Storm Warned (The Grim Series) (7 page)

Liam finally made it all the way to his truck, but his sense of accomplishment was short-lived. A full-length two-by-six had speared the windshield and buried itself in the driver’s seat. Three flat tires underscored that he wasn’t going to town for a while, or even—as he had hoped—around the farmyard and the pastures. Dizzy and still nauseous, Liam leaned against the vehicle for several minutes before he turned and looked back at the house. The two-story Victorian had survived the storm well—if you didn’t count that damn tree stuck in the living room wall. A few bundles of shingles, and some new glass, and the old house would probably be as good as ever. The house was a hell of a lot older than Liam, even older than his aunt and uncle. Perhaps it had weathered similar storms in its long lifetime and had learned how to deal with them.

Mentally Liam shrugged off that odd line of thinking. He’d grown up loving the house and the farm, but they weren’t alive, weren’t sentient, didn’t feel or know anything. The animals needed him. He had to stay focused, dammit, had to get to his livestock and help them.

Glancing past the house, it was plain that the power lines along the road were down for at least a mile. Liam sighed heavily. That meant he had to get the generator hooked up and running, or he’d be milking forty goats by hand. If he still
had
forty dairy does. And where were all the yearlings? He’d only seen a couple in the tightly packed herd. As for his cattle, they were nowhere in sight, and they would have to be rounded up from wherever they’d fled to. A sensible horse could pick its way through this mess, but he didn’t have one available to him—Dodge and Chevy had been pastured with the cows. The shed containing his four-wheeler lay in a splintered heap.

Shit.
Not only did he have a hell of a lot to do, but he had no choice but to do it on foot. And somehow he had to manage it all without passing out or . . .

Liam leaned over and threw up some bile, narrowly missing his boots. A round of dry heaves followed, nearly taking him to his knees as the top of his skull threatened to tear off. He knew he should probably get the lump on his head checked out, although how he would fit that on the to-do list that was growing by the minute, he didn’t know.
Gonna be a long damn day.

He’d made it most of the way to the heavy steel corral that attached to the west side of the barn when he spotted something large and dark crossing the field toward the other side of the big building, the shaded side. An animal, definitely, and limping badly. One of the does? Saanens were pure white, but LaManchas came in every color—and his herd’s best bloodlines resided in four does that were mostly black.
Christ, I’d better check her first.
Although the ground seemed to move beneath his unsteady feet, he finally made it to the wire fence that provided a token separation between plowed land and dirt farmyard, and he gripped it with both hands like a lifeline.

But the approaching creature wasn’t a goat at all. It was a dog.

Not
his
dog of course—he’d buried his best friend, Homer, only a few months ago. The big gold shepherd had passed on in his sleep, in his favored spot on the thick sheepskin-hide pillow beside his master’s bed—and Liam hadn’t been too manly to let honest tears fall.

This animal was one he’d never seen before, and it wasn’t a creature that could be easily forgotten. Its dark fur was muddy and bedraggled yet couldn’t hide the handsome lines of its body. Liam immediately thought of an ancient sight hound that might have run alongside a pharaoh’s chariot. Despite its size, the dog’s body was lean like a greyhound’s. The downcast head was elegantly shaped, ending in a delicate pointed muzzle. Long, graceful legs promised cheetahlike speed—or they would have if the poor thing hadn’t been using only three of them. The fourth was held off the ground, and even from a distance, Liam’s practiced eye noted the odd angle of the limb.

The black dog stopped when it saw Liam but didn’t raise its head. Instead, the animal seemed to expect rejection and slowly turned as if to leave.

Liam whistled and the dog hesitated. He whistled again and its ears pricked. The lowered head swung back to look at him. “Come on, that’s the way,” he called gently. “Come over here! Good boy, come here!” Clinging to the fence to steady himself, he made his own way to the open gate as quickly as his battered head would permit. He whistled again as he slipped through, then grabbed the post for support. He’d only meant to get down on one knee, to make himself smaller and less threatening.

