After what had happened here tonight, it did seem a more likely scenario. I guessed the question then was, how far could I safely push its use before that eventuated?
To which Belle would no doubt have replied, quit trying to test the limit and just live in the safety zone.
Which was sensible, of course. Problem was, I wasn’t entirely sure this reservation would allow sensible.
I grimaced, then carefully brushed a sleeve across my eyes, wiping away the tears and the lingering remnants of blood. My eyes were aching—no doubt the aftereffect of blood vessels erupting—but my vision was at least clearing. I couldn’t help wondering if the faster pace of healing was a result of the wild magic or my merges with Katie.
Of course, those merges would never make me a full werewolf, which was a damn shame given it was probably the only thing that would save my relationship with Aiden.
I once again thrust the thought away. Live for the moment, I admonished myself sternly. Enjoy what you have rather than worrying about what might be.
Which was fine in theory, but I’d spent most of my adult life doing the latter rather than the former. It was damnably hard to switch direction.
I sighed, then carefully bent and picked up my boots. After tugging on my socks, I pulled on my boots, wincing as my bruised and battered feet protested the tight confines. The earth magic might have allowed me to travel without tripping, but it sure as hell hadn’t offered any form of protection.
It was a good half hour before Aiden returned, though I smelled him well before I heard or saw him. The faint breeze sweeping up from the valley below not only filled my nostrils with his warm, musky scent, but also the stench of blood and death.
Which only made me wonder exactly how Patrick had died. I might have felt the weight of his body and his blood on the earth, but the manner in which he’d died hadn’t been revealed in any of the images I’d been given. Maybe that was because I’d been seeking a location rather than a cause. Even so, it was pretty evident his death had been neither quick nor easy.
Aiden appeared, his face in shadows but his hair glinting silver in the moon’s wan light. While most Australian wolf packs were amber-eyed and brown, red, or black in color, the O’Connors were the rarer blue-eyed gray wolves. Their hair—and their coats when in wolf form—ran the full gamut of that color, from being so dark it could be mistaken for brown to the lightest of silvers. Aiden’s pack tended toward the brighter end of the scale.
“It was Patrick.” Though his voice was even, his hands were clenched. Fighting for control. To not react in anger or hurt or pain. To keep all those things distant so he could keep doing his job.
“Bad?”
“Yes.” He paused. “You didn’t see it in your visions?”
I shook my head. “Just that he was dead and that it hadn’t been natural.”
“I guess that’s something.” He drew in a breath and released it slowly. “It actually looks as if he’s been attacked by an animal. Teeth and claw marks everywhere.”
“Could they have been done after death?”
“Possibly, but I personally doubt it. There’s too much blood staining the ground for it to be an after-death assault.”
“Does that mean he was attacked by another wolf?”
Aiden scraped a hand across his jaw. “It’s a possibility. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had wolves go rogue in the reservation.”
“But?” There obviously was one there.
“But if it was a rogue, we would have smelled him. Or, at least, seen his tracks on the ground.”
“There are ways and means of covering both scent and tracks, though.”
“True. You ready to go?”
I nodded and carefully rose. The minute my feet touched the ground, sharp pain hit, and a hiss escaped. Aiden made a low sound in the back of his throat, then swept me up into his arms.
“Aiden, you can’t carry me all the way back to your truck.”
“Watch me.”
“Damn it, I’m too heavy—”
“Rubbish.”
“But—”
“Shut up, woman, and enjoy the ride.”
A laugh escaped. “I can think of more fitting situations for a comment like that.”
“So can I.” A smile flirted with his lips, but just as quickly faded. “Unfortunately, said situations probably won’t be happening tonight.”
“No.” I rested my head against his chest. With his arms holding me so securely and his heart beating so steadily against my ear, I felt unbelievably safe. I always would be with him, no matter what happened between us. “Are rogue werewolves much of a problem? I remember seeing an article once in a South Australian newspaper that mentioned a wolf rampaging through the Barossa Valley, but that was years ago.”
“It doesn’t happen often, which is just as well given the damage a rogue can do to the human population.”
And to werewolves, if Patrick was the victim of such an attack. “Why does it happen at all, then?”
He didn’t answer immediately, concentrating instead on traversing a tricky bit of slope. By the time we reached the other side and were on even ground again, his breathing was heavier.
“Sometimes it’s drugs or alcohol,” he said. “While our metabolic rate generally means we process both faster than a human and therefore shouldn’t be affected by them, there are always outliers.”
Because everyone’s metabolic rate was different, even when it came to werewolves. “And the other times?”
“Faulty genetics, though it’s more a theory than confirmed fact, as no study has ever been undertaken of the phenomena.”
He stepped carefully over a fallen tree and continued up the old roo track. No wonder my feet were all cut and bruised—the track was a stone-filled, debris-littered mess. It was a damn wonder I didn’t break something.
“In general,” he continued, “it’s thought that in some wolves, there’s a fault in the DNA adaption that allows us to heal wounds as we switch from one shape to another. Somehow, at some point, that fault is flicked from inactive to active, and instead of repairing the body, it begins to attack it. This inevitably leads to madness.”
“And is possibly the basis for all the werewolf legends?”
“Yes. The changes that make them mad also force them into a half-human, half-wolf hybrid with almost superhuman strength.”
I shivered at the thought. “Do you think we do have one?”
“Until Ciara does the autopsy, we won’t know for sure. But I hope not.”
So did I. While I might have wanted an end to supernatural nasties, a homegrown mad half wolf definitely didn’t sound as if it’d be much of an improvement.
“What else could it have been, though?”
He briefly glanced down at me, something I felt more than saw. “You tell me. You’re the one with the supernatural radar.”
A smile tugged at my lips. “I think the radar’s currently offline. I certainly didn’t feel anything that makes me suspect we’ve another demon or occult beastie on the reservation.”
He grunted. “Let’s just hope it remains that way.”
We finally reached the camping area. Aiden placed me down, then opened the truck’s door and helped me into the cabin. The drive home was a quiet one. I suspected his mind was on the grim news he’d soon have to deliver, and I was just too damn tired to muster any attempt at conversation.