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What happened with Reardon? Excellent question. Nothing happened.Don’t know. No biggie. See you tomorrow.
Night, kid. Love you.
Brandy dropped her phone in her lap and finished watchingTwilightwhile absently rubbing Alator’s silky fur. None of the other wolves had fur quite like his. Though it was thick and black as a moonless midnight, it was still so soft. She frequently had the urge to bury her face in the fluff.
“And on that note, it’s probably time for bed.” She heaved in a huge breath and sifted it out slowly. “C’mon, big boy. Move over. We must part ways now.”
Alator let out a small whine and nestled his head deeper into her lap as if saying,I’m staying right here, lady. All night long.
“Well, you don’t get to decide. The two-leggeds are in charge around here, mutt.” She carefully slipped her hands under his head and lifted gently so she could slide—none too gracefully—fromunder him.
The huge wolf groaned like an old man, stretched out his three good limbs, then pulled everything into a tight ball on his bed.
Damn, he’s adorable.
Brandy shot a quick glance to the couch, considering for half a minute sleeping downstairs to be near Alator. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scolded herself. “You have a perfectly wonderful bed upstairs. This wolf will be fine without you, Dr. Wendon.”
She grabbed her empty beer bottle and the popcorn bowl and took care of them in the kitchen. Popping her head back into the living room, she said, “Good night, Alator. Thanks for keeping me company. See you in the morning.”
Alator raised his head and blinked green-gold eyes at her. He twitched his jagged ear and thumped his tail a few times.
“Oh, you don’t like that I’m heading upstairs? Well, it’ll be morning before you know it. You’d better get your rest. You need it so that leg of yours will heal nicely. You want to be running around with the rest of the pack, don’t you?”
More tail thumping.
“Don’t be such a baby. Sweet dreams, big boy.” She blew him a kiss and headed upstairs to her bedroom.
Her dark, empty bedroom. A room that had been so much more fun last night with Reardon in it. A room that needed a male presence.
“Face it, girl. It’s just you and the sheets tonight.”
She sighed, used the bathroom, then climbed into bed, pulling only the light sheet over her. The windows were open, letting in sounds of the night. Crickets chirping. Cicadas singing. Water in the brook on the property bubbling. Sounds she’d become accustomed to while living at Silver Moon Sanctuary all these years. Sounds that kept her company.
When men did not.
****
Reardon listened for sounds of Brandy upstairs. When he didn’t hear any, he closed his eyes and shifted to human. He had to put his hands over his mouth to muffle the pained groans threatening to spill out. Gods, his shot leg hurt. Damn that fool Hank Swift. Reardon was accustomed to sword jabs, spear gouges, the occasional fist to the jaw, but a bullet beat all of those in the pain department. Weapons were one thing of the future Reardon definitely did not like.
Moving slowly, he sat up on the wolf bed Brandy and Dylan had so lovingly provided. Bless them. He’d never been taken care of so well in his life. Even his own mother hadn’t been as concerned about his status as the Wendons were.
And I’ve gone and hurt Brandy.It killed him that he’d disappointed her by not showing up this evening. Only hehadshown up. He’d been with her all night just not in a form she could recognize or accept.
Or could she?Reardon glanced back to the TV, its screen now dark, and thought of the movie Brandy had been watching. She favored the werewolves. She’d also shared her research notes on lycanthropy with him. She was interested in humans shifting into animals.
But she thinks it’s all fantasy.
“Time to show her it’s not,” he whispered. If any human could accept what he was, Reardon was convinced it was Dr. Brandy Wendon. The trick was to reveal himself in a way that wouldn’t scare her or anger her.
He looked down at his throbbing calf. The bandage had torn off because his wolf leg was a lot thinner than his human one. Inspecting the bullet wound, he was impressed by the neat stitching Parker had done. A single, straight line of black stitching closed the injury and aside from a little dried blood and a general puffiness to the surrounding skin, everything looked good to Reardon. Still, the site should be covered. Especially if he were to go outside to retrieve some clothing from his hiding spot.
Reardon used his arms and good leg to maneuver to the couch. Using the piece of furniture for balance, he got to his feet and stood still, waiting to see how much pain that position would cause. Blood rushed around his body and beat a rhythm right on his wound. Again, he had to put his hand over his mouth to keep from vocalizing his pain.
Moving at a pace no fierce warrior would ever admit to, Reardon stumbled his way to the downstairs bathroom. He rummaged around until he found some gauze and tape. Sitting bare-assed on the toilet seat, he managed to wrap his leg, trying his best to keep his efforts noiseless. If Brandy woke up now and found him naked in her bathroom, his chances of not scaring her flew out the window.
Satisfied that his wound was sufficiently protected and taking some extra gauze and tape with him, he heaved in a few deep breaths, preparing to walk to the front door and go outside. It wasn’t that far from the bathroom to the front door, but in his current state, it felt like miles and miles. Plus, he still had to make it to the entrance gates—no way he was jumping any fences tonight—and tramp through the woods to his supplies. A fresh sweat broke out on his forehead.
I have to do this.
