Caught between exhaustion and the inability to sleep, Ryon tried hard not to squirm in his hospital bed. Nothing was more miserable than being injured, overtired, and insomniac, and every small movement he made caused waves of pain to throb in every muscle and limb.
Beside his bed, Dr. Mackenzie Grant, or “Mac” as most of the guys called her, was checking his chart and making thoughtful humming noises to herself. Whether her opinion on his progress was good or bad, he couldn’t tell. Uncomfortable, he tried to move up on the pillows a bit and was rewarded with a sharp stab of agony in his side.
“Here, let me help you,” Mac said, moving quickly.
Cutting the doc his most pleading look, he cleared his sore throat as best he could. “Pain meds,” he rasped. That fucking vamp had really done a number on his windpipe. “Can’t sleep.”
She gazed at him in sympathy, touching his arm. “I know, sweetie. But you’ve got another hour before your next dose, so hang in there, okay?” He nodded. “Do you think you can shift yet? That would help speed the healing process.”
Concentrating, he called to his wolf. But the creature whined and curled into a firm ball inside him, hurting and still more than a little freaked out by the vampire attack. Carefully, he shook his head. “The silver, from the knife . . .”
“It was inside you too long,” she finished with a sigh. “Getting you well will take some time, but thankfully you’ve got plenty of that. Try to rest and I’ll send Noah in an hour to give you more medicine for the pain. Try to rest, okay?”
“Sure.” As if that would happen.
Disappointed, he watched her leave the room and resigned himself to a long day of excruciating boredom, not to mention aches and pains. He couldn’t concentrate to read and didn’t feel like watching TV. How he was going to keep from losing his damned mind, he didn’t have a clue.
He’d just closed his eyes when a sense of someone—or rather something—approaching flooded his awareness. A spirit? Or a flesh-and-blood person? He only knew he felt a tug that was familiar somehow, and it took him a moment to think why.
This was the same tug he’d experienced last night, in the aftermath of the attack. Lying there in the dirty alley, bleeding out, he’d seen the most beautiful ghost hovering over him. As such, he shouldn’t have been able to tell the color of her eyes, but they were a warm brown that soothed him. Promised him refuge. Her hair was long and shiny, the deepest black, her cheekbones high and almost sharp, her nose thin. Full, sensual lips just made for kissing.
Through his agony he’d noted her features in an instant, and now he mulled over the fact that he’d never had a spirit appear to him quite so intact, so detailed. Almost as though she were real, not a ghost. Impossible. Right?
Opening his eyes, he sucked in a sharp breath. It seemed he’d get another chance to find out, because the woman in question was standing beside his bed looking down at him anxiously. Her form was translucent, flickering as though her energy was waning.
“Please, help me.”
“Jesus!” Reacting, he jerked upright and then hissed in pain. “What the hell?”
Ghosts shouldn’t be able to speak and make themselves understood so clearly. But this one wasn’t having any problem in that area.
“Help me,” she entreated again. “I’m hurt and there isn’t much time.”
He blinked at her. “How do you think I can help you? You’re dead, sweetheart,” he said, his tone firm but gentle. Most of the spirits couldn’t accept their demise.
“No, I’m alive! I was working a few miles from here and I was pushed into a ravine.” She began to appear more desperate. “If you don’t find me, I’ll die out here. You have to believe me.”
A chill snaked down his spine. Maybe she was telling the truth. “Okay, honey. Tell me where you are and I’ll come to you.” He hoped.
“North. Past the second ridge.” She began to fade.
“Wait! That’s a lot of miles to cover. Can you be more specific?”
Her reply was broken, the sound going mute at intervals. “The rangers . . . checkpoint . . . camp.”
“You were camping? What was that about the rangers?”
“Hurts,” she whispered. “Hurry.”
And then she was gone.
“Fuck!”
Ryon stared for a few seconds at the spot where she’d been, wondering if she’d reappear. But the very real urgency in her plea got him moving. Despite the pain it caused, he scooted to the side of the bed, removing the sticky heart-monitor pads and ripping out his IV line. The back of his hand bled, and he licked the wound, sealing it, then pushed to his feet.
Sucking in a sharp breath, he braced a hand on the bedside table and held his injured side with the other. Ten minutes ago he wouldn’t have been able to get out of bed. But that was before an intriguing spirit had appeared at his side to beg for help—and his wolf had come roaring to life inside him. Now his constant companion was anxious, insisting they race to help this unknown woman.
Ryon struggled to control the shift. Apparently, hiding and licking his wounds like a big baby was no longer on the wolf’s agenda. The creature was practically clawing him apart from the inside out in his hurry to be gone. He had something much more important to focus on now, and he wasn’t going to let anything keep him from finding the gorgeous vision.
Ryon had to alert his team. Pushing out the door, he stumbled into the corridor of the infirmary and ran straight into Noah. The blond nurse grabbed and steadied him, fussing.
“What the heck are you doing out of bed? If you need something, use the call button!”
“No time,” he said hoarsely. “Gotta find Nick. We’ve got a problem.”
Scowling, the younger man steered Ryon back into the room. “Sit your butt down in here while I get hold of him, or you’re going to be the one with the problem when I sedate your stubborn self.”
Ryon complied, but he didn’t have to like it. Until he let his wolf out, he wasn’t going to have the strength to walk across the compound, much less run through the mountains searching for an injured hiker. He listened impatiently while Noah used the room’s phone and made the call to Nick. As he did, it occurred to Ryon that he wasn’t thinking straight—he could’ve simply used his ability as a Telepath to reach Nick himself, pushing his thoughts into his commander’s head. If that wasn’t proof that he had no business leaping from bed to run through the Shoshone, nothing was.
But that wasn’t going to stop him.
Noah replaced the receiver and turned, grabbing the discarded wires from the heart monitor. “He’s on his way. Scoot back and I’ll fix this.”
“No. I’m not staying here.”
“Ryon—”
“I said no!”
“Fine! Stubborn furballs, all of you.” The nurse stomped out, leaving the door open behind him.
Ryon felt bad for snapping, but anxiety was riding him hard. He needed to be gone, like five minutes ago. Dammit, he’d apologize later.
Nick walked in a couple of minutes after Noah left, his expression concerned. The Pack’s commander was a big SOB who put off a
The commander pushed a hand through his dark hair, his eyes piercing Ryon’s. “I knew a big change was coming for you. I just didn’t expect it to arrive so soon.”
The hair on the back of Ryon’s neck stood up. In addition to being a rare white wolf—born, not made—the commander was a PreCog, which meant he could sometimes see events before they happened. Or get a sense of something important on the horizon. As much as Ryon hated his own
“What did you see?” he asked in curiosity. And with a bit of dread as well.
