The Change overtook him without warning. James cried out in shock and surprise, then his human voice was strangled off abruptly by the shift in form. His human mind had time for a only single thought as he leapt down from the tractor.
Jillian.
He had to get to Jillian.
The great wolf ran full out across the field, belly close to the ground, claws digging into the clay soil, tail a white plume touched with the moon’s golden light.
Chapter Twenty-two
T
he calf was a big one, even for its large-boned breed, weighing almost as much as she did. Bloody to the armpits, her coveralls soaked with amniotic fluid, Jillian dragged the creature out of the three-foot long incision in its mother’s side. The cow, blissfully unaware of that incision due to the contents of a large syringe carefully inserted between two of its vertebrae, was looking around in mild interest. She blinked in surprise as the vet slipped in the wet straw and went down under 110 pounds of wriggling Charolais calf.
“It’s okay, baby, it’s okay, we’ll get you out.” Jillian fought her way to her knees, deftly stripped the sac from around the calf’s golden face, reached into its mouth to pull its tongue forward and clear the throat. And laughed when her fingers were seized and sucked with gusto.
Grabbing a towel, she rubbed vigorously to dry the calf, grunted as she hauled the newborn over to where the cow could nose it. For a moment the veterinarian looked on in satisfaction as the mother licked her newborn, memorizing the scent, cementing the bond between them. Animal bonds, Jillian knew, tended to be unshakeable.
Not like humans.
Sighing, she unwrapped a fresh surgical pack—the contents of the first had fallen into the wet straw—and began the long process of closing up.
The full moon was more than halfway across the sky when Jillian drove away from the Murdock’s farm. She had the heat on full blast and she’d taken off her coveralls, but her clothes were wet through. Her teeth chattered as she fumbled with a radio station. Most farmers would at least have offered her some coffee or something. But then, every farmer she knew would have come out to the barn and pitched in. She had hoped for that kind of help when she couldn’t reach Caroline. Jillian had thought about asking Connor for help. After all, it wasn’t
his
fault his brother was a jerk. But she just didn’t feel up to seeing any of the Macleod clan tonight. And so she had taken the calving call alone, even though the farm was in a remote location, nearly two hours away.
At least both cow and calf were fine. Jed Murdock hadn’t been pleased that Jillian had shown up instead of Connor, but he wouldn’t be able to complain about her work. And maybe a hefty bill for the extra hours she’d spent would encourage the Murdocks to be a little more helpful next time.
Not that she minded being busy. It was harder for unwelcome thoughts to creep into her awareness when she was focused on work. That was why she had thrown herself into every task she could find at the clinic, why she was even making up tasks. Birkie had eyed Jillian with concern when she’d restacked the hay bales in the livestock area, but she didn’t care. It was better than thinking about how much she ached inside, how much James Macleod had hurt her. Except for the card that came with the flowers, she hadn’t heard from him. No letters, no phone calls. And certainly no face-to-face communication. After being at the clinic every single day, he hadn’t come by even once for three solid weeks.
Pretty hard not to read
that
message.
She would never have picked him for the one-night stand type, but then, how much did she really know about him? It was her own fault for getting too involved too soon, for letting her hormones off the leash way too early. The fact that her heart had led the way didn’t bear thinking about.
And so Jillian was determined not to think about anything. Her plan was to keep busy, so busy that the thoughts wouldn’t stand a chance of getting through, so busy that she simply fell into bed late each night and was asleep before she hit the pillow. The system had worked just fine for the past three weeks. But now she was worn right out, and for the first time she wondered how long she could keep this up.
There was certainly no shortage of tasks to keep her busy tonight, even though it was well after midnight. The instruments still needed to be unpacked, washed, and sterilized. The surgical drapings and her wet coveralls had to be put in the washing machine and soaked. And she was already so damn tired. Her eyelids fluttered down, once, twice. . . .
Jillian jerked her head up just as the cab of the truck was flooded with light. There was another vehicle behind her with its brights on. She squinted as it rapidly closed the distance between them. From the height of those blinding headlights, she judged it to be a truck. A car’s beams wouldn’t have filled her pickup cab so thoroughly. Sound flooded in as well. Though her windows were closed, she could hear the high-pitched thrum of a powerful engine and the brain-beating bass of a massive stereo system. It had to be kids. How did they stand to be inside that? She could feel the vibration of whatever music they were playing in her teeth, for God’s sake.
