CHAPTER FOUR
Misty moved forward cautiously. The sound of trickling water made the thirst she was trying not to think about soar to life. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and her lips were aching and cracked. She needed that water.
Misty wasn’t stupid enough to rush to it, scoop it into her hands, and gulp it down. Water in wild places was likely to be contaminated, especially out here, between a city and a nuclear testing site. Misty might be dying for the water, but she’d be foolish to drink it.
The cave, however, was blissfully cool. If she could get Graham this short distance, they could wait for Dougal here.
The cavern was gigantic from what she could see, as though the whole inside of the mountain had been carved out. The cut in the rock high above, letting in light and air, kept the place from being too damp, but the water cooled it. The faint chill felt like the one in her flower room, always pleasant on a hot afternoon.
Her flower room was nothing but smashed glass and petals now, Misty thought in sorrow. But she’d have to deal with her destroyed shop later. First, she needed to get Graham here where he could rest and cool down.
“Hey,” a voice said.
Misty jumped, her hand going to her chest, her heart banging. A man rose from the other side of the pool of water, where he’d been crouching in the shadows. He wasn’t one of Flores’s gang boys, she saw to her relief. He was a hiker—tall, with blond hair messy from perspiration, wind, and dirt, and wearing a T-shirt, canvas shorts, thick socks, and hiking boots. A backpack, one of the huge kind that could hold supplies for a multiday hike, lay on the ground near him.
“You lost?” he asked, peering at Misty. “Want some water?”
Yes, she wanted water. “You didn’t drink from that stream, did you?” Misty’s voice came out a croak.
“Didn’t have to.” The man held up a bottle. “Brought it with me. You sound terrible. You need help?”
“My friend does.” Misty went toward him, stepping carefully, her sandals not made for desert walking. “Some gangbangers shot him.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Oh, jeez. Are they still around?”
“No, they ran off. Leaving us stranded.”
His eyes remained wide. They were dark eyes, a nice contrast with his light-colored hair. The man wasn’t much older than Misty, she realized as she reached him. And in great shape. He was tall and lean, his muscles ropy, his skin tanned a liquid brown.
He handed Misty the bottle and watched while she took a sip. Then a gulp. The water tasted good, silken and smooth, cool from the insulated canteen. Misty kept on drinking until the last droplet flowed into her mouth.
“Sorry,” she gasped. “Didn’t mean to drain it.”
“It’s all right. I have more. The water is supposed to be inside you, not the bottle. Did you call for help?”
“Another friend went. We couldn’t get a signal.” Misty looked hopefully at the cell phone on his belt.
He shook his head. “Lost contact about five miles back. Let’s get your friend in here, out of the sun.”
“Thanks.” Misty felt better, first with the water wetting her mouth like sweet nectar; second, because she had someone to help her with Graham. This guy was strong. Everything would be all right.
She handed the canteen back to the hiker, and he gave her another one. “Keep it. You need it, and so will your friend. Show me where he is.”
The hiker followed Misty out through the crack in the rocks. The heat hit her like a wall, the sunshine seeming more intense after the cool relief of the cave.
“This way,” Misty said as the hiker emerged behind her.
The shack was still in sight. Misty picked her way back down the wash, rocks rolling under her feet and those of the hiker behind her. Misty’s soles were burning by the time she reached relatively level ground, her toes bloody from loose rocks.
Graham lay where she’d left him, on his back, eyes closed, one hand behind his head. Misty jogged the last few yards and dropped to her knees beside him, alarmed by the too-shallow rise and fall of his chest. The blood had dried around the duct tape, but the flesh looked swollen and angry.
Graham cracked open his eyes. His gaze was unfocused, and he could barely raise the lids. “You came back.” He sounded surprised, pleased, relieved.
“Like I have anywhere else to go. I found some help. There’s a cave not far away, out of the sun. There was a hiker there, and he gave me some water.”
Graham blinked a few times. He sniffed once, twice, then turned his head and inhaled in Misty’s direction.
