Nightfall (16 page)

“Of course, I’m sorry,” he said, and ducked under Izzy’s other arm. “I’ve got her. You get the shower ready. Down the hall?”

Roxanne nodded, and let him do the work of carrying the semi-conscious Izzy down the hall. She got the shower running, the water lukewarm, and found a bench seat that she used when she decided to be fancy and give herself a pedicure. She set that into the shower stall.

Izzy was slightly more awake when Julian got her into the room. Roxanne stripped the girl, and then with Julian’s help, got her seated on the bench, the spray coursing over her body.

Within moments, Izzy was sputtering, her body straightening up. “Roxita—you have to get out of here. The demon—”

“Hush,” Roxanne said. “We’re going to get you cleaned up, Izzy. Do you know when the blood started? Do you have pain in your stomach? Your abdomen.”

Izzy shook her head. “There’s nothing the hospital can do for me,
nena
. I need to see my mother. I need a different sort of help.”

Roxanne took a deep breath, finding a reserve of calm that she hadn’t thought she’d had. “Sweetie, I know it feels that way, I know it feels like you’re being attacked, but there’s something else going on, something that’s based in your body. I’ll get your mother, but I want to bring you to the hospital, get you some medicine, and I’ll bring her to you, okay?”

Izzy sighed and looked away, closing her eyes as the water poured down on her, washing away the effluvia that had stained her skin. She felt Julian’s touch on her arm and jumped. She hadn’t sensed him in the room at all, once she’d maneuvered Izzy onto the bench. “There’s more going on here than you realize,” he said. “I don’t think it’s a demon, but I do think she’s right that it’s—more than just infection. Or the sort of infection that you mean.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Let me talk to her,” he said.

She resisted until Izzy, pushing herself into something that more closely approximated a sitting position, nodded. She stepped back just a little, letting Julian slide into place, kneeling before Izzy and taking her hands.

Roxanne’s own hands started to shake as she stepped back, and the nurse filter faded out of her mind. She clenched them into fists and tightened them behind her back, forcing herself to take deep breath after deep breath to center herself. She couldn’t afford to fall apart right now.
Izzy
couldn’t afford for her to fall apart right now. She needed to stay in control until Izzy was somewhere safe, somewhere where she could be taken care of. Then, she could crumble into as many pieces as a pane of safety glass.

“It’s not a demon,” she heard Julian say, his voice pitched low. Izzy stared at him, her mouth opening, but Julian cut her off. “You’re right. It’s something. But it’s not a demon. It’s more of an animal, isn’t it? An animal spirit, trying to find its way in? That’s what you’re seeing.”

Roxanne counted the heartbeats before Izzy’s nod. There were five of them. Five slow
thumpTHUMPs
of her heart until Izzy’s head went up and down just one. She saw something relax in Izzy’s spine even as Julian’s tightened.

“The person who attacked you. When they did it, they weren’t entirely human, were they? They changed, just before it happened.”

Izzy nodded again.

“I know this sounds strange, and I’m sorry for that, but I’d like to smell the wound. That will give me an idea of who hurt you, and that will help me help you. May I do that?”

“What are you doing?” Roxanne hissed, and Julian shoved a hand back at her, demanding her silence with his intensity.

“Yes,” Izzy said, after a long moment. She spread her legs and averted her eyes. Roxanne felt her stomach twist in a filthy knot, the urge to vomit almost overwhelming. Part of her was convinced she was about to see her friend abused by a man she’d utterly misjudged. She forced herself to watch, to witness in case he did something and she needed to kick his ass.

Instead, his movements were as respectful as she could have imagined, for all that they were strange. His hands stayed where Roxanne could see them, resting on his thighs. He leaned forward, but his face didn’t go near Izzy’s exposed sex; he bent over the swollen red wound, keeping his face several inches above it, and took a deep, huge inhale. It was the sort of intake of breath she associated with someone breaking the surface of water after holding their breath for a long time. He took three breaths like that, and then he stepped back. For the first time, he looked ill, afraid. He covered his mouth with his hand and turned away from Roxanne.

“What is it?” she asked him. Izzy’s eyes were closed again, though her hands were moving gently over her body, washing away the last traces of the filth. “What is going on?”

Julian’s eyes flashed to Roxanne’s, and he shook his head viciously. “I need to—I’ll be back, but I have to—” He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, though this one seemed much less intense, and then opened his eyes again. The calm coolness retook him, although his expression was still firmer than she’d gotten used to. “Do not take her to the hospital. Nothing good will come of that. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I need to gather some things.”

He was gone. Between one breath and the next, he just disappeared. Roxanne choked down the urge to punch a wall. She’d never felt this much rage, never in her life.

“What in the world,” she heard Izzy speaking carefully over the shower spray, “Convinced you to fuck a werewolf?”

* * *

Julian was three blocks from the house on foot before he remembered the rental car that he’d driven to Roxanne’s house. He hardly ever drove; why bother, when running was faster and more efficient? But right now, he wasn’t sure where he was running to, or what he was running from. His wolf was frightened, and that that terrified the man.