Jillian prayed the driver would switch to low beams soon. She peered through half-closed eyes at her side mirror. It was indeed a tall pickup truck, but it was weaving back and forth, fishtailing on the gravel road. “Great, they’re fooling around or drunk. Probably both.” Jillian was suddenly uncomfortable about being alone and wondering where she’d stashed her cell phone when a row of dull orange spots appeared like eyes on the other truck’s roof. Jillian made out the rack of hunters’ floodlights just as they powered on.
Dammit!
Jillian slapped at the rearview mirror, flipping its face to the ceiling. “Stupid asses!” She cursed vehemently as white light shot back at her from the side mirrors, the dashboard glass, everywhere. Pain stabbed her tired eyes. She cupped a hand around her brow as a flimsy shield and tried to focus on the road ahead. The light was bright . . . and getting brighter. She wanted to slow down. She’d been under the fifty miles per hour speed limit for the gravel road, but not by much. She touched her brakes lightly, once, twice, hoping the other truck was paying attention and wouldn’t run into her.
A bright yellow diamond flashed into view on her right, dazzlingly bright in the other truck’s lights. She squinted at the highway sign and deciphered its symbols:
a hill with a steep grade
. She realized at once where she was. At the bottom of the hill would be the narrow steel bridge that spanned Little Burnt Creek. If the other truck was going to pass her, it would have to do it soon. She prayed it
would
pass. Her nerves were already rubbed raw by the assault of light and sound.
Suddenly the headlights swung away to her left, leaving her in abrupt darkness and temporarily blind.
She took her foot off the gas pedal as her eyes fought to adjust and her unknown antagonist thundered by, bass pounding so loud it hurt Jillian’s ears and stabbed at her brain, vibrated in her very bones. “Stop it! Stop it!” she yelled, unable to even hear herself. The vehicle passed her in a blast of impossible noise and a rattle of gravel, hurtling down the hill. She caught a glimpse of a large red pickup with shiny chrome roll bars before the darkness swallowed it. The mind-numbing bass faded into the distance and was finally gone.
Shaken and disoriented, Jillian pulled the truck to the shoulder of the road. It wasn’t there. There was nothing under the right front wheel as she tried in vain to steer the still-rolling truck back to solid ground. Suddenly there was a sickening lurch as the rear passenger wheel dropped over the road’s edge as well. The truck teetered on the crumbling brink, and she realized she couldn’t make it back onto the road. Jillian steered instead for the deep ditch, trying to take it at an angle so the truck wouldn’t tip. But then the ditch itself dipped and disappeared into darkness. The brakes couldn’t stop the momentum of the heavy truck as it hurtled down the steep embankment through a stand of brush.
Thick branches slapped at the windshield, cracked it. Books and packages on the seat flew up and struck her as the vehicle lurched and bounced crazily. She saw the dark surface of a creek in her headlights, then glittering plumes of water all around her as she struggled to steer through it. A roaring filled her ears, her brain. There was no time to hope that the water wasn’t too deep, to pray that the engine would keep going. And no time at all to react as the darkness in front of her suddenly resolved itself into a tree. It was the last picture in her mind as something enormous punched her full in the face.
Awareness faded then rushed back like a tidal surge. Heavy folds of white material swamped her, and Jillian screamed as she tried to bat it away. The air was thick with dust, choking her. Finally her brain kicked in and she realized she was fighting with the air bag.
Her whole body jellied in relief, and she was grateful she was already sitting down. For several minutes Jillian just sat there with her hands gripping the wheel. She took a deep breath that sent her into a coughing fit. When it abated, she hit the button to roll down the window and leaned forward to rest her head on the steering column and let the cool air wash over her until her heart stopped hammering. Until she felt steady. Steadier. Well, almost steady.
Looking around, she assessed the situation. Truck. Tree. Water. She was half in and half out of the shallow creek, the front of the truck resting against a large poplar on the opposite bank. The hood didn’t look bashed in from here. Maybe the vehicle was still drivable. Maybe she could walk the truck out in four-wheel drive. But first she’d have to lock the hubs on the front axle by hand.
