He was going to puke, hot acid rising in his throat.
Then they were going down, and whatever was trying to escape was forced back into his stomach.
Up. Down. Up. Down.
Finally they slowed and stopped, dangling head-down above the water. Carl searched for crocodiles.
His wolf whimpered.
A motorboat drew up beneath them, and they were lowered the last twenty feet and hauled into the boat. Someone unfastened the harness, and Carl pried his hands from their hold on Shera’s waist and dragged himself onto the seat, only narrowly resisting the urge to curl into a fetal ball.
They were alive. Wow. Totally unexpected.
“That was fabulous,” Shera said, her eyes sparkling.
Carl took a deep breath and cleared his throat. He could do this. For Shera. “You want to go again?”
His wolf growled, raking his claws down Carl’s spine.
Shera giggled, then leaned across and kissed him on the cheek. “No. Once was enough. Thank you.”
…
Shera almost laughed again as relief blossomed across his face. She’d never expected him to be scared of anything. It was a revelation. She’d loved that he was terrified but had still gone ahead.
For her.
Resting her cheek on his shoulder, she breathed in the warm air, heavy with moisture and redolent with the scent of growing things. And was that a hint of sulfur in the background? No, it was gone. Just her imagination.
Carl had been so good to her, claiming that if they were going to bungee jump, they should do it properly. So he’d brought her here to Victoria Falls, right in the heart of Africa.
“So what’s next on the list?” he asked.
She thought about teasing him and saying sky diving, but he’d been so brave. They’d danced all night, made love on the beach, he’d kissed her and for way longer than five minutes, and now they’d bungee jumped. What was left?
“Horse riding?”
“Oh good,” he muttered.
“Don’t you like horses?”
“I like them. But they hate me. Or rather they hate my wolf.” He straightened his shoulders. “Horse riding it is. We’ll sort something out.”
It was a seven-hour drive from Victoria Falls to the Matobo National Park, where apparently they could ride horses to see the wild animals. She was a little worried that the horses would sense her cat or even worse, her hellhound, but from the moment they saw her, they loved her. But Carl had been right about his own effect on the animals. His mount shied away from him, side-stepping and snorting.
“He’s usually good,” the guide said.
“Let me talk to him,” Shera said. She rubbed the horse’s nose and whispered in his ear. “Give him a chance.” The horse stamped a foot. “I won’t let him eat you,” she promised.
The horse held still while he swung into the saddle, then shifted restlessly, but finally settled.
She mounted her own horse. She’d never ridden before, but it felt natural as she edged her mount up beside Carl who, despite his shaky start, looked relaxed in the saddle. She copied his position, holding the reins in one hand as they followed the guide across the wide open plains.
It occurred to her that she knew very little about him. They’d been together over a week now, but by some unspoken agreement, they’d steered clear of personal matters. But she wanted to know about him. If she was honest, she wanted to know everything. But how to get him talking?
She nudged her horse a little closer so they were riding side by side, knees almost touching. Carl glanced across, gave her a lazy smile. “What is it, kitten? I can hear you thinking.”
“I was just wondering…?”
“Hmm?”
“I was wondering, what it’s like being a werewolf? Do you belong to a pack? Do you have a girlfriend? How did you come to work for the Order…?”
“Whoa. Pick one.”
She wanted to ask the girlfriend question but perhaps it was too obvious. “Do you belong to a pack?”
“No.”
“You can’t just say ‘no.’ All werewolves belong to a pack. Everyone knows that.”
“Not me.” He shrugged. “I did once. It didn’t work out.”
“What happened?”
“Well, half of them wanted to kill me, the other half wanted me to kill the alpha male, mate with the alpha female, and take over the pack. Neither option appealed to me at the time.”
“So you just left.”
“Not quite. The half who wanted to kill me sent an assassination squad. They would have succeeded, too, except Christian Roth interrupted the attempt, saved my life. Back then he was head of the Order. He offered me a job, and I’ve been working there ever since. So that answers two of your questions.”
“One more won’t matter then.”
“Make it an easy one.”
“Do werewolves have girlfriends?” She kept the question general so she wouldn’t sound quite so nosey.
“Why wouldn’t they? Some of them have lots of girlfriends. Though, actually, there’s a legend that says each werewolf has one fated mate.”