his ear. He smelled very male, clean, and not totally unlike the wolf he’d been moments before. He nodded again, but when she pulled away, he moaned quietly. Mara stroked his arm under the blanket. “I’m coming back. I promise.”

Mara hurried out into the kitchen.
What the hell happened? I’m either completely insane or . . . well, no. I’m completely insane. Am I even still here? Maybe I’m in the hospital in a coma and this is all some drugged dream. Maybe I died and the afterlife is some crazy psycho trip. But if that’s the case, well, I might as well finish it off.

She stared at the fridge’s contents for several long minutes. He’d been here for more than ten days. Had he been trapped inside the wolf the whole time? Or was this some weird magical transformation?
Don’t be silly. There’s no such thing as magic.
Still, maybe his stomach couldn’t handle solid food. Hospital coma patients had to be gradually reintroduced to food. Neonatal had been her first choice in specialties. Long-term care, her second. She’d done programs in both.

Broth was a safe bet. A small box of chicken stock went into a pot, followed by rosemary for a soother, cayenne for warmth, and oregano because she loved its scent. Lil had taught her all about herbs during one particularly hot summer Mara had spent largely sick in bed. While the broth simmered, she watched the man’s prone form from the hallway. Every few minutes, his body shuddered and he cried out weakly. She went back to the stove, shut off the burner, and poured the broth into a bowl. Carefully, she carried the steaming bowl into the bedroom.

The man had managed to turn over. The blanket bunched around his hips. A light dusting of flaxen hair sprinkled over his muscular chest and chiseled abdominals. He sniffed the air, as he’d done when he was a wolf. His nose caught the scent of the broth and his eyes blinked open. They glowed, bright ice blue, flecked with hints of gold. The tendons in his neck strained as he tried to rise, but he grunted and fell back again. A frustrated growl rumbled through his chest.

“Relax. I can help you.” Mara set the bowl down on the nightstand, climbed onto the bed, and settled against the headboard. She slid an arm under his back and helped him up, letting him lean against her. He relaxed and turned his head into her neck. His chapped lips brushed against her skin and a little tremor raced down her spine.

She picked up the bowl and held it up. “It’s hot.”

His lips parted with a quiet grunt. Mara caught a glimpse of white teeth as she tipped the bowl. He drank greedily, not spilling a drop. His skin against hers warmed. When the bowl was empty, he laid his head on her shoulder and closed his eyes.

“What now?” she asked. “Rest?”

The man nodded. Mara helped him lie back down and tucked the blankets around his body. Pain filled the icy depths of his gaze, the crinkles of skin around his eyes, the set of his lips. His jaw worked open and shut a few times as if he was trying to remember how to speak. Mara started to pull away, but he made a hoarse sound and she turned back.

“St-a-ay,” he breathed. His eyes shone in the light of the bedroom. He tried to reach for her, but the blankets foiled his weak movements.

“Well, seeing as you’re in my bed.” Mara grinned. The man looked up at her, pleading. “I’m going to change, okay? I won’t leave. At least not until you can tell me what the hell happened and who you are.” The man nodded.

Mara hurried into the bathroom, stripped, and pulled on her pajamas. Brushing her teeth and washing her face, she stared into the mirror. The darkness that had been around her eyes for months was gone. She was exhausted, but she was stronger, even though her world felt like it had been turned upside down by the man. Shit. She didn’t even know his name. And she had no clue how she’d gone from nearly dying to feeling . . . fine.

She paused in the doorway, unsure what to say or do for him. The man fought against the blankets, but stopped and relaxed once she came back to the bed and knelt next to him. “C-c-co,” he whispered, then groaned, unable to finish the word.

“Cold?” Another nod. Mara pulled the blankets up around him and brushed his hair away from his face. “No wonder you could understand me. You’re not going to turn back into a wolf overnight are you?”

He shook his head. Mara slid under the covers next to him. They were close enough for his breath to tickle her nose. He looked at her longingly. “Ank-y-ou.”

His eyes fluttered closed and his face relaxed. There was something so pure about him, as if he had no conscious thoughts. No worries, no fears. Or perhaps he was too exhausted to care. He shuddered and Mara laid her hand over his wrist. A thrill of electricity traveled up her arm.

Her wolf. Her wolf was one of the hottest men she’d ever seen, but he could barely speak or move. What had happened to him? Who was he?