Wild Wolf

Page 10

“My friend does.” Misty went toward him, stepping carefully, her sandals not made for desert walking. “Some gangbangers shot him.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Oh, jeez. Are they still around?”
“No, they ran off. Leaving us stranded.”
His eyes remained wide. They were dark eyes, a nice contrast with his light-colored hair. The man wasn’t much older than Misty, she realized as she reached him. And in great shape. He was tall and lean, his muscles ropy, his skin tanned a liquid brown.
He handed Misty the bottle and watched while she took a sip. Then a gulp. The water tasted good, silken and smooth, cool from the insulated canteen. Misty kept on drinking until the last droplet flowed into her mouth.
“Sorry,” she gasped. “Didn’t mean to drain it.”
“It’s all right. I have more. The water is supposed to be inside you, not the bottle. Did you call for help?”
“Another friend went. We couldn’t get a signal.” Misty looked hopefully at the cell phone on his belt.
He shook his head. “Lost contact about five miles back. Let’s get your friend in here, out of the sun.”
“Thanks.” Misty felt better, first with the water wetting her mouth like sweet nectar; second, because she had someone to help her with Graham. This guy was strong. Everything would be all right.
She handed the canteen back to the hiker, and he gave her another one. “Keep it. You need it, and so will your friend. Show me where he is.”
The hiker followed Misty out through the crack in the rocks. The heat hit her like a wall, the sunshine seeming more intense after the cool relief of the cave.
“This way,” Misty said as the hiker emerged behind her.
The shack was still in sight. Misty picked her way back down the wash, rocks rolling under her feet and those of the hiker behind her. Misty’s soles were burning by the time she reached relatively level ground, her toes bloody from loose rocks.
Graham lay where she’d left him, on his back, eyes closed, one hand behind his head. Misty jogged the last few yards and dropped to her knees beside him, alarmed by the too-shallow rise and fall of his chest. The blood had dried around the duct tape, but the flesh looked swollen and angry.
Graham cracked open his eyes. His gaze was unfocused, and he could barely raise the lids. “You came back.” He sounded surprised, pleased, relieved.
“Like I have anywhere else to go. I found some help. There’s a cave not far away, out of the sun. There was a hiker there, and he gave me some water.”
Graham blinked a few times. He sniffed once, twice, then turned his head and inhaled in Misty’s direction.
“I don’t like the way you smell,” he growled.
“Thanks a lot. You’re pretty rank yourself.”
Graham didn’t smile. “I mean you smell . . . wrong. What hiker?”
“Him.” Misty looked up to point at the thin guy, but he wasn’t there.
She stood up, scanning the wash and then the desert around them. She didn’t see him anywhere. “He was right behind me.”
Graham struggled to raise his head, grunting with effort. Misty knelt beside him again. “Stop. Let me give you some water.”
Misty unscrewed the canteen’s lid, its slender chain clanking against the container’s metal side. She put her hand behind Graham’s head and supported him while she more or less poured the water into his mouth.
Graham made a face and tried to spit it out.
“No,” Misty said firmly. “Drink it. It’s more important for the water to be inside you than in the bottle.”
The hiker had said that, but he was right. Graham held his breath and swallowed the water, scowling the entire time. “Rank,” he said.
Misty had thought the water tasted good, possibly because she’d been parched. “Have some more,” she said.
“No. I’ll live.”
Graham tried to sit up and ended up crashing down again. “Shit. Hurts.”
“No kidding. Do you think you could make it up to the cave? It’s getting hotter.”
Graham looked up the rise to the boulders on the ridge and took a breath. “Yeah, I can make it. Give me a second.”
He closed his eyes again. Misty looked down at him, at his hard, square jaw, firm cheekbones, forehead now creased with dirt. Graham’s hair was black, but he kept it buzzed short, a thin wash of darkness on his scalp. Graham couldn’t be called handsome, not like some of the other Shifters Misty had met, but there was something about him that made Misty like looking at him. His large body was hard with muscle, his face firm, eyes an intense gray that could pin even the boldest of people in place. A strong man, who even now strove not to show weakness.
After a few minutes, Graham opened his eyes again and nodded. Misty helped him sit up and then, after another time of rest, she helped him to stand.
Graham fell against her as soon as he gained his feet, and Misty struggled to hold his weight. After a while, he was able to move, and Misty guided him back to the rise, Graham’s every step labored.
Misty looked around for the hiker as they climbed up the wash, but she didn’t see him. She hoped he was all right, but the desert could be treacherous.
It took much longer to reach the niche in the rocks again, but finally Graham and Misty came to rest on the level ground near the boulders.
Graham stiffened as he leaned against the rocks, and he inhaled sharply. “In there? Are you crazy? I’m not going in there.”
“It’s a giant cave,” Misty said. “It’s cool inside—it gets bigger after the entrance. What’s the matter?”
She started through the niche. Graham gave a long growl, then sucked in a breath of pain as he pushed in behind her. She reached back and grabbed his hand, guiding him through.
They emerged into the cave . . .
But it was the wrong cave. The hollow in these rocks was cool, but nowhere near as big as the cave in which Misty had found the hiker. This niche was only about five feet deep, ending in a solid granite wall. There was no sign of the pool, or any water at all.
“Damn,” Misty said. “That cave was perfect. But at least you can rest here out of the sun. I can look again for the other one. It can’t be far away.”
Misty turned to leave, but Graham clamped his hand over her wrist. For a wounded man, he had a lot of strength.