He’d picked up the scent of the were who’d torn into Roxanne’s friend’s leg. If it had just been a bite wound, it would have smelled animal, but the were had given the gift, intending to turn the woman, so the residue scent was much, much more. It was layered, thick—an amalgam of not just one wolf, but dozens. It was the smell of a pack, and it was as distinctive as a brand.

It was the scent of the Alpha who’d ambushed his pack. The one who’d stood back and left him to be torn apart by betas. To be destroyed. The one he suspected more and more had become his enemy that night in the redwood forests. In a different world and a different time.

The girl smelled of magic, too, although she didn’t think of her power in that way, or use it like that. Her intense reaction to the bite was exactly why it had been forbidden, long ago, for the gift to be given to any sort of magic user. A human body could only stand so much change; after that, there was a tendency to self-destruct.

If that was what was happening to the girl, there would be nothing he could do to help her. The change had already taken hold; all that could be done now would be to see if she could survive.

He tried to convince himself that it was all a coincidence. That he’d met Roxanne here, and that her friend had been hurt in a way that broke all the laws of his kind, and that those things had nothing to do with their involvement with him, however brief it had been.

He didn’t believe in coincidences.

And then there was Roxanne herself.

He’d only felt this pulled to another person once, and that person had been a were, and his mate. And she was dead, and he’d felt sure that he could never feel this strongly again. He’d spent years lost in a haze, existing for the pack and the pack alone.

And now it was just him. It was natural, he supposed, to desire companionship, to desire physical release such as he had not had in many years—but there was more to it than that. So much more.

But she was human. She was human, and she loved her life. He could see that about her. She didn’t scent the wind when the breeze picked up, or close her eyes and feel it course through her hair. She was a human woman, and she was happy. He could no more take that away from her than he could take her life.

Which meant he needed to enjoy her while he could, because he’d be leaving her eventually.

The wolf inside him wasn’t satisfied with that answer. It roared and snapped and tore through him, like it had when he had left her alone in the bedroom. The wolf wanted her, wanted to tie her down and watch her submit to his will, watch her choose to let him take control. His body snarled with need at the thought of it.

She wanted him, too. She reacted so completely to his touch, her eyes so wanton and desirous. It was its own kind of intensity, its own kind of orgasm. It had taken everything he had to keep his touch light, to welcome her slowly into the world she said she wanted to be a part of. He could feel the slap of his hand against her firm flesh, the way her eyes would roll, and she’d bite her lower lip to keep back her cries, and then when she couldn’t hold back any more, the mix of pain and need that would wind through her voice—it made him hard to think of it.

Which was wrong. He needed help, he needed help for the girl, to do anything he could to help her survive. That was what he was supposed to be doing right now, not taunting his body into yet another erection that distracted him.

There was only one place he could go. One place he could find help.

He turned south, cutting through lawns and greenways, taking roads only when they were convenient. He’d known a woman here in Sweetwater, long ago, and he thought he could still smell her magic on the breeze. If she didn’t slap him for still being alive, she would probably help him.

* * *

The smell of magic grew stronger as he ran. That was reassuring. If the woman were dead, her magic would have faded, leaving nothing but traces on the breeze. Even if the woman was gone, an apprentice had taken her place.

He tracked her to the same small house, a little ranch that radiated sensations of calm, safety, and home. There was a threat underneath all of that, though, a quiet warning that anyone who meant harm to those who lived here would be dealt with.

He glanced at the mailbox and found the name he expected—Nunez—then pushed on towards the door, rapping sharply on the frame. He forced himself to be still as he waited. Carmen would be older now, and might not move as fast as she had forty years before.

He heard someone moving behind the door, and he did everything he could to seem small, harmless, insignificant. His heard a muffled curse through the door before it sprang open. He braced himself for the slap—but it didn’t come.

The woman staring back at him was smaller than he remembered. Physically, at least. She barely came up to his chest, and her skin was deeply tanned. There were lines around her eyes and the corners of her mouth, and her gorgeous black hair was shot through with strands of white, but her power. Her power had grown, and it surrounded her like a living being, reaching out and touching the world as brazen as ever.

And she wasn’t slapping him. That was a lovely bonus. “Carmen,” he said. He stretched out a hand. He wanted to pull her in a hug, but that would almost
certainly
get him slapped. Better to let her make the decision.

Her decision was to cross her arms firmly over her chest. She didn’t quite spit on his feet, but she looked like she was thinking about doing it. “Julian Greer,” she said, her accent somehow thicker than it had been all those years ago. “I thought you would have taken the long journey many years ago.”

He put his hand to his heart and bent at the waist, sketching something that wasn’t unlike a bow. “Without your help all those years ago, I’m sure it would have been true.”

Carmen rolled her eyes and smacked him on the shoulder. “Don’t flatter me. You were cut by silver, I stitched you up. It was no special thing.”

He shrugged. “No one else would lay hands on me because they had seen my darker nature. If you’d turned your back as well, I would have bled to death in that field.” He was quiet for a moment, letting his praise sink in. “I’ve been a different man since then. Did you use your magic on me,
curandera
?”

She shook her head as if she were shaking off a spell. “I did no such thing,” she said. “And as to stitching you up, well, the Good Lord told us to take care of our neighbors, and he was very clear. And to those who misinterpret his message, he gave the story of the Good Samaritan. My duty was clear.”