“I don’t like the way you smell,” he growled.
“Thanks a lot. You’re pretty rank yourself.”
Graham didn’t smile. “I mean you smell . . . wrong. What hiker?”
“Him.” Misty looked up to point at the thin guy, but he wasn’t there.
She stood up, scanning the wash and then the desert around them. She didn’t see him anywhere. “He was right behind me.”
Graham struggled to raise his head, grunting with effort. Misty knelt beside him again. “Stop. Let me give you some water.”
Misty unscrewed the canteen’s lid, its slender chain clanking against the container’s metal side. She put her hand behind Graham’s head and supported him while she more or less poured the water into his mouth.
Graham made a face and tried to spit it out.
“No,” Misty said firmly. “Drink it. It’s more important for the water to be inside you than in the bottle.”
The hiker had said that, but he was right. Graham held his breath and swallowed the water, scowling the entire time. “Rank,” he said.
Misty had thought the water tasted good, possibly because she’d been parched. “Have some more,” she said.
“No. I’ll live.”
Graham tried to sit up and ended up crashing down again. “Shit. Hurts.”
“No kidding. Do you think you could make it up to the cave? It’s getting hotter.”
Graham looked up the rise to the boulders on the ridge and took a breath. “Yeah, I can make it. Give me a second.”
He closed his eyes again. Misty looked down at him, at his hard, square jaw, firm cheekbones, forehead now creased with dirt. Graham’s hair was black, but he kept it buzzed short, a thin wash of darkness on his scalp. Graham couldn’t be called handsome, not like some of the other Shifters Misty had met, but there was something about him that made Misty like looking at him. His large body was hard with muscle, his face firm, eyes an intense gray that could pin even the boldest of people in place. A strong man, who even now strove not to show weakness.
After a few minutes, Graham opened his eyes again and nodded. Misty helped him sit up and then, after another time of rest, she helped him to stand.
Graham fell against her as soon as he gained his feet, and Misty struggled to hold his weight. After a while, he was able to move, and Misty guided him back to the rise, Graham’s every step labored.
Misty looked around for the hiker as they climbed up the wash, but she didn’t see him. She hoped he was all right, but the desert could be treacherous.
It took much longer to reach the niche in the rocks again, but finally Graham and Misty came to rest on the level ground near the boulders.
Graham stiffened as he leaned against the rocks, and he inhaled sharply. “In there? Are you crazy? I’m not going in there.”
“It’s a giant cave,” Misty said. “It’s cool inside—it gets bigger after the entrance. What’s the matter?”
She started through the niche. Graham gave a long growl, then sucked in a breath of pain as he pushed in behind her. She reached back and grabbed his hand, guiding him through.
They emerged into the cave . . .
But it was the wrong cave. The hollow in these rocks was cool, but nowhere near as big as the cave in which Misty had found the hiker. This niche was only about five feet deep, ending in a solid granite wall. There was no sign of the pool, or any water at all.
“Damn,” Misty said. “That cave was perfect. But at least you can rest here out of the sun. I can look again for the other one. It can’t be far away.”
Misty turned to leave, but Graham clamped his hand over her wrist. For a wounded man, he had a lot of strength.
His eyes were clear now as he glared down at her. “Give me that water.”
“What?” Misty fumbled with the canteen at her waistband. “You could say please.”
“I’m not joking. Give it to me.”
Graham was standing upright, without support, and no blood at all leaked around his wound. The tattoos on his arms were stark against his skin, almost luminous in the shadows.
Misty handed him the canteen. Graham jerked it from her, unscrewed the lid, and took a long sniff of the water inside.
“Shit.” His expletive filled the little cave before he upended the canteen and poured the water all over the dirt floor.
“No!” Misty shot her hands out, catching the falling droplets in her cupped palms. She brought her hands to her face and slurped the water, not caring how dirty she was.
Graham slapped her hands down, and the last of the water was lost.
“What are you doing?” Misty asked in a near screech.
“The hiker, where is he?”
