I’m not sure how I got there, but a second later I was standing up to my ankles in the icy water on my landing, clad only in my pajama bottoms, with my walking stick in hand. Shut safely in the house, Keen yowled and scrabbled. No way was she getting out here, not with that thing around. I raced up the steps and stood beneath the yard light.
“Come on!” I yelled into the darkness. “Come on, you bastard. You want me, I’m here!”
The little voice inside my head shouted, What the hell are you doing? Get back in the frigging house! But the tsunami within me overwhelmed all reason. My lips retracted from my teeth in a grim caricature of a wolf’s snarl, as though I had real fangs instead of wimpy human stubs. I ran to Peter’s deck and jumped up the stairs two at a time, before turning to stare off into the woods.
The thing emerged from the bush about thirty feet from me. Even over the muffled sound of Keen’s hysterical barking, I heard it growl. Then it stood straight up, towering on its hind legs, and howled.
I took two strides and vaulted over the deck railing, landing in a crouch on the grass, the walking stick held across my body like a shield. The creature dropped back to all fours, and its long white teeth glinted in the dim yard light. At the shoulder, it was easily as tall as me and much more massive, but I felt no fear. A growl rumbled, and with a faint shock, I realized the sounds came from my own throat.
The thing crouched and sprang. I jumped to meet it, but something hit me hard from behind, driving me into the wet grass, holding me down. I poked my head up just as a silver blur collided with the black beast and the two melded into a screaming, snarling ball.
A breath drifted along on my neck, and the weight on my back shifted. I rolled to meet the tawny gaze of the she-beast. The moonlight shone off her glossy chocolate brown coat as she stepped away from me—ears flat and body low to the ground. She turned and leaped toward the fight rolling across the lawn. In a microsecond, all I could see was a writhing mass of multicolored fur.
I snapped back to sanity, and scrambled for the deck stairs, climbing them in a single leap and wrenching open Peter’s door.
“Peter!” I yelled, sliding to a stop in the kitchen. The cheerful yellow room sat in darkness; the entire house silent as a tomb. But both vehicles are here. Where are they?
The snarling sounds from the fight on the lawn cut off, and the image of silver fur scudded through my mind. No. I began to shiver violently as I ran through the rooms, throwing open doors and yelling a name I finally recognized as Chloe’s, over and over. But the house was empty. When I returned to the deck, I couldn’t see any sign of the combatants. The land remained silent except for my poor Keen, whose voice had gone hoarse in panic. I slipped and slid down to my own entrance, shoved past my dog, and spun around to throw the deadbolt. For a moment I leaned against the door and breathed while Keen snuffled and licked me as though she hadn’t seen me in weeks. But then my brain began to thaw, and I hurried through my apartment, shutting and locking each window.
After I latched the final one, I stood in front of it and stared out at the lawn. No sign of the creatures, but—I squinted—something was out there. I blinked. It was still there. And my heart jolted to a halt.
Peter was standing on the grass. Naked. Dark rivulets trailed from his body and shone red in the moonlight.
My breath hitched. I closed my eyes and counted to ten, and when I opened them again, the lawn was empty. As reality crumbled and drifted away like leaves in the wind, the frogs started to sing.
* * *
Fortunately, the clinic remained closed for Easter Monday, and for once, I wasn’t on call. I doubted I could handle any cases, not with what weighed on me.
The morning sun promised another gorgeous spring day as I knocked on Peter’s door. I noticed Dillon’s car had gone and experienced a guilty surge of relief. My resolve might have crumbled if he’d been home. As it was, I debated the wisdom of leaving Keen in the suite. If things spiralled south, I didn’t want her trapped there, easy prey. But I had to trust my instincts.
Despite everything, I still trusted Peter.
In the light of day, my assumptions about last night’s events seemed ludicrous. Yet here I was, facing what could be the lion in his den.
Or should I say, wolf.
Chloe opened the door, and my stomach dropped to my toes when I saw the bruises on her face and the bloody rag in her hand. No welcoming smile this morning. Instead, she just stepped back to let me into the kitchen. Peter was slouched at the table. Beneath his unbuttoned shirt, his chest was a raw maze of claw rips and teeth punctures. The wounds ran to the waistband of his shorts and extended to his legs below. Chloe walked to the table and dropped the rag into a bowl of hot water, which was already crimson with blood.
“Why didn’t you call me?” I asked, surprised at how resigned I sounded.
One of Peter’s eyes
