“No,” he groaned out. “Don’t call him. Don’t call anyone. Leave me alone.” He took his hand from his stomach, where he’d been holding the wound and shoved it in his pocket, fished out the keys, and pitched them at her with the ferocity and velocity of a hockey puck. “Take the Hummer. Go find what you’re looking for.” He’d barely managed the words when he fell against the tree.
She ducked out of the way of the keys.
He raised the weapon once more. Except this time, it seemed to be more aiming toward her than himself.
“Don’t,” she cautioned him. “Don’t do that.”
“I—” He flailed the weapon wildly.
A shot fired, zinged past her head.
Curses. Was he trying to kill himself or her? Or was this a homicide-suicide thing?
She raised her arm instinctively, the one with the crossbow, in the event he—
The pistol’s muzzle was turning toward her again. Everything moved so fast, and yet so slow. The pistol moving. Her fingers twitching with the trigger-string that led to the crossbow’s releasing the bow.
Ssslllooowwwlllyyy time passed, and yet, at the same time, it passed fastfastfast.
Seconds became an eternity as his finger pulled on the trigger.
At the last second, he turned the muzzle on himself and fired, but it was too late.
Emme had already released the Freyja’s Redemption bolt, and it traveled true to its craftsmanship and her marksmanship. The gleaming brass-hued rod that was almost as long as her forearm penetrated the man’s torso, propelled him backward, and pinned him to the tree.
Damn it. He wasn’t going to shoot me.
She ran toward the man, flinging her sunglasses aside. “I’m sorry. I thought you were going to shoot me. I didn’t mean—”
He stared at her. “Eira?”
She froze. What did he just say?
“My wolf will kill me, Eira.”
Before she could ask him what he was talking about and how he knew her sister’s name, his body wrapped inward, around itself, though he was still pinned to the tree. As though he were trying to go fetal.
His face changed, the skull widening and lengthening. His nose and mouth stretched outward, lengthening into a snout with canines. He exploded into a wolf, complete with dark-gray fur, mottled with brown tips. It covered his face and body. His eyes glowed eerie red.
And then he slumped forward, unconscious. He fell from the tree, the bolt still in his body.
Shit.
He was a shifter. A wolf shifter. Though she’d never quite seen a wolf that looked like him. So very large. No regular wolf, it would seem. Emme had never personally encountered a shifter before. Valkyrie were to avoid all supernatural types because that could lead them to being discovered by the berserkers. And even the berserkers, though they had originated from bear shifters, were no longer shifters. Their bears were chained deep within their souls, or something of that nature.
Now what? What was she supposed to do with this man who’d become a wolf after shooting himself? Why had he turned the weapon toward her when he didn’t intend to shoot her? Was he merely flailing about?
She appraised the blood blossoming on the snow. She couldn’t leave him out here. Should she call his brother? Then she’d have to explain that she shot him with the crossbow. Imagine the questions that would spawn, particularly why had she been carrying a weapon of that type. And how was this going to affect her finding Eira? Why had he known Eira’s name? What—
“There’s a connection here,” she muttered. “How do you know my sister, Mister Wolf Man?”
She had to make sure he didn’t die. He had the answers to Eira’s location, of that she was certain. She took his weapon, tucked it in her pocket. He didn’t need to get a hold of it after he shifted back. He would morph back to human, wouldn’t he?
She ran inside, grabbed a throw blanket off the sofa, and draped it over his body. She needed to transport him inside. What was the best way?
She returned to the cabin. Nothing there would help. Earlier, she’d noticed a shed in the back and sprinted toward it. A wheelbarrow! No, wait, that was stupid. She couldn’t pick him up and put him in there. She’d probably hurt him worse by trying. She scratched her head and had an idea. She moved the blanket to the side and laid it out on the ground then rolled him onto it as carefully as she could with the bolt still in him. She half-dragged, half-carried the massive wolf. After setting up a board she found in the shed as a ramp, she got him up the stairs and into the cabin.
Out of breath, panting, sweating, she finally had him inside.
She glanced behind her and noticed the trail of blood leading through the snow, gravel, and grass. Looked like a massacre. After closing the front door, she peered down at the wolf again. Studied his chest to make sure he was breathing. The slow and barely perceptible rise said he was. But how much longer would he last?
“Don’t you dare die on me, you furry bastard. Not until you tell me how you know my sister.”
Chapter Five
In his wolf’s body, Asa was conscious, though his wolf was barely clinging to life. So much for shifting into a wolf to heal. He wasn’t healing like he thought he would. He should be able to take over the body and change to his own.
But he couldn’t. So what was going on?
He’d suffered the indignity and discomfort of having her hauling and dragging his wolf across the yard and into the cabin.
The arrow she shot him with had some sort of properties, like magic maybe. He couldn’t shift back to his human form. Or maybe that was the strength and stubbornness of the wolf.
He had another problem. Now, she knew he was a shifter. But he had found out she was Eira’s sister, which was probably who she was looking for. Eira hadn’t told him, Davin, or Jason much about the other Valkyrie, though Asa had overheard her mention a sister to Range. Seemed he’d heard her say the name was Emmalee, Emma, or Emme or something of that nature. Not Autumn. And Eira’s last name was Winter. Autumn’s was Emerson. Hmmm. Emma Winter. Autumn Emerson. That couldn’t be a coincidence.
She was poking around his wolf body, feeling for his injuries, moving the fur, and probing with gentle fingers. “You’ve sure done a hell of a job on yourself, Asa Wulfsen.” Her tone was low and soothing. “I hope you keep a decent first aid kit in this cabin. Or in your Hummer.”
Both, he wanted to say, but all he could do was make a low wolf whine.
“Hang tight, wolf. We’ll get these rounds out of you. And I’ll have to find something to pull Freyja’s Redemption from you. Pliers. Vise grip, anything like that. Too bad you can’t talk.”
Too bad, indeed. Was Freyja’s Redemption what the bolt was called? He hadn’t even seen a bow in her hands.
She stripped off her coat, and when her sleeve was off her arm, he noticed the vambrace crossbow strapped onto her right forearm.
What the hell was that weapon? Was it a Valkyrie thing? He’d never seen a weapon like this. Not on a man or a woman. As far as he knew, Eira didn’t have one.
Then again, I don’t exactly go through Eira’s stuff, now do I?
She slipped away, and when she returned, both hands were full. First aid kit from the cupboard and an oversize pair of pliers from the shed, alcohol, paper towels, washcloths. A very definite armful.