Call of the Highland Moon (The MacInnes Werewolves #1)

Call of the Highland Moon (The MacInnes Werewolves #1) Page 5

Then there was a soft noise which, while it might have been the wind, sounded like the whimper of an animal. A dog, maybe. And it sounded like it was coming from her back door.

Carly’s brows drew together in concern as she left her purse where it was sitting and strode quickly back to the stockroom. She hoped to God it wasn’t a stray, half-frozen to death from hunger and the cold. If that was the case, she’d probably end up taking it home for the night and playing nurse until she could get it to the vet’s tomorrow, and that was really going to trash her plans for the rest of the evening. Well, she consoled herself as she headed for the back door that opened out into the alley, it wouldn’t be the first time. And it was a matter of pride that, as famous as she was for being the local bleeding heart when it came to the befurred and in need, she hadn’t lost one yet.

Regan, Carly knew, couldn’t understand why her best friend had such a soft spot for strays. But it was well known that Bodice Rippers’ back stoop always had fresh bowls of food and water for all things feline or canine. It was a compulsion for Carly, always had been, and she’d seen every stray that had come to her doorstep down to the local SPCA and, eventually, adopted. Still, she knew it wasn’t quite as much fun as having one of your own. That was why she’d decided that this year, for a Christmas present to herself, she was going to go back down to the SPCA and leave with an animal for once. Not a baby, no matter which flavor she chose, but something a little more mature that could handle hanging out with her at work without shredding the stock or terrorizing the customers.

Maybe, she thought as she unlocked the door and pulled it cautiously open, she was going to get her Christmas present early.

Then again, maybe not.

“Oh my Jesus frigging holy mother of …” She heard herself gasp as she got her first look at the ruined beast that lay sprawled across her mat. What had gotten at this poor animal? Carly tried to push past her initial shock and take in the whole picture, not just flashes of blood and fur. It looked like it might be a … dog? If so, it was one hell of a big one. There was blood, so much blood … She couldn’t even begin to tell where it was coming from, and there was so much area on this thing! The chest was pretty bad, she saw, crisscrossed with long, evil-looking gashes. The haunches looked like they’d been munched on pretty good. There was a long, white scar across its one eye that looked old, but everything else was fresh. And if the spreading red stain beneath it was any indication, she didn’t want to see its underbelly. The thought stabbed at her again. What could take down something this big and do so much damage? A Mack truck? Maybe, if trucks had teeth.

Carly chewed at her lower lip, uncertain of how to proceed. If only it could have been a friendly, slightly frozen golden retriever! Even an ornery, hungry little Chihuahua!

But no, not for her, she thought miserably. All she got was a very big, very dead mutant dog. “Well, merry freakin’ Christmas,” she muttered, ignoring the petulant tone she heard in her voice and focusing instead on the great black lump of shredded fur before her. She noticed two things almost immediately. One, it wasn’t dead … yet. Its sides were still moving faintly. Two, the more she looked at it, the less it looked like a dog and the more it looked like a …

But they didn’t have wolves around here, did they? Maybe this was some kind of weird Great Dane/wolf crossbreed? Because she had never heard of a wolf that looked as though you might be able to ride on it.

Her thoughts scattered as the great beast moved its shaggy head slightly and moaned deep in its throat. Carly made a soft, pained sound in response. She knew what was going to happen, and she was powerless to stop it. She swore she could almost hear the music as every last one of her damned heartstrings was plucked at once. Carly crouched beside it, pity welling up inside her, and reached out her hand.

Don’t touch it don’t touch it you’re going to get your stupid arm chewed off don’t TOUCH IT, her little voice of reason beseeched her, sounding more and more horrified the closer her hand got. She paused, inches away from ink-black fur, knowing how utterly dumb it was to go anywhere near wounded animals with your bare hands. But then, did that really apply when they seemed to have sought you out specifically just to throw their sad, broken selves at your mercy?

Oh, hell, you’re going to touch it anyway, aren’t you?

Carly felt a moment of shock, an odd little spark of connection as she reached the rest of the way and slid her fingers into thick, soft fur. Instantly, inexplicably, all of her misgivings were put to rest as she stroked the wolfdog’s cheek. She didn’t know how or why, but somehow Carly was sure that she was in no danger here. “Oh, you poor thing,” she sighed, melting the rest of the way when, rather than baring its teeth at her, the animal simply turned its muzzle into her hand, seeming to seek comfort, and then sighed deeply and went limp as it lost consciousness.

