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“Yes.” I picked them up and handed them to him. “I’ll understand, and if the worst happens, I’ll want you to.”
He just shook his head, looking miserable.
“Let’s make a promise. If I’m stupid enough to get infected with the evil virus, you kill me.” I held out my hand; he stared at it in horror. “And I’ll do the same for you.”
His eyes lifted; I met them without flinching. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
“If it comes to that.”
Instead of shaking my hand, he pulled me into his arms. “Thank you.”
“God, you’re weird.” My words were muffled against his chest. “Now let me go. I’ve gotta clean up and get to town hall.”
He held on for a few more seconds, then kissed me—gentle and sweet. My stomach turned over.
I loved him, too.
But now was not the time to tell him. He was already wigged-out enough. Later, when we’d killed this thing, had a victory under our belts, then I’d let him know. Then we’d decide what, if anything, we’d do about it.
I went down the hall to the bathroom, where I washed and got dressed. What would we do about it?
Could I spend my life with a man who was fighting things that existed merely to kill him and anyone else who got in their path? Eventually Ian’s luck would run out. Could I go into a relationship knowing he’d leave me, just like everyone else I’d loved in my life had left?
I wanted a family, but I wanted the whole package— husband, kids, a real home. With Ian, I could never have those things in the way that I’d dreamed. But now that I loved him, would having them with anyone else be any closer to that dream?
I’d always wanted to find a man who stayed, but Ian wouldn’t; he couldn’t.
Before I left, I went in search of Ian and found him at his desk, already engrossed in my great-grandmother’s papers. I slid my arms around him and kissed his neck. Absently he patted my arm.
“I’ll be back soon.”
“Mmm.”
Why did I find his distraction cute? Whenever my father ignored me, patted me, murmured nonsense since he wasn’t listening to me, I’d wanted to lash out with words or kick him in the shin. As a child, I often had. Which might just explain why he’d always done his best to avoid me.
I stepped out of the clinic into the bright sun and heavy heat of a Georgia afternoon. Leaving my pickup where it was, I turned toward town hall and froze at the sight of the wolf on the sidewalk.
I couldn’t see the cement through her body. The light summer wind ruffled the beast’s fur. The thing appeared pretty corporeal to me. I started to worry that this one was actually a wolf when a pair of tourists walked right through it.
The wolf growled. The couple paused, frowned, and the woman shivered. “Goose walked over my grave,” she said.
I knew what that was like.
They smiled and nodded in my direction but didn’t mention seeing any wolf or hearing the disembodied growling. I waited until they were out of earshot before I asked, “What now?”
The wolf promptly turned north, ran a few paces, then stopped and waited, tongue lolling.
“Trouble again?” I glanced at the clinic. “Ian is trouble? Or is trouble coming? Maybe from the north?”
The animal shimmered and disappeared.
“I hate messenger wolves.” I scuffed my shoe against the cement. “They’re too damn vague.”
I continued north to town hall, entering the cavernous confines and heading directly to the basement.
When we were kids, Claire had always avoided this place. As I descended the dark, dank cement staircase, I understood why. Back then, the lower level had probably been full of cobwebs and mice.
Someone had cleaned up recently. The only cobwebs occupied a high corner near a ceiling full of old pipes. I listened for the scrambling of rodents, but all I heard was a distant humming.