He hadn’t expected to slide down the gatepost like a rag doll. The jolt of landing on his ass sent spikes of purest agony through his brain, and he moaned aloud.
Goddamn it . . .
Liam felt like he was holding his skull together with his hands, and for a long moment he half expected his brain to start leaking out of his ears. Through the haze of pain, however, he saw that the dog was now facing him, head up and alert. And slowly, painfully, it limped over to him.

It was huge. Even seated as he was, Liam was a tall man. Yet the strange dog was looking
down
at him. “I sure hope you’re not looking for easy prey there, fella,” he joked. As if in answer, the animal pressed its nose to Liam’s knee and lay down—albeit gingerly. Big, intelligent eyes focused their gaze on Liam with unmistakable concern, and the dog’s tail wagged weakly.

“Well, shit.” He had to rub a bit of moisture from his eyes then. The dog was doing exactly what Homer had done when a fourteen-year-old Liam had been thrown from a horse. He was far from the house with a badly busted leg, cold and scared and in pain. Good old Homer—still a pup himself—had stayed right there with him for hours until Uncle Conall had come looking for him.

Liam reached out a hand and rubbed the soft ears, the intelligent forehead. The dog’s tail wagged once more, but it shivered then, and he remembered it was injured too. He struggled to his knees. “Let’s have a look, fella, see what’s wrong here. Maybe I can help.” For a moment he didn’t think the animal would comply. Then slowly it relaxed onto its side and closed its eyes, and Liam felt along its body with gentle hands. The leg was definitely broken—he didn’t need to touch it to know that—but he thought some ribs might be busted up as well. And there was a wide strip of black fur missing from the back of its neck and across its shoulders, the exposed skin blistered as if burned. Was it possible it had been struck by lightning? Liam thought he’d seen a silvery collar when he’d first spotted the big dark creature, but there was nothing around its neck now. Whatever had happened, the dog was probably in a world of hurt, yet it was calm and stoic. “There’s a good fella,” Liam said, stroking its flank. “There’s a good boy.” Suddenly he realized he’d missed something important. “Good
girl
,” he corrected himself.

Despite the sun’s warmth, the shade of the barn felt downright cold to him. Had the storm brought in a cool front? The dog was shivering again too, and Liam immediately unbuttoned his shirt and covered the creature, wishing he had something warmer to blanket her with.
She’s probably thirsty.
He struggled to his feet—standing very still for a long moment to make sure he was going to remain on his feet—then shuffled his way to a nearby trough, holding on to the fence wire for support.

A few minutes later, he sank down beside the big dog, holding a cracked and dented bucket at an angle so she could reach the few inches of water in it. She drank every drop. Satisfied, Liam leaned back against the gatepost with a heavy sigh.

“We’re one helluva pair,” he said to her. “You can’t walk far and I can’t carry you. In fact, I don’t think I can go anyplace.” It was true—not only was his brain clearly trying to escape his skull, but that little jaunt to the water trough had exhausted him beyond all reason. “We’re gonna have to call in some help, girl.”

He patted the pocket of his jeans and was relieved to find his phone still there. The screen lit up at his touch, and he was amazed to see he had three whole bars plus half a battery to work with—apparently Murphy’s law hadn’t located him yet! Quickly he flipped through the numbers stored on the device, but he realized there weren’t very damn many to choose from. Aunt Ruby and Uncle Conall had been the only family who lived in this area. He was close to his cousin Tina, but she was in Seattle—she’d drop everything to come and help him, of course, but it was more than a six-hour drive. As for friends, the ones he’d had growing up had moved away, and he hadn’t made any new ones. In fact, hardly anyone could be called an acquaintance either. It was his own stupid fault of course: he hadn’t wanted company, so he hadn’t even tried to be friendly.
Way to go, Einstein.
How many times had he heard his uncle say, “A farmer can’t get along without his neighbors”? Liam recalled the families who used to own the farms on either side of his, but not the names of the people who lived there now. They were miles away in both directions too, so walking for help sure as hell wasn’t an option.

