Page 16 of Bloodbane
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
An Even Keel
{ R U B Y }
“Four? Are you sure?”
“Are you doubting my eyesight or my ability to count?” Chester Clark snaps the question, his every ounce of former hard-ass colonel in full effect. “You might want to invest in a notebook to jot down statements so people don’t have to repeat themselves, Evans. There were four ,” he says pointedly as he lowers himself into his recliner and pulls a well-worn blanket over his lap. “Huge. Biggest wolves I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen my fair share. But they were sickly looking, limping around. Which is why I called you.”
The information triggers a forgotten memory. The wolves in the clearing had been acting weird, too. There were three: two brown, one dark gray, and all massive. They were staggering toward me before they…
I can’t stop the sigh huffing past my lips. Before they what ? I chase the memory but it unspools, and though I try desperately to grab the threads, it slips away, just beyond reach.
“Evans? Are you listening?”
“Yes, of course.” The sharp edge to my tone draws a frown, and I take a moment to reset and regain my composure. My frustrations are not Clark’s doing. “I’ll have Milo come out with all the necessary shots.” I nod at the bandage wrapped around the colonel’s forearm. “You can’t be too careful with animal bites.”
Clark scowls at me. “They didn’t get within chewing distance, Missy. One tried, but after the warning shot, they took off right quick. Must’ve had a run-in with a hunter before they came sniffing ‘round my backyard.” He lifts his arm before dropping it back to his lap. “This is from slipping on the stairs. Caught the railing as I went down and took a little bark off. It’ll heal up before the bruise on my backside does,” he finishes gruffly.
“Right, well, Murph will be happy to come out and attend to the wound if you change your mind.” I try to push the unwanted image of Clark’s rear end out of my mind. “Until then, please remember that there are strict laws about killing wolves, even if they do venture onto your property.”
The colonel scoffs. “I was encouraging them to move on, is all. And if they come nosing around again, you can bet your ass I’ll be doing the same damn thing.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to stem the building pressure beneath. My thoughts are a jumble. Is sinus congestion a common side effect of a concussion? Should I still be having side effects? Surely my headache should have eased by now. I’m going to have to ask Milo why the hell I’m getting worse rather than better. But, no, his answer will be stress, the medical catchall these days. Then he’ll prescribe me days of bed rest. I wrinkle my nose at the thought. The boredom would kill me before the concussion and stress combined.
“Evans!”
“Hmm? Oh. Right. Look, Chester, I understand where you’re coming from, but slippery surfaces and senior citizens with shotguns do not make good bedfellows.” The stormy look that blows across Clark’s face has me backtracking toward the door, suddenly feeling I’m outstaying my welcome. I hold up my palms in what I hope is a placating manner. “All I’m saying is, if you end up shooting yourself instead of the wolves, I doubt they’ll have any compunction about having you for dinner if, you know, they come across you bleeding out from a self-inflicted shotgun wound at the bottom of your steps. So just try and be careful, please.”
At Clark’s unintelligible grumble and dismissive wave, I turn and slip out the door, taking my own advice and descending the stairs carefully before retracing my now half-filled footprints to the truck.
I welcome the chilled air swirling over my too-warm skin. I’d started feeling feverish on the drive out here. The simmering heat prickling under my skin had been enough for me to forgo my parka despite the increasing snowfall and decreasing temperature. Now, the small flakes that land on my skin melt quickly, leaving wet trails as I slump against the door. All these symptoms can’t just be from a bump on the head. Either I am on my way to a full-blown stress meltdown, or I must have picked up a bug in the clearing.
My resigned sigh is lost to the wind. There are days I regret having Cooper Jones as a friend.
My life had been easy, simple even, back when all I had to worry about were oil changes and replacing radiators. But no, as much as I’d love to lay the blame solely at Coop’s feet, if I hadn’t been helping Sheriff Adams off-book with the furred, feathered, and fishy inhabitants of our quiet little town— formerly quiet little town—then I doubt Cooper would have asked for my help with his unexpected and unwanted promotion.
