“Not really,” he murmured, and let me go.
I stumbled away, spun around. Sure enough, he wasn’t looking at me, but at the wash of trees on the north side of the clearing.
Out there something howled, then something answered. No, that wasn’t right. A whole helluva lot of somethings answered.
He muttered several words in Navajo that didn’t sound like hello.
“What is it?”
“I’d hoped we would have more time.”
My eyes narrowed. “For what? If you think I’m going to let you drug me and do me—”
“Coyotes only howl at night,” he said.
“Well.” I paused, uncertain. “That was random.”
The trees shifted in a sudden breeze; the foliage danced as several animals with scraggly, gray-brown fur slunk into the clearing. The sunlight sparked off their eyes, making them shine like polished ebony.
Or maybe not so random after all.
“If coyotes only howl at night,” I murmured, “what are those?”
“More than coyotes.”
I was afraid of that.
Sawyer faced what now appeared to be a pack of coyotes larger than any coyotes I’d ever seen. Probably because these were the “more than” variety. I was going to assume that meant shape-shifter.
From prior experience I knew that some shifters were on our side—like Springboard. But some—like the berserker—wanted us dead. Or at least they wanted me dead.
I didn’t have to wonder for long whose side these were on since they’d formed a half-circle between me, Sawyer, and any chance of escape. The lake was at my back; I guess we could swim for it, but they’d only follow. I wasn’t very good at fighting for my life while swimming for it at the same time.
One of the coyotes charged. Sawyer did a graceful ball change and kicked the animal right in the nose. That must have hurt like hell in bare feet, but Sawyer didn’t even flinch at the impact.
The shape-shifter wasn’t so lucky. The sickening crunch of flesh and bone was followed by a yelp as its head snapped back. He went down, pawing frantically at his bruised, maybe broken, snout.
Instead of running, like real coyotes should, the pack growled and stalked closer, their half-circle of doom tightening.
Sawyer laughed, the sound so out of place I jumped. The coyotes even paused, tilting their heads, staring at him with their shiny black eyes before lifting their lips in silent snarls.
“Have you lost your mind?” I asked softly, furiously.
“They have.”
“The coyotes?” I watched them warily. I wasn’t sure what to do with ten coyote shifters; I certainly didn’t need ten crazy coyote shifters.
“Whoever sent them.”
“Why’s that? From my angle, we’re inches away from getting our butts handed to us in several bloody pieces.”
“Wait a few minutes, our angle will change.”
“Is the cavalry coming?”
“In a manner of speaking.” He trailed one finger over his bicep, where the black wolf howled, then glanced at me. His eyes had shifted to yellow lupine orbs. “A lone coyote will run from a wolf.”
I frowned. “They had to have known what you could do.”
“Which is why they sent so many.” His outline shimmered. The coyotes howled, not in fear, more like a battle cry.
“One wolf and ten coyotes,” Sawyer continued, his voice rumbling as the change rolled closer, “outnumbered.”
“Terrific,” I muttered.
“And there lies their mistake.”
“What mistake?”
Sawyer reached for my hand, drawing it toward his bicep. As my palm met the wolf, the earth seemed to move; the world around me flared electric silver.
“There isn’t just one wolf anymore.”
Chapter 25
I didn’t know what was happening.
That’s not true. I did know what, I just didn’t know why. How could 1 possibly be shifting into a wolf along with Sawyer?
The light was so bright, I had to close my eyes. My body went first cold and then burning hot. Beneath my palm, Sawyer’s bones shifted, crackling, seeming to break and then reknit in a different direction. His skin rippled as fur sprang free. When I opened my eyes, my hand was already a paw.
I toppled downward—bipedal to quadrupedal cuts the height by half. By the time my hands, knees, paws, claws—whatever—hit the dirt, I was a wolf.
I could still think; I knew who I was. Liz. I knew the enemy. Coyotes. Sawyer? Friend? Foe? Not sure. My wolf nature knew him as pack. The person deep within me wanted to tear out his throat.
Several of the coyotes took one glance at us standing shoulder to shoulder and ran. Cowards.
Sawyer snarled, his wolf voice as deep as his human voice and twice as threatening. Two more coyotes disappeared into the trees. Unfortunately the four largest snarled back.