“I told you, I don’t know.” Misty licked her lips, needing every drop of the beautiful water. “He was right behind me. I didn’t see where he went.”
“Shit,” Graham said. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
“Graham, what is wrong?”
“Damn it.” Graham scrubbed one hand over his short hair as he paced in a circle in shallow cave. “I drank that water.”
“So did I.”
Graham stopped. He grabbed Misty by the shoulders and yanked her to him, not gently. He looked into her eyes, his brows coming together. “You seem okay.”
“I’m fine. You’re the one who was shot.”
Graham released her and stepped back. “I know. And look at me.” He put his hands on his hips, standing upright. His face was no longer drawn and gray, and the spent look was gone from his eyes. He looked hale and well, tall and strong.
Graham ripped the tape from his side. Underneath, his skin was whole, the only thing left of the wound a patch of dried blood. He was completely and undeniably healed.
Misty reached out and touched his side to find warm, firm flesh. “I guess Shifters do heal fast.”
“Not that fast. There was magic in the water, and there’s only one kind of magic going around these days. At least around Shifters.”
“Magic? What are you talking about?”
“Bastards. They’ll do anything to get Shifters under their power again, and you went and handed me to them. Damn it.” He turned away, pacing again. “This is what I get for being nice to a human.”
Misty took a step back. “What the hell do you mean I handed you to them? Them who? I didn’t hand you to anybody.”
“You forced that water into me. Now I’m screwed. Shit.” Graham balled both fists and slammed them into the rock wall.
He hit so hard Misty expected his fingers to break, but the wall chipped, and dirt pattered down like rain. Graham hit the wall again and again, the curse word sounding with each slam. He was enraged, and behind the rage on his stiff face, Misty saw fear.
“Graham, what is wrong?”
He swung to her. His eyes were white gray, a wolf’s eyes, and his snarl filled the cave. “You are what is wrong. Don’t you understand? You have f*cked me over.”
Misty’s lips parted, her breath hitching. He was furious, more so than she’d ever seen him, and he was mad at her.
Emotions tumbled through her. She’d been terrorized this morning, her fear for her brother overriding her fear for herself. She’d been rescued by Graham, who’d looked pissed off to do it. Then she’d been in danger of dying of heatstroke while she watched Graham start to expire with a bullet in his side. And now Graham was standing here, yelling at her.
Words wouldn’t come, and neither would her breath. Misty turned her back and walked outside. The sun was beating down hotter than before, afternoon well underway, but she didn’t care.
Graham came after her. He didn’t bother to stop her; he pushed past her and started down the hill.
A plume of dust rose in the desert about a mile away, a vehicle approaching. Graham went on down the wash, stepping through the slithering stones with agility. Misty picked her way down, the soles of her sandals split, her feet burning.
The dark spot in front of the dust plume enlarged until it became a large black pickup. It skidded a little in the soft dirt as it turned off the track and headed for the shack and Graham.
Even before the truck stopped, Dougal leapt out of the back door of the four-door cab, clad in a new shirt. Dougal ran at Graham, hurtling himself into Graham’s arms like a scared adolescent. Graham gathered his nephew into his embrace, holding him, rubbing his back.
The pickup halted, the driver’s and passenger’s doors opened, and two men got out of the cab. Misty recognized them as she drew near—Diego Escobar, a human who was the mate of her friend Cassidy, and Stuart Reid, a tall man Misty had met only a few times. Reid wasn’t Shifter, but he lived in Shiftertown and didn’t talk much about his past. He used to be a cop, as had Diego. Now they both worked for Diego’s private security company, DX Security.
Misty pressed her hand to her side and hurried the last few yards, breathing hard. The two men and Graham turned to watch her, but Dougal kept his face buried in Graham’s shoulder.
“Please say you have water,” Misty said as she reached them.
Diego silently held out a sports bottle. Misty upended it, pouring the liquid in a stream into her mouth. The water didn’t taste anywhere near as good as the water the hiker had given her, but it was wet, which was the point.
“We need to get out of here,” Graham said.
