Wild Wolf

Mostly Graham took her to clubs, like Coolers, or to out-of-the-way restaurants and bars that allowed Shifters. Other Shifters were always present at these sort-of dates, and much of the time, Misty had to drive herself to meet him there. Graham was very attentive during the dates, sitting with his arm around her, interested in her talk about her day and her opinions on whatever they discussed. When the date was over, he’d walk her to her pickup, kiss her good night, and wait until she drove safely out of the parking lot. Then she’d go home—alone.

Misty had been to Graham’s house, where he lived with Dougal, but Graham had never let Misty go to the fight club—an unofficial arena where Shifters battled it out with each other for fun. Misty also never stayed the night with Graham, and he’d never been inside her house, though he knew where she lived. He’d come to her flower shop once, but only once—some customers had been reluctant to enter when he’d been there. Graham had decided he shouldn’t scare away Misty’s business, and never went back.

They’d never talked about their relationship. Graham didn’t seem to be the kind of guy who wanted to discuss relationships. Misty was afraid he’d start ignoring her altogether if she brought it up.

Misty had her own friends now in Shiftertown, like the party-happy Shifter girl Lindsay, and Cassidy, a wildcat who was the sister of the Shiftertown leader. Lindsay, the font of all Shifter gossip, told Misty Graham wasn’t seeing anyone else, so that wasn’t the cause of the distance he kept with her. He wasn’t g*y either . . . that fact would be all over Shiftertown too.

Graham might die today. The sun was reaching its zenith, the shade from the shed narrowing to a sliver. In a few minutes, it would be gone altogether.

“Stay with me, Graham,” Misty said, massaging his shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

The shade disappeared. The sun burned down on them, beating through Misty’s thin tank top. She was in shorts too, which she wore when getting deliveries ready to go in the mornings, and the sun was hot on her skin.

Misty had lived in southern Nevada long enough to know what over a hundred degrees felt like, and this was it. It might get up to a hundred and ten today, and possibly higher than that. Out here, the temperature of the desert floor could rise to a hundred and twenty and more.

“We need shade,” Misty said.

“No kidding,” was Graham’s helpful answer. “Not in that shed. Don’t feel like lying on a rusty nail right now.”

Blood poisoning would finish him. There was only so much even Shifters could take.

A nice cool cave with an underground spring would be perfect. That was too much to hope for, but the mountain they were up against might have a niche or something out of the sun. The mining shaft was out, even if it hadn’t been filled in. Old shafts were dangerously unstable and full of vertical shafts that could drop hundreds of feet.

Misty had done enough desert hiking to know that rocks in shade absorbed coolness overnight, and gave off that coolness during the day. Even on the hottest afternoons, a niche that had stayed in shadow all morning could be twenty degrees lower than the rocks just outside it.

Misty squeezed Graham’s shoulder again. “I’m going to look for shade. I don’t like to move you, but I don’t want to watch you burn to a crisp either.”

“I’m worried about you more.” Graham reached for her hand, his brows drawing down. “Humans die fast in the heat.”

“I’m not that delicate. I’ll be right back. Don’t go away.”

“You are that delicate. And you think you’re funny too.”

Misty leaned down and gave him a soft kiss across his cracked lips, her own as dry. Graham could barely move his mouth in response.

When Misty lifted her head, she saw a flash of naked emotion in Graham’s eyes. Need, longing, loneliness, the weight of his position as alpha. On top of that, a tenderness for her.

Misty stilled a moment, soaking it in. She’d never seen any kind of sentiment in Graham for her. Liking yes, and he’d charged out here to rescue her today, but she’d never seen this flash of stark feeling.

She hated that this might be the last time she saw it. If he died today . . .

Misty wouldn’t let him. She kissed Graham one more time then rose and brushed herself off. Graham watched her, still frowning. “You be careful, understand me?” he rumbled.

“I will.”

“If I have to come looking for you, I’ll be pissed off.”

“I know.” She sent him another smile. “Be right back.”

Graham didn’t answer. He moved a little, grunting in pain, but Misty made herself walk away from him.

She started for the ridge above them, finding a narrow wash that gave her a clear path upward through the scrub. She went slowly, picking her way along, the wash full of loose rocks. If she fell and broke something, they could both die out here before Dougal returned.

Misty made for a fold of rock that jutted out into the slope from the desert floor. These mountains looked smooth from the distance, but close to, they were clumped with boulders, tough weeds, creosote, and critters. The critters were mostly lizards and birds for now—not too many bugs liked the hot, dry afternoons. But in the evening, crawly things would be everywhere, including snakes. Snakes liked dusk, when they slithered out in droves to soak up the last warmth of the rocks. When the snakes emerged, so would the coyotes.

Misty rounded one particularly large clump of boulders and was rewarded with the sight of a narrow opening between two big rocks. Going carefully, keeping an eye out for snakes that might have come out early, she squeezed herself through the niche.