His gun was filled with lead. Regardless, being shot hurt. Really, really hurt.
And he shot me in the butt. How mortifying.
I wanted to shout, curse, cry. Instead I ran.
At first all I could think of was getting away, so I accelerated in the general direction of Cuba. However, when my skin began to heal the hole with the bullet still inside, I detoured to the cabin.
Approaching from the rear, I sniffed the air and smelled nothing but trees, heard only the wind. Leaping onto the back porch, I imagined myself human and suddenly I was.
The talisman resided in the pocket of Jessie's pants back at the junkyard. Even though I didn't appear to need it anymore, I wanted the icon back. And I'd get it, just as soon as I removed the irritating bullet from my ass.
I could get used to changing back and forth in the blink of an eye. The lack of pain and agony was a definite plus.
Making use of my suddenly opposable thumb, I turned the doorknob, slipped inside, then straight into the bathroom. The glare of the electric light made me flinch even before I saw myself in the mirror.
Dirt streaked my face; my hair was full of leaves and twigs; fiery red scratches marred my arms. Twisting awkwardly, I tried to see my wound, but I couldn't.
The bullet seemed to be scraping me from the inside out. What didn't kill me might just drive me mad. I was going to have to ask for help, and I hated that.
I opened the bathroom door, and yelped. Nic stood on the other side. One glance at my face and he cursed, then shoved his way into the room.
I snatched a towel off the rack and clutched it to my breasts. Stupid. He'd already seen and touched everything already.
"What the hell happened?" Nic demanded.
I wasn't sure where to start.
"I woke up and you were gone. No note. Nothing."
Nic shoved his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end, reminding me of the coarse blond locks of our dream child.
I shoved the image out of my head. That child wasn't real, could never be real, and I had to remember that.
Nic wore nothing but boxers. Too bad I didn't have time to admire his physique. Blood flowed down the back of my legs and dripped onto the floor.
"What the - "?
Nic yanked the towel free and spun me around. I was so shocked, I let him.
"Who shot you?"
"Guy in the junkyard. The owner, or maybe the night watchman."
"I take it you were furry at the time," he murmured. "Or he and I are going to have a discussion."
I glanced over my shoulder and caught an expression of such violence cross his face I was shocked - and a little bit charmed.
I could take care of myself - bullet in the butt notwithstanding - but it was kind of nice for once to have someone else want to look after me.
Nic saw me staring and schooled his face into the stoic mask I'd come to loathe. "You'd better get in the bathtub. You're making a mess."
"Good idea." I climbed in.
"What were you doing at the junkyard?"
Quickly I explained about the phone call, the Edsel, the watchman, and the ghostly wolves. When I was done, Nic stared at me without blinking. "Ghost wolves. Are they something new?"
"I've never heard of them. But now I know why I saw wolf shadows at Lydia's and caught the scent of wolves when everyone else swears there aren't any. At least I'm not nuts."
"Just able to see, smell, and hear things no one else can," he said dryly. "Do you think the disappearing bodies are related somehow?"
I thought for a minute, then shook my head. "The ghost wolves didn't do much beyond bump against me and spread cold spots. I doubt they're killing people. Besides, Sheriff Stephenson was killed with a knife, then marked with a human bite."
"Which means we've got two problems instead of one."
"At least."
"So what's the deal?" He waved at my rear end. "I thought werewolves could heal damn near anything."
"We can. Trouble is, I'm healing faster than usual. You're going to have to dig that out."
He didn't argue. "Got any medical instruments?"
"Not anymore."
"Oh, right. Compound go boom."
Leaning down, Nic peered at my left cheek. Funny how a little bullet and a lot of blood took care of any sexual interest in my nakedness. Or maybe discovering my true nature had already killed that.
"Will left a few things," he said. "Hold on."
He returned a few minutes later with a small leather case. Inside were several lethal-looking blades.
"Filleting knives." Nic began to root around in the medicine cabinet concealed behind the mirror over the sink. "Will must like to fish."
"What are you searching for?"
"Alcohol."
I snorted. "As if I'll get an infection."
"Humor me."
Removing a clear bottle, he doused the smallest of the knives, then withdrew a tweezers from the cabinet and doused that, along with his hands.
"Turn around," he said.
"No problem." I didn't want to watch.
Nic splashed my butt with alcohol, and I nearly jumped out of the tub. "Hey! What did I say about infection?"
"Can you promise I won't get furry if I accidentally cut myself with your blood all over me?"
"I told you. The virus is only passed through saliva when I'm in wolf form."
"But things can change."
He was right. I had no idea what was happening to me. The virus could be mutating, and then everything I knew, or thought I knew, would be wrong.
"Leave it," I said. "I'll live."
"I'm not lame. I won't cut myself. Besides, you've got the handy-dandy antidote. If I get infected, you can cure me."
Could I? I no longer had the formula, and it wasn't exactly simple enough to remember off the top of my head. None of them were.
I hadn't heard from Edward since he'd left town. I was starting to worry. If he were to disappear, along with everything I'd invented, the world, as well as me, was in big-time trouble.
Nic poked me.
"Ow!"
"Hold still or you'll have more holes than you already do." He punctuated his words with another jab.
"I've almost got it."
I stared at the bathroom tile and waited for him to finish. Within three minutes, something pinged against the bathtub, then rolled toward the drain, coming to rest on top of the steel trap.
Nic picked up the bullet. "Constantly amazes me that something this little can do so much damage."
He lifted his gaze and in his eyes I saw many things. Relief, anger, wariness, fear, and something else I couldn't quite place before he turned away, tossing the instruments into the sink and dousing them again with alcohol.
"You'd better take a shower."
His voice was remote once more, and I had to wonder if I'd seen or only imagined the softer emotions crossing his face.
I turned on the water. Even if Nic could get past my being a werewolf, there were so many other things about me he didn't know and never could.
"The wound's already healed over," he murmured.
I couldn't see the hole, and I didn't really want to. Yanking the shower curtain closed, I let the heated water wash the blood from my skin. If only it could wash the blood from my hands - or should I say paws?
"You mind if I stay while you explain what's going on?" he asked.
"Suit yourself." I stuck my head under the spray.
"Who called you?"
"I thought it was Edward."