Still, that doesn’t change the fact I’m now woefully out of my depth dealing with the human fallout: trying to prove the innocence of the gorgeous, self-proclaimed killer sitting in a cell, and delivering death notifications to a reclusive, hot-as-sin lumberjack-type. And, fuck. The fact I’m adding shallow qualifiers to them is half the problem.
Murder suspect.
Family member of the deceased.
That’s all I should be focusing on… not the incredibly inappropriate and deliciously dirty things I’d like to do with them .
My temperature notches higher at the thought as I climb into the truck and slam the door. Without cold air to dampen my desire, the flush creeping over my skin is nearly intolerable. I’ve been keyed up since I’d almost kissed Grayson. Kissed. I snort out a humorless laugh. Hell, I’d almost climbed up on the exam table and done a lot more than that.
I hadn’t meant to doze off while watching him, but exhaustion claimed me and filled my mind with visions of my back crushed against the cell bars as Grayson’s mouth traced paths of pleasure over every inch of my skin. And when I’d awoken pressed against the hard expanse of his naked chest, it had taken me much too long to find an even keel again. Only the sobering realization that Grayson had almost died because of me had brought me to my senses.
Even now, the thought is a shock of ice speeding through my body. The reaction is as mystifying as it is mortifying. How can a stranger have such a strong effect on me? It can’t just be down to the mystery of the lake. I’ve known Grayson for forty-eight hours at best. Hell, I don’t even know his first name. But when I’d arrived at the clinic and seen him half-dead, thrashing on the table, blood spewing from his mouth…
My stomach twists. I push the image from my mind.
I had spent the first half of last night pacing, ignoring Milo’s concerned glances until I couldn’t take the unspoken questions any longer. I’d sent him home with promises to call if anything changed. Then, I had paced some more. The last minutes before I’d finally succumbed to exhaustion were used to huddle by Grayson’s bedside, fretting over the black bruises under his eyes, and all but begging him to wake up. The thought that I may never see those silver eyes again had been a vise around my heart.
As much as I try to reason that I only want to repay a debt, it’s only a half-truth. The thought of losing Grayson almost feels like losing a piece of myself. It doesn’t make sense. But it’s not something I can dwell on; I’m almost out of time.
Cooper can’t keep Grayson much longer before calling in the Troopers to collect him. I need to find out what happened at the lake. After the incident yesterday, all signs point to Arlo Pretorius being involved, despite Thayne’s initial dismissal.
Just the thought of Thayne has heat pooling between my thighs, and I squirm on the seat. Thayne Smith is just another question mark. A very large, very attractive question mark. But more than that, he stirs something in me that I’ve never felt before. There’s an ease with him, a kinship, like I’ve known him my whole life. It’s a different bond than I feel with Grayson, but just as inexplicable, just as inescapable.
I don’t even try to silence the groan as I shove the truck into gear and pull away from the house. The thoughts are absurd. I’ll never give voice to them. All that Hallmark soul mates connection propaganda is bullshit—fodder to stave off loneliness and spread hope. I’ve never bought into any of it, and I sure as hell don’t intend to start now.
My love life has been an apocalyptic-level drought for years, but always by choice. If I never let anyone close, no one can ever hurt me. It’s much easier to scratch an itch with randoms of a matching mindset. Never anything serious. Never any feelings.
So why now am I suddenly drowning in desire for two couldn’t-be-more-different guys? Both men are off-limits. I can’t have either. I certainly can’t have both.
I need to find a way to let go of all this nonsense.
I need to go home.
And I really need to get some quality sleep.
My foot presses on a heavy pedal, coming to a stop at the end of Clark’s driveway. What I need and what I want are at odds, pulling me in two directions at once. Impatient vibrations from the motor feed up through the seat as indecision tears at me.
I tug my bottom lip between my teeth, weighing the options.
I really should head home.
I should .
I don’t.
Turning the steering wheel to the left, I head away from town.