Note to self: Next time, pick a vehicle you can shift into four-wheel drive from the inside.
Jillian popped the shoulder belt and spent a few minutes fumbling behind the seat for a flashlight. It was hard work. Her body was sore and her face felt like she’d tried to stop a train with it. One of her hands didn’t seem to work very well. She cursed repeatedly as new pains flashed here and there, as her feet kept getting tangled in the deflated air bag. There seemed to be enough of the sagging white material to make a goddamn hot air balloon.
She kicked free of it and paused to catch her breath. “Okay, then, I’m okay. Everything’s okay. Let’s get it done.” Jillian swung open the door, saw it skim the surface of the water but didn’t hesitate to jump down. She gasped at the iciness of the water, as the fast current both shoved and pulled at her. It had to be mountain runoff—it felt like it came straight off a glacier. Reaching for the door with one hand and gripping the flashlight with the other, she took a step forward. And discovered too late that the bottom of the creek was slick with mud and algae.
Without warning, her feet flew out from under her, plunging her beneath the icy water. The current immediately dragged her along the bottom. Panicked, Jillian clawed and flailed at the dark surface—the creek couldn’t have been more than three feet deep—but there was something in her way, something she kept banging her head and body against, that kept her submerged. Her lungs were screaming, her mind was screaming as she fought blindly for her life.
Then something grasped her arm, gripped it tight. She fought that too, but it was strong and towed her along the icy bottom, then up into the blessed, blessed air. A moment later she was on her hands and knees on dry ground, coughing and choking and puking up water.
It took a little while before she became aware that someone had an arm around her waist, supporting her, pounding her back. Jillian gulped in air in huge, ragged breaths and collapsed, her strength utterly spent. Powerful arms encircled her, lifted her, cradled her in warmth.
“It’s okay, doc, you’re okay now. It’s over, just breathe now, baby. Just breathe.”
With a jolt she realized she was sobbing like a child. Embarrassed, she scrubbed a hand over her face and yelped when both her hand and face protested the contact. Opening her eyes, she found herself face-to-face with a Viking.
“What the hell are
you
doing here?”
Chapter Twenty-three
H
er voice was strangled and raw—not to mention annoyed—but it sounded terrific to him. Carefully he pushed her dripping blond hair away from her face, brushed the water from around her wide green eyes. “Jesus, doc, you scared the hell out of me. The next time you want to go diving for pearls, take some equipment.”
“I . . . I couldn’t get out, I couldn’t get out of the water, something was holding me under.” She tried to push him away but started coughing again. When she regained her breath, she simply sagged against him, exhausted.
He wrapped his arms tightly around her. He was as wet as she was, but he could at least share his naturally high body heat. “You were underneath the truck, doc. The water’s up to the running boards, and you must have kept trying to come up under the chassis.” Christ, she must have been terrified. It had certainly terrified
him
. In wolfen form he’d raced full out, crossing the miles as the crow flies, utilizing all the speed a Changeling was capable of—and then some. Not knowing what was wrong, only that there was danger and he must
hurry
. The compulsion whipped him mercilessly, drove him to a near-impossible pace until his heart was ready to burst. Just as it was the night he’d raced to Evelyn’s side. Past and present had blurred in James’s mind as he ran. Fear that he might be too late had clamped icy jaws around his throat, making it harder to breathe even as his lungs burned for air.
Fortunately, the connection the wolf had with Jillian had led him straight to her. James had caught her scent as he crested the hill, followed the wide swath of freshly broken brush leading down the ditch and into the creek. He spotted the truck when he was halfway down the slope, was relieved to see Jillian open the door. Then relief turned to horror as she stepped out into the water and slipped beneath it. He Changed as he leapt into the creek, splashed and skidded on his hands and knees in the dark icy water, while he felt around frantically for something, anything, he could grab.
With a start, James realized he was shaking almost as much as Jillian. He pulled her even closer, tucked her head under his chin and simply held on. Grateful he was sitting down, grateful to have her gathered in his lap and wrapped tight against him. Safe. He drew her scent into his lungs, again and again, each time holding it there, close to his heart. He listened to her breathing, listened to her heart beating, the rhythms of life,
her
life. He rubbed his cheek over her wet hair as powerful emotions shook him to the core. Dear God, he had been in time.
