Fever (6 page)

Logan watched Vincent sink into unconsciousness with mixed feelings. On one hand, he felt satisfaction. The man had lied to him by omission, placing them in extreme danger. On the other hand, he felt overwhelming guilt as the missing pieces finally fell into place.

Last night in the forest
, something had felt wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Now he knew. The werewolf he’d been tracking and the one Vincent had saved him from couldn’t possibly be the same. He’d shot at the one he’d tracked. Heard the yelp of pain as he wounded it. The werewolf who attacked him hadn’t been wounded or visibly scarred in any way until the moment it died.

Vincent had been.

At the time, Logan believed the wounds to be the result of a previous fight. They were prowlers. Injuries happened. But now he came to the horrible realization that
he
was the one who’d inflicted such wounds. Him. Under the belief that Vincent was the werewolf behind the elevated deaths and disappearances in the region.

Doubts beg
an to creep into his