Page 8 of Wounded Mate
Leonas comes pounding down the stairs in panther form, panting so heavily his sides heave.
Jeno jumps from his stool and goes to him. “Holy hell, what’s got you panting that isn’t me? Are you all right?”
While Jeno is busy looking him over, Leonas shifts from panther back to human.
I’ve lived with shifters coming and going all my life. In a way, I am one, as I also have two forms: human and incubus. But my transformation between the two is magical, a release of a glamour I use to keep humans unaware of my supernatural nature. The way Leonas shifts is entirely different. It’s a physical process complete with snapping bones, fur morphing skin, and a rolling ripple of muscle as one form gives way to the other.
No matter how many times I see it, I’ll never fail to be transfixed by the sight.
Jeno takes Leonas by the shoulders and runs his hands down his arms, scanning him head to toe. He’s naked, of course. That’s just part of being a shifter. But it’s nothing we haven’t seen before and no reason to be shy. Besides, Leonas has nothing to hide, though I try not to ogle him with Jeno present.
Seems like the considerate thing to do.
“I’m fine,” says Leonas between gasping breaths. “I just ran here is all. There’s a man who needs our help. A werewolf.”
I suck in a breath. Could he mean…
Jeno beats me to it. “Is he injured? Is it his left side?”
Leonas scrunches his brows. “How do you know that?”
Jeno and I look at each other with twin expressions of shock.
My mouth hangs open. “You were right.”
“Right about what?” Leonas glances from me to Jeno.
Jeno explains the situation. My pain. Our theories. “We were about to start looking ourselves when you showed up.”
“Well. No time like the present. Valius, we could use your help. How bad is the pain? Can you come along?”
I’m certainly not about to be left behind. “It’s fine. Yes.”
“Put on something you can wear outside, something less frilly, and real shoes. We’ll meet back here in ten.”
I peer down at my silks, shimmery and see-through in places, not exactly appropriate for strolling the streets of Pest.
“And, Jeno, go rouse Rizpah. Have her prepare a place for the injured wolf. Tell her to put water on to boil and sterilize the sewing kit. He needs stitches. I’ll get into some clothes and see about the things we’ll need to fashion a stretcher.”
Bottles clink as we head through the enchanted door, and each hurry our separate ways. My mind is reeling. Is there really a werewolf out there, wounded, who’s connected to me somehow? But how? It doesn’t make any sense.
And what happens if he dies? That thought hits like a punch to the gut.
I can’t let him die.
In my room, I fling open my clothes chest and throw everything out until I get to a pair of stiff wool pants. Or at least they feel that way to me as I drag them on over the silk. The shirt I care less about, finding the first long-sleeve thing I own, a light linen tunic dyed emerald green, and throwing it on.
I stuff my feet into black leather boots, tie my long hair with a bit of ribbon at the nape, and call it done. That should be good enough to blend in with the locals if anyone sees us.
It’s easy to ignore the ache in my side, especially now that I suspect it’s notmyache. Even if the idea sounds crazy, Jeno might be right. The urge to race through the city into the forest to find this stranger is far too strong to be ordinary.
Regardless, we have no time for second-guessing. The wolf needs us now, and Jeno is limited to the dwindling minutes before sunrise. We must hurry, or he’ll have to leave us to escape the sun’s rays.
Back at the guard’s lobby, I’m the first to arrive. Pacing the tiny room from one end to the other does little to ease my anxious mind.
Who is the wolf?
What happened to him?