He had been in time.
James radiated his Changeling body heat to warm her as much as he could. Finally, when their shaking had subsided and both of them were steadier, he relaxed his hold on her, but not before he brushed his lips over her brow, her head. The sudden taste and tang of blood jolted him, reminded him that Jillian might be alive but she needed more than affection to stay that way. “Keep this on, okay?” His jacket was wet but he wrapped it snugly around her just the same. At least it had some residual warmth in it, and it would keep the breeze off her until he found something drier. “I’ll be right back.”
He waded out to the truck. A check of the ignition revealed that the battery was dead. So was the radio. There was a cell phone on the floor but it was in pieces. James took a quick look around the cab for anything else useful, then made his way to the back of the truck. Here he had more luck. The canopy had kept the cargo dry, and he had no trouble finding matches and supplies, for which he blessed his brother’s name. There was no shortage of blankets and clothing either, the preparations of a vet who had made too many farm calls in bad weather.
There was dead willow along the bank and James worked fast to gather an armful and coax a fire into life. The flames gobbled the twigs and dried grass greedily, moved on to the larger bits of wood without a pause. He set a duffel bag on the ground beside Jillian and knelt to study her in the firelight. The orange glow should have lent color to her face but she was paper-white. Trickles of blood had emerged from her hairline, merged into a single rivulet that ran steadily down the side of her face. Her green eyes were wide, too wide, the pupils dilated even though she was looking straight at the flames. Not good, not good at all, he thought. “Take your clothes off.”
“What?” She looked startled.
James opened the bag and rifled through it. “You’ve got to get out of those wet things right now.”
“What for? Why can’t you just take me home?”
“I don’t have a vehicle with me, Jillian.”
Please, God, don’t let her ask any questions. I can’t exactly say I
ran
here.
He rushed on before she could say anything. “Your truck is out of commission, and we’re a hell of a long way from town. The radio’s out. I don’t have a cell phone, and yours is broken. We could be here a while, so you need to be warm and dry. Step one is to take off those wet clothes.”
As she opened her mouth to protest, James simply picked her up and placed her on her feet. Steadied her. “You don’t get a choice here, Jillian. You’re not thinking straight. Hypothermia is dangerous, and I’m betting you’ve got a concussion as well.”
He had removed his jacket from her shoulders, taken off her jacket and was starting on her shirt when her temper flared and she backed up a step, fists clenched.
“Don’t touch me.” Jillian flung the words at him like stones. “Just don’t. I don’t know what kind of privileges you think you have, but undressing me isn’t one of them.”
That momentary flicker in her eyes, anger mixed with something very like humiliation, cut him to the core. Guilt roughened his voice. “This isn’t the time, Jillian. You want to go a few rounds with me, fine, you can have all the free swings you want later. Right now we need to take care of you.”
“I can take care of myself just fine, thank you.”
He didn’t want to fight with her. He raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture, praying he wasn’t making a mistake. “Suit yourself. But if you’re not peeled out of those soggy clothes in five minutes, I’ll do it whether you want me to or not.” He meant it. Her eyes flashed but her anger was a bonus—it would keep her adrenaline up, and God knew she needed it. “You’ve almost died once tonight, doc, and I’m not about to let you try for twice.” He yanked out a big flannel shirt, some jeans, and a wool blanket, and placed them on top of the bag for her. He pulled out an outfit for himself and stalked to the other side of the fire, keeping his back turned to give her some privacy. Besides, if he didn’t look at her, maybe he could concentrate. He had to keep trying to contact Connor or some other member of the Pack. It was a long shot, literally, to succeed at mind speech over such a distance. But there was little traffic on this road, even less at this time of night, and it was miles to the nearest farm to get help. True, he could Change again and cover the distance on four feet, but he would have to leave Jillian alone—and that he didn’t dare do.
Suddenly he felt a connection. It was odd—as if his mental call were a fish and someone was reeling it in. That someone couldn’t be a Changeling, the energy was different.
Birkie!