Page 21 of A Wolf’s Wound

Ryder

The night passes slowly.

I quickly lose track of how many times I circle the block. I get to know every alleyway, every stop sign, every crack in the sidewalk.

I see April come home, but she doesn’t see me. I see the lights in Hannah’s apartment wink off, one by one. I see the building settle into darkness, all of the lights extinguished except for the one over the main entrance.

I’m sitting up, half-asleep, under that light when the door opens behind me. Startled out of my doze, I jump up and look around, squinting in the morning sun. At least I was still reactive to noises.

Hannah’s standing with her hand on the doorknob. “Ryder.” She sighs.

I rub my bleary eyes. “Good morning.”

She studies me for several long seconds. I shuffle self-consciously, aware of my rumpled clothes and bloodshot eyes. “When was the last time you really slept?” she asks.

“Um…” I shrug. “I’m actually not sure. There’s been a lot going on.”

“All of which will be harder to deal with if you’re exhausted,” Hannah says. “Come inside.”

“I should stay out here,” I protest. She rolls her eyes.

“It’s daylight, Ryder. I’m about to go to work, where I’ll be surrounded by people—including your mother. You can stand down for a few hours.” When I hesitate, she adds, “I’m a doctor and pack healer. Consider this doctor’s-slash-healer’s orders and stop arguing.”

“Fine.” I follow her inside, too tired to argue. She leads me to her room. Shadow’s on the bed, and as soon as he sees me, he begins squealing and squeaking with excitement.

“Lie down,” she orders, and I do. I kick off my shoes and stretch out on her bed. “I’m going to work, but sleep as long as you want,” Hannah says, covering me with a soft blanket. “April’s leaving soon too, so the place should be quiet.”

“Thank you,” I tell her. “This is really nice.”

“Don’t mention it.” Hannah smiles. “I just hope Shadow lets you sleep.” We both look at the excited raccoon.

“We’ll be fine,” I tell her and she leaves. Shadow jumps onto the nightstand, still chattering away. He makes it clear that he’s going to be watching over me. I smile at him and close my eyes.

When I wake up, I don’t know where I am. I look around, the shapes in the room gradually coming into focus in the late-afternoon light. This is Hannah’s apartment, and I’m in her bed.

I stretch and sit up. Shadow’s gone, but not far. I hear him scuffling around in the kitchen. I realize I’m hungry. I can’t remember the last time I ate.

I get out of bed and stretch again, my muscles as sore as I feared. But otherwise, I feel a lot better than I did this morning. I straighten out the blanket and sheets and go into the kitchen.

“Think Hannah will mind if I make myself a sandwich?” I ask Shadow.

He shakes his head. After I eat and have some water, I decide to go back outside. I know Gavin would have gotten in touch if any more bodies had been found, but I’ll still feel better once I check out the area and see for myself that no one’s around.

At first, I think that’s true. When I leave the building, I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. The street is empty, the sidewalk clear. I lope around the block, but nothing looks amiss.

Then the wind shifts, and I pick up a scent in the air. I can’t name it, but it causes the hairs on my arms to stand up and sends a shiver down my spine. It’s coming from the opposite direction, from a grove of trees about a block away.

The scent gets stronger the closer I get to the trees. They’re thick with leaves, the branches sagging down and obscuring my vision. I push my way through branches, following the scent. Then a noise stops me in my tracks.

What was that sound? It wasn’t exactly a groan or a scream. It was a combination of the two, uttered at a low, guttural pitch. I begin walking toward the noise, quietly and carefully, unsure of what I’m going to find.

In the middle of the trees there’s a small clearing. And that’s where I see the human, on his hands and knees. His body is shaking. His face is screwed up in a grimace. That guttural noise is still emanating from him.

“Are you okay?” I ask, crouching down. Stupid question, I know, but I’ve never seen anything like this before.

Sweat is streaming down his face and dampening his shirt. I gingerly put my hand on his shoulder and then pull it away. He’s so hot the heat is rising through his clothing.

“ Gaaahhh! ” he yells, collapsing onto his stomach. His limbs begin jerking, each one somehow flailing in a different direction. His neck is jerking, too, shaking his head up and down in a violent motion. His face is soon smeared with dirt and grass, his hair covered in debris.

What is happening? Is he having a seizure? Is this some sort of medical emergency? I need to get him to stop seizing, but I don’t know how.

I crouch over him and place my hands on his back, hoping some pressure will help him stop moving. Instead his arms keep windmilling around, occasionally smacking me when I get in the way.

Frustrated, I quickly stand up and move so I’m near his feet. I grab his ankles and hold on tightly, willing them to stay still. But that doesn’t work either.

The man flips over as if tossed by an unseen hand. “ Aaarrrgggg! ” he cries.

“I know, man,” I mutter, backing away so I don’t get kicked. “This looks really unpleasant. I want to help you. I do. But I’m not sure how.”

His body continues to flail, his limbs moving so fast now that they’re almost a blur. I circle him quickly, trying to figure out how to help without making anything worse. But before I can decide on a new course of action, he goes still.

“Oh, hey, that’s good,” I say encouragingly, crouching down near his head. “Do you have some medicine I can give you, man? Or someone you want me to call? I can try and carry you to a hospital, maybe.”

I look at the man for a response, but his eyes are closed. Maybe he’s unconscious? Well, that could make it easier to move him. I get closer to him, getting ready to slide one hand under his neck and the other under his back.

That’s when I see it: a large bite mark on his chest. I don’t know how I missed it before. This thing is big and nasty, and blood has soaked into his shirt.

Oh, shit. This guy wasn’t having a seizure. He doesn’t have any medical condition I can help with. Or that any doctor can treat.

That’s a wolf bite. Which means this guy was in the middle of a shift just now—a shift that clearly was not going well.

His breathing is shallow, his chest barely rising and falling. Blood is still oozing out of the bite, thick and dark.

I look around the grove as it occurs to me that this shifter could still be there. Is he watching us? Is he planning on coming back and finishing this guy off?

The man moans softly, almost like a cry. I put my fingers on his neck and feel his pulse. It’s faint but steady, and that gives me hope. Maybe I can get help for this man. Maybe it’s not too late to save him.

But even as I think that, he moans again, and the blood begins flowing out faster. I look at him helplessly, not sure what to do now.