Although the sensible voice in his head insisted he needed to get checked out by a doctor, Liam was far more concerned about the injured dog. Plus, although he hadn’t had a chance to check on his poor goats yet, they were certain to need medical attention as well. Heaven only knew what condition his cattle and horses were in—if they were still in the county.
What I need most is a vet
, he decided. The only one he’d ever trusted to treat old Homer was up in Spokane Valley—his cousin’s high school friend, Morgan Edwards. It was definitely out of her way, yet she had cared enough to drive all the way out here twice in those last few months of Homer’s life.
It couldn’t hurt to ask, could it?
At the very least, Morgan might know of some other vet who could come on short notice.

Liam tapped the screen where her number was displayed. And hoped.

FIVE

C
aris lay on the ground near the man’s feet, grateful for his kind words—how long had it been since she had heard the slightest expression of concern? And he had covered her with his own shirt. The fabric was too thin to provide much heat to her battered body, but her heart was profoundly touched. She hadn’t known many men who would do such a thing for a mere dog, especially one that wasn’t their own. He’d struggled to bring her water as well, even though it was plain that he was injured too—and here she was with no hands to help, and no strength if she had them. He slipped into unconsciousness soon after he’d talked into the palm-sized phone, and blood still oozed freely down the side of his face.

It’s a fine face.
When she’d been human, she would surely have sighed over that intelligent brow and determined chin. She’d sigh over his handsome frame, too. The man’s shirtless body was lean and well-built, his arms strong, and well-acquainted with hard work. Light brown hair dusted his chest and she had a shockingly wicked wish to trace his muscles with her fingertips. Unbidden, Caris’s gaze followed the pattern of hair as it lightly encircled his nipples. Below his navel, darker hair formed a vee that disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.

The rush of unfamiliar feelings flustered her. As a grim, she’d seen men’s bodies countless times over many decades as she bore dire witness to their impending doom. Although she’d felt compassion for the men, no other emotion stirred within her. Certainly no appreciation for their form. Now, deep inside, something long buried and long forgotten was suddenly wide, wide awake.

If the man was awake, of course, Caris would never have indulged in studying his appealing form. Not only would she be shy about it, but she’d be far too busy puzzling over his striking blue eyes. Their vivid color was so like the high skies of autumn, yet there were shadows in them too, dark depths of heartache and raw anger buried deep.

And still he gave me the very shirt from his back . . .

She’d needed it, and she’d needed the water. Needed more, too, and she licked her dry lips with a tongue turned sticky. Caris hadn’t known thirst since she’d been changed all those years ago, but she was parched now.
What does it mean?
Other sensations, equally unfamiliar, rippled through her body. A grim’s heart did not beat and Death’s herald had no need to breathe. A grim felt neither heat nor cold, could be as solid as stone or as insubstantial as a ghost. A grim certainly did not suffer
pain
.

Yet her ribs now hurt as if she’d been stabbed in many places, as the heart beneath them pounded far too fast. Her lungs labored to suck in air as if they couldn’t get enough. One leg would no longer bear weight, and it throbbed like a bad tooth. Worst of all was her back, where Maelgwn had struck her with the light whip. It stung sharply as if on fire, and she could smell singed fur—and burnt skin.

The collar.
The collar must have borne the brunt of the blow, or surely she’d already be dead. It must have been damaged, perhaps even broken, by the impact of the magical weapon. The heavy silver links had slid off her neck and dropped to the ground when she’d struggled to heed this man’s call . . . How many long decades had she borne the choking weight of faery-forged silver around her throat? The absence of it might have made her feel giddy if she hadn’t been in so much pain.

Caris’s vision blurred and darkened at the edges. Had the impossible happened? Was she a mortal creature again? She was injured for certain, possibly dying . . . but free at last.
Anything is better than being controlled by that spiteful prince for one more minute!