Carly continued stroking the beast, lapsing into an almost trancelike state as one hand, then both, moved over the velvet ears, the silken flank, the massive paws, stroking over both bloodied, matted areas and those that had escaped damage. She had never felt fur like this, so warm and soft she could hardly keep from burying her face in it. She wanted to curl up against the massive chest, draw from the warmth, the softness, and sleep …

It was only the sight of the slow but continuous bleeding still oozing from beneath the animal that finally snapped Carly to, and by then both of them were covered in a thin blanket of snow.

“Shit,” she hissed, shaking her head to clear it. What the hell had come over her? She was a big-time animal lover, sure, but she couldn’t remember ever totally losing it over something as simple as a quick pet. She’d just worked too late, she told herself as she stood, brushing the snow off of her coat. Worked too late, for a whole bunch of nights, and then had a giant dog decide to bleed out all over her back stoop. It was the perfect recipe for a little bit of goofiness on her part, Carly consoled herself, even as she made a mental note to let Jemma and Chris take on a little more responsibility around the shop, much as it pained her to give over any control. Bodice Rippers was her baby, but she wasn’t prepared to work herself into the nuthouse just on some stupid principle. She needed more rest. She needed, maybe, a day off once in a while.

She needed to figure out what to do with Barkley, here.

It took her exactly three minutes to decide on a course of action. She just hoped her back was up to it. Her nice new chenille throw would have to do as a makeshift stretcher, Carly decided with a defeated sigh. And if she didn’t want animal control or the cops called, outside help was pretty well out of the question. She didn’t know how far the two of them were going to get, but there was no way she could leave this thing out in the cold to die; that was for sure.

“Well, big guy,” she said softly, looking down at the dog’s still form, “it’s up to you. Think you can fit in the backseat of a Mini?”

One large, amber eye opened slightly to regard her, the unnerving gaze holding a lot more understanding than Carly cared to think about right then. All she knew was, if it was going to come to and still be as lovey with her as it had been initially, maybe she wouldn’t have to do all the work. She’d concentrate on that and worry about dog eyes that looked more human than canine later, once she had it bandaged up and resting comfortably in front of the fire. Her fire.

Looked like maybe she wouldn’t have to go all the way to the SPCA for company after all, she thought a little ruefully as she hurried off to get the throw. And maybe, just maybe, she’d go ahead and name it after the monstrously huge dog on Sesame Street. God knew it was going to have to be that or Clifford.

You are such a sucker, her common sense whispered to her before apparently giving up and going to bed for the night.

“Okay, Barkley,” Carly said when she returned, taking a deep breath before kneeling and getting to work. “Let’s get you home.”

Chapter Three

“INTERSTATE 81, NORTHBOUND AND SOUTHBOUND, IS currently closed from Syracuse to Watertown as this stalled-out weather system hasn’t budged since last night. Below-zero temps, high winds, and lots and lots of blowing snow are gonna make this a good day to stay in, folks. State troopers have declared no unnecessary travel…”

Carly groaned softly as she slapped at her alarm clock until she hit pay dirt and the morning radio deejay abruptly shut up. Seven a.m., and the wind outside was moaning, making more noise than her little clock radio could ever have aspired to.

And by some miracle, the power wasn’t out.

Not that it counted as a reason to actually get out of bed or anything.

Staying curled into a tight ball beneath the cozy fluff of her down comforter, she opened one eye just a crack, noting the gray cast of the light faintly illuminating her small bedroom. Then, going with instincts finely honed from years of living in the North Country, Carly shut it again in preparation for at least two more hours of sleep. It looked like she had her excuse to play hooky. Now all she had to do was sleep late, laze around in her pajamas, relax, and dig into a good book.

Well, that and figure out what to do with the abnormally large wolf-dog that might or might not still be sleeping and/or breathing out in the other room.

Carly frowned and burrowed more deeply beneath her covers. It could wait. She didn’t want to think about it right now. Which, of course, meant that it was all she could think about right now. Not to mention last night. She wasn’t normally prone to nightmares, excepting the occasional oh-my-God-I’m-naked-at-the-mall anxiety dream, but it seemed like she’d passed the entire night caught in a jumble of hazy, disturbing images. Glowing eyes. Hulking, menacing, inhuman shadows. Some weird, nasty-looking mountains beset with funky violet lightning. And padding through all of it, just ahead of her, had been a giant black wolf, her tour guide on what had seemed like a field trip through Hell.

Naturally, that particular wolf had borne a striking resemblance to a certain something she’d decided to bring home with her. Something that might almost be a full-blooded dog … if you squinted at it hard enough.