Page 6 of The Rabbit's Foot
Alp knew what he wanted. The wolf was his protector, and he needed that now. True, the wolf and the man were the same, but the wolf had stood over him, had killed for him, had saved him from being dragged back to the lab where this time Alp was sure he would have died.
“That’s not what you want either, is it?” Mal slid a finger over Alp’s ears, and Alp shivered. “How about this then? I’m going to try something, and if it scares you or feels wrong, nudge me and I’ll move, okay?”
He lay Alp atop the little nest Mal had made for him, then stood and stripped off his clothes. Any other time, Alp might have enjoyed the sights of a well-muscled man sliding out of wet clothes, but right now, a desperate need filled him. As soon as Mal had the shirt off and dropped it on top of his other sopping items, he closed his eyes, took a quick breath, and then a second later, a cream and tan wolf stood where moments ago there’d been a man.
Mal strode with purpose toward Alp. Then he lay down beside him, leaned closer, and locked his teeth gently onto Alp’s scruff to pull him in. Alp breathed in the wolf’s musky aroma, letting it settle him. Then he curled up against Mal, who wound around him and lay with his head over Alp’s back.
And for the first time in far too long, Alp was able to sleep without worrying that every little sound in the darkness was something coming for him. He knew that he was safe, because the wolf would stand between Alp and the world.
And win.
Chapter 3
Mal lay perfectly still, watching as the rabbit’s tiny chest rose and fell. He leaned in and sniffed the foot again, wrinkling his nose at the odor. His cleaning hadn’t done nearly enough. Tomorrow he’d have to take the rabbit to the vet—there was no way around it. If he didn’t, Mal feared the bunny would lose more than a foot. He licked at the leg, wincing at the taste of chemicals and sickness, but that didn’t stop him from doing it again. Mal wasn’t sure why, but he had to do something to soothe his charge. It was then that he noticed how warm the rabbit was. It seemed too hot, especially for such a little thing, but what was a rabbit’s temperature normally? Maybe they were naturally this warm.
He nudged the bunny, wanting to wake it, but it lay still. Far too still, as far as Mal was concerned. Panic gripped him. He hadn’t saved the thing’s life for it to die in a dark, filthy cave with him. He freed himself from the rabbit, then stood and shifted. He grabbed dry clothes from his bag and dressed quickly, never taking his gaze from the rabbit. He lifted the tiny thing in one hand, then snagged the shirt he’d had used for his bed earlier. He put that into his saddlebag before laying the rabbit on top of it, finally pulling the edges around, doing his best to make the rabbit comfortable.
The sun was scarcely more than a corona of color that had begun to make itself known, so it was only around five, give or take. Far too early for the vet to be in, but Mal’s heart thundered at the likelihood that his charge would die, and he couldn’t think of anything else to do. He jumped on the bike and sped off down the highway, remembering the instructions the young woman at the store had given him. It took nearly thirty minutes to find the clinic, and Mal’s shoulders sagged when there weren’t any lights on that he could see.
Anger surged through him. This wasn’t right. The rabbit was doing better. He was! Mal stomped to the door, raised a hand, and pounded on it. The area was so quiet, the sound echoed all around. And then dogs started barking. Mal waited a minute, then did it again. He’d pound on that door as long as he had to.
The click to his right was far louder than Mal’s insistent banging.
“I don’t know who you are, but if I blow your head off, the sheriff will thank me for saving him the paperwork.”
Mal turned and found himself face to face with an older woman, with a dark complexion, eyes that reminded him of honey, and a voice that sounded as though she smoked heavily, though Mal couldn’t smell it on her.
“Please, you have to help me,” he said, injecting as much desperation into his voice as he could. He needed her to hear him.
“Help you with what?” the woman asked, her eyes narrowed but gun not wavering in the least.
Mal glanced toward the bike and sadness swamped him. “The bunny…. He…. Please, don’t let it die.”
That caught her attention. She lowered the gun. “Where is he? Bring him in through the back.”
Mal raced to the motorcycle, undid the straps of the bag, and carried it through the back door. The barking was loud, so Mal did a little trick his own First had taught him. He sent out a subvocal command, telling the mutts to shut the fuck up, and a moment later, everything went deathly still.
“Bring him to the exam room,” she told Mal. He followed close behind, clutching the bag to his chest. When they got in the room, she took the bag from him and set it down on an exam table. “Okay, let me do my job.” She opened the bag and gasped, then turned and pointed to another door. “You go sit out in the waiting room.”
“But—”
“Now!” she growled. “I can’t work with you hovering.” She glanced up and her eyes softened. “I’ll do my best—you have my word. But even if he survives, this isn’t going to be cheap.”
“Whatever it takes. I don’t care about the money.”
And he didn’t. He’d made more than enough hustling pool to last him twenty years or more. Drunk humans were so stupid when they thought that because they plied Mal with liquor, he was an easy mark. A werewolf metabolized the alcohol quickly, which made it hard for Mal to get drunk. He played that part up, losing a game or two, and then the inevitable statement would slide out: “We should make this interesting, ya know?” Then Mal got serious and took them for all the money he could, before he vanished into the night and was off to the next town.
“There’s coffee at the desk. Help yourself. This will take a while. If you can, feel free to stretch out on the couch and get some sleep. We don’t open until nine, so no one will bother you until Shelly comes in at eight. If I know anything before then, I’ll come get you.”
Mal turned and went through the door the doctor had indicated. The waiting room was a jumble of scents; from disinfectant to dog and cat treats, and sick and injured pets. The whole thing made Mal nauseous. He could smell the pair who were going to die due to cancer, despite the vet’s best intentions, and from the low whimpers coming from what Mal figured was the kennel area, the dogs were ready to go.
Humans were such an odd mix. Most, it seemed, had no problems killing animals for food, but then they lavished toys and expensive beds on the ones that lived in their houses. Mal couldn’t see the difference between the doe his pack took down and the dog whose owner let run the streets at night. What made one a pet and the other food? It never made sense to him.
Yet, here he was, sitting at the vet with the bunny. Sure, it was a shifter, but still an animal. Why should Mal care if it lived or died? Circle of life, kumbaya, and all that other crap, right? He looked down and found himself twisting his hands together. It did matter if the rabbit died. It had to live so it could know the men who’d hurt it were dead now. So it had a chance to move on.
“Please don’t die,” he whispered.
A few moments later, the lack of sleep from the last two days caught up with him, and Mal drifted off.