From nowhere came the thought that her gruff father would have had far stronger and more inventive words for the pitiless faeries who had stolen away and enslaved his only daughter, and that thought suddenly made her miss Da so terribly that her heart ached as much as her whole body. Apparently her emotions had found their way back to her as well. How typical of the fae to restore those things that were the most painful to bear. She closed her eyes, so tempted to just let herself go,
and yet
. . .

And yet she found that there was the tiniest spark within her, kindled by the lingering warmth of this stranger’s concern. Caris thought she sensed a flicker, then a solid glow, as that internal spark developed into a sparse flame. Gradually it grew and warmed, flaring from candle fire to cheering hearth, until the shuddering cold was dispelled from every inch of her body. Pain released its grip, and even the agonizing sting of the wound across her back was soothed. She breathed easier then, a long, deep sigh, as though she were relaxing into sleep.

Sleep, however, was not what her body had in mind at all.

“So the guy we’re going to see is a cousin of your friend Tina? We’re talking about the same Tina who owns the man-eating dachshund, right? Please tell me this relative of hers doesn’t have one too!”

Morgan glanced over at her younger partner, Jay Browning, in the passenger seat of the clinic’s truck. He was wearing his long hair in a single braid today, and his T-shirt read “Veterinarian by Day, Ninja by Night.” She could well believe it—the man had more energy than anyone she’d ever met. He was a huge asset to her clinic as well as a good friend. Plus, he and his wife, Starr, had a very eclectic range of interests—for instance, they’d just returned from a UFO convention the week before last. Their open-mindedness to the unknown had proved a huge bonus over the past couple of years, as Morgan had discovered for herself that there was much more to the world than she’d ever suspected.

“Jake’s not a man-eater,” she said. “He’s just defensive about having his toenails trimmed.”

“
Dragons
are defensive about their toenails. I had a perfect career record of zero dog bites until I met that little wiener. Then
bam
—nine stitches!”

“I’ve a charm fer that.” A gnarled brown face with bright blue eyes popped up from the club cab seat behind Morgan. The brim of his much-prized baseball hat—a souvenir of the Toronto Blue Jays—bumped her shoulder but somehow managed to stay on his small head. She didn’t know if it was because of his thick braided hair and the odd leaves that sprouted from it, or if he’d spelled the precious cap to stay in place.

“Ranyon, you know you’re supposed to wear your seatbelt,” she chided.

“I’ve a charm fer that too,” he said brightly.

She didn’t doubt it. The little
ellyll
’s magical abilities were all out of proportion to his diminutive height. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him straighten his other treasure, a T-shirt that matched his hat (and hung to his knees). It was the only clothing he wore. Beneath the royal-blue material were more brown leaves that covered his body like a coat made from the forest floor, while his arms and legs resembled narrow tree branches.

He rested the sharp elbows of his spindly arms on the console between the seats. “Are there chickens where we’re goin’?” There was a hopeful note in his voice. He was absolutely fascinated by birds of all kinds.

“Maybe a few. But mostly goats. Liam has a herd of about forty does.”

The ellyll was only disappointed for a moment. “D’ya think Leo would like a goat when he comes back? They make fine gifts.”

She tried to keep a straight face as she imagined her friend’s reaction to finding a goat in his backyard when he returned from his Marine Corps reunion. The old veteran had a big heart. He’d practically adopted her now-husband Rhys, even accepting his strange story of having been imprisoned by the fae. When Ranyon came along, Leo had taken his existence in stride—and adopted him as well. Rhys had moved in with Morgan of course, but Ranyon remained Leo’s roommate and dearest friend. The ellyll used his magic to make the old man’s life as comfortable as possible, while Ranyon’s habits kept Leo’s life interesting. Lately they’d begun keeping a small flock of hens.
But a goat?
“The goat will eat Leo’s prize dahlias,” she said at last. “And your fence isn’t tall enough to keep it from eating the neighbor’s flowers as well.”