“That’s the plan,” Diego said then turned to Misty. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she said. “Now that there’s water.” She took another long drink.
Graham ignored them and pushed his way to the truck, Dougal still hanging on him. Without a word, he continued to the truck bed, where he convinced Dougal to turn him loose so Graham could lift his ruined motorcycle into the back, then they both climbed in with it.
Diego watched Graham, a puzzled look on his face. “I thought he got himself shot.”
“He did,” Misty said, too weary to go into details. “Can we go home now?”
Diego opened the pickup cab’s back door. “Your carriage awaits.”
Misty gave him a weak smile and let him help her up into the cool interior. Diego had the air-conditioning going full throttle, the icy blast making her blink. Misty leaned back into the soft leather of Diego’s custom seats, thinking nothing had ever felt so good.
Diego slid into the driver’s seat. Reid, who’d not said a word, was at the back of the truck talking to Graham. Misty couldn’t hear what they said, but Reid wore a worried expression as he scanned the desert.
Reid then climbed into the pickup’s bed, still conversing with Graham. Diego said nothing, only put the truck into gear and pulled out.
“Can I borrow your phone?” Misty said, her voice thin and tired. “I need to call my brother.”
“Already taken care of,” Diego said. “Your brother is safe, in Shiftertown, in fact. My brother and a couple of my guards are at your house, making sure no bad guys show up there. Paul’s at Eric’s house, which is where we’re headed.”
“No,” Misty said sharply. “I want to go home.”
Diego looked at her in the rearview mirror, surprise on his face. “Your brother’s worried about you.”
“Keep him safe, and thank you. But I need to be alone for a little bit. Tell Paul I’m fine, and I’ll see him later. If my house is safe, I want to go there.”
Diego still looked puzzled, but he didn’t argue.
Misty dozed off once the truck left rutted road for smooth pavement. The pickup’s deeply tinted windows kept out the sun and leather seats cradled her body.
The sleep didn’t refresh her, though. Flashes of dreams struck her—Graham with blood all over him, Flores’s pockmarked face when he’d pushed it close to hers, the despair when she’d been locked in the hot shack. Threading through these visions was the remembered sensation of the wonderful, sweet, clear coolness of the water. Misty wanted more. She had to have more.
The truck jerked as Diego slowed for traffic on the freeway, and Misty woke. The dreams fled, and she couldn’t remember them when she reached for them. But she was still thirsty.
Diego pulled off the freeway and took the streets to the ordinary suburban neighborhood where Misty lived. In a short time, he was pulling into her driveway, the house a welcome sight.
Graham was up and out of the pickup’s bed as Misty opened the cab’s door and let Diego help her out. She started for her front door but realized in dismay she didn’t have her keys. They’d be at the shop in her purse, still locked in her desk drawer.
Didn’t matter. Diego’s brother Xavier pulled open the house’s front door from the inside, looked around, then gave a thumbs-up to Diego.
Graham got in front of Misty as she went up the walk. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“Inside.” Misty motioned to the door where Xavier waited. “I live here.”
Diego raised his brows, looked at Graham, and then turned and moved discreetly back to the pickup, pulling out his phone to text someone.
“You’ll be safer in Shiftertown,” Graham said, his voice a growl.
“But I want to stay here.” Misty shook her head. “Thank you for helping, Graham, and I’m sorry you got hurt because of me.” She paused. Xavier had retreated inside the house, as discreet as his brother, leaving her and Graham relatively alone. She drew a breath. “But don’t call me again.”
“What?” Graham’s focus shot to her, the distraction of his fear and anger gone. His eyes burned, every part of his unnerving attention on her.
Misty stepped into the shade of her small front porch. “I said don’t call me. I’m done.”
“Done with what? What the f*ck are you talking about?”
“Good-bye, Graham.” Misty made herself walk inside the house and start to shut the door.
She thought Graham would grab the door at the last minute and charge in after her, raging all the way, but he only stood there, amazingly still, his wolf eyes going silver as she closed the door in his face.