busy.
She was starving. Angry. Restless.
Max had put her bag and jacket in the room with her, and now Gwen rifled through and found her prescription bottles.
She emptied them, one after the other, into the toilet and flushed. No more attempting to slow an unyielding process, no matter how terrifying the outcome was that loomed over her.
She felt gloriously, oddly free.
You have no ties to anyone or anything.
Her aunt always told her to look for signs to guide her along the way, and while Gwen had pretended she didn’t believe in that, she did. But she followed a path because she wanted to help sick people.
Now she was one of those people.
She had no real friends in the residents here. Max would be concerned, and maybe Gwen would call her in a few days so she wouldn’t worry.
But first, she walked away, out of the hospital and away from her illness.
Maybe she’d go back to the bar.
Or maybe she’d go home, strip down, put on the leather jacket and dream about Rifter and wolves and running again until the leaves covered her bed.
Chapter 7
T he dream seized Rifter almost immediately, and he was in no condition to fight it or the sleep that dug him in deeply to this almost supernatural realm. He prayed that he’d end up in one of his brothers’ minds—he could even handle Vice’s twisted thoughts—but no. He was walking through a scene he recognized, but he was seeing it through someone else’s eyes.
He recognized the old country immediately, the place where he’d grown from boy to wolf. He heard the music, noted that the full-moon celebration was in full swing.
At first, the familiar pull of the party made him smile as he walked through his village. The smell of the earth comforted him—fresh, fertile, showing signs of life, of mating. The music had a pounding beat, was as hot as the air. Most of the males were bare chested, the women in short dresses. Married or not, this night was all about mating. Procreation, flirtation.
He was aroused as female bodies brushed his, cool palms on his warm skin. He let the fingers skim his back. He wanted to stay, to dance…
The screams started almost instantly. Hands fell away from his body, confusion reigned and he pushed through the crowd, which seemed to be running at him and awayfrom an invisible enemy. The chaos made his head spin—although he was used to the heat of battle, this was one neither he nor any Dire could ever win.
But still, he wouldn’t give up. He roared but didn’t shift. Saw other men and women and children he recognized, grew up with, dropping to the ground, bleeding.
He swung his sword and his shield around wildly, seeing no one responsible for the destructive massacre surrounding him.
He was used to being in control—a warrior in charge of any situation. But the brutal force cast its dark shadow over him… and then he was running for his life. He looked back, tripped clumsily. Looked down, and the horror rose inside of him as he saw the bodies littering the ground. He willed himself to shift and couldn’t, which was always the most terrifying part of all.
This isn’t real; this isn’t goddamned real…
He clawed the earth in his struggle. Invisible nails mauled him, ripped his chest, blood seeping warm and sticky on his skin.
There was no escape. He heard a voice come from his mouth—thin and reedy—begging for his life to an unseen enemy.
Not your voice… but whose?
He waited for it to end, for him to lie still on the cold earth. To feel the emptiness inside.
Waited for the dream to end. But something was different this time. He was… rising. He smelled burning incense, heard chanting, so loud he covered his ears. Bodies of other Dires rose around him, ghosts of their former selves and still wearing their most recent battle wounds, marched forward, dragging him with them. It was mass confusion.
It was hell, one he couldn’t escape from. He still struggled to break free, and then, finally, the ghosts glided pasthim
She was starving. Angry. Restless.
Max had put her bag and jacket in the room with her, and now Gwen rifled through and found her prescription bottles.
She emptied them, one after the other, into the toilet and flushed. No more attempting to slow an unyielding process, no matter how terrifying the outcome was that loomed over her.
She felt gloriously, oddly free.
You have no ties to anyone or anything.
Her aunt always told her to look for signs to guide her along the way, and while Gwen had pretended she didn’t believe in that, she did. But she followed a path because she wanted to help sick people.
Now she was one of those people.
She had no real friends in the residents here. Max would be concerned, and maybe Gwen would call her in a few days so she wouldn’t worry.
But first, she walked away, out of the hospital and away from her illness.
Maybe she’d go back to the bar.
Or maybe she’d go home, strip down, put on the leather jacket and dream about Rifter and wolves and running again until the leaves covered her bed.
Chapter 7
T he dream seized Rifter almost immediately, and he was in no condition to fight it or the sleep that dug him in deeply to this almost supernatural realm. He prayed that he’d end up in one of his brothers’ minds—he could even handle Vice’s twisted thoughts—but no. He was walking through a scene he recognized, but he was seeing it through someone else’s eyes.
He recognized the old country immediately, the place where he’d grown from boy to wolf. He heard the music, noted that the full-moon celebration was in full swing.
At first, the familiar pull of the party made him smile as he walked through his village. The smell of the earth comforted him—fresh, fertile, showing signs of life, of mating. The music had a pounding beat, was as hot as the air. Most of the males were bare chested, the women in short dresses. Married or not, this night was all about mating. Procreation, flirtation.
He was aroused as female bodies brushed his, cool palms on his warm skin. He let the fingers skim his back. He wanted to stay, to dance…
The screams started almost instantly. Hands fell away from his body, confusion reigned and he pushed through the crowd, which seemed to be running at him and awayfrom an invisible enemy. The chaos made his head spin—although he was used to the heat of battle, this was one neither he nor any Dire could ever win.
But still, he wouldn’t give up. He roared but didn’t shift. Saw other men and women and children he recognized, grew up with, dropping to the ground, bleeding.
He swung his sword and his shield around wildly, seeing no one responsible for the destructive massacre surrounding him.
He was used to being in control—a warrior in charge of any situation. But the brutal force cast its dark shadow over him… and then he was running for his life. He looked back, tripped clumsily. Looked down, and the horror rose inside of him as he saw the bodies littering the ground. He willed himself to shift and couldn’t, which was always the most terrifying part of all.
This isn’t real; this isn’t goddamned real…
He clawed the earth in his struggle. Invisible nails mauled him, ripped his chest, blood seeping warm and sticky on his skin.
There was no escape. He heard a voice come from his mouth—thin and reedy—begging for his life to an unseen enemy.
Not your voice… but whose?
He waited for it to end, for him to lie still on the cold earth. To feel the emptiness inside.
Waited for the dream to end. But something was different this time. He was… rising. He smelled burning incense, heard chanting, so loud he covered his ears. Bodies of other Dires rose around him, ghosts of their former selves and still wearing their most recent battle wounds, marched forward, dragging him with them. It was mass confusion.
It was hell, one he couldn’t escape from. He still struggled to break free, and then, finally, the ghosts glided pasthim
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