“Oh, aye, Mrs. Kettleson wouldn’t take kindly to that. She nearly had three kinds of hysterics when poor old Spike wandered onto her front lawn and pissed on her garden statues. I had to put a charm on the woman to make her forget she’d seen him.”

“It’s a wonder Spike didn’t bite her,” said Jay. Leo’s old terrier had reigned supreme for years as the clinic terror until Jake the dachshund came along.

Spike probably has a charm on
him
as well.
Morgan slowed the truck to leave Highway 195.

Jay looked around. “I know you said this guy lived outside our usual area, but I didn’t think you meant
this
far out. What is he, an old boyfriend or something? Is that why you didn’t bring Rhys along?”

She punched his shoulder as hard as she could while still driving.

“Guess not,” he moaned, rubbing the spot where she’d hit him. Morgan doubted she’d hurt him a bit. Despite his lean wiry build, he regularly competed in sword competitions at Renaissance fairs, and she knew from her husband’s training that such skills required a high degree of athleticism. Jay was slightly built but fast and strong—pretty useful attributes for a veterinarian too.

“You big
turkey
, you know darn well that Rhys isn’t home from California yet, or he’d be calling you up right away to tell you how things went with our horses,” she scolded, though without heat of course. “As for Liam, yes we’re friends, but we’re not very close. He was a few years ahead of Tina and me in high school, so I never got to hang out with him much unless he was visiting at her parents’ farm. That’s where I met him, you know. Tina was having one of her famous summer campouts, and he happened to be there with a guitar.” She sighed inwardly. The difference in age hadn’t kept Morgan and her girlfriends—Brooke, Sharon, Katie, and Lissy—from having a crush on the guy with the sky-blue eyes. Tina often complained that it wasn’t fair having such a hunk for a first cousin, but even she had been completely captivated by the music that poured out of him like water from a mountain-fed spring. “It was amazing, Jay. I’ve never heard anything like it, before or since.” Morgan sighed aloud then. “He had so much talent, I was sure he’d make it big someday. He nearly did, too.”

“Wait a minute, this isn’t Liam
Cole
we’re talking about, is it?”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

Jay whistled and sat back. “Starr and I saw him perform once at a bluegrass festival. I know what you mean about his talent. Didn’t seem to matter what instrument he was using, whether he sang or just played—the music seemed to surge out of him like he was channeling something bigger than himself. It was a damn shame when he dropped out of sight. We’ve got all his recordings, but I don’t think he’s put out anything new in a long time. Hey, he didn’t fall into drugs or something, did he?”

“No, thank goodness,” she said. “Tina says it’s a pretty bad case of broken heart. His wife cheated on him, they broke up, and he took it all pretty hard.”

“Hard enough to give up on his music? Might as well have cut off an arm or a leg. It’d be like you giving up working with animals—it’s part of what makes you
you
.”

Morgan nodded. “Yeah, well, he’s amputated even more than that. He’s pretty much buried himself alive on his uncle’s farm for the past three years. Lives alone there, runs the whole operation by himself. Doesn’t interact with people at all if he doesn’t have to, especially if he doesn’t know them.”

“Guess that explains why he called you instead of a vet in his own area.”

“Exactly. I always thought you had to be old to become a hermit. Don’t get me wrong, though, Liam doesn’t really act weird or anything. He works hard, he takes great care of his livestock, and Tina says the farm is flourishing. He’s a really good guy, Jay. But he’s locked inside himself and determined to keep it that way.”

“Must have been one mean-ass breakup.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it was,” said Morgan, keeping an eye out for the highway sign that pointed to the turnoff. “Liam and Jade had already been a couple for something like three years when I was still in ninth grade—they were the proverbial high school sweethearts and all that, you know? I don’t think either one of them ever dated anyone else, so that’s over a decade of togetherness. But it’s been three years now since the divorce, and Tina’s getting worried.”