Wild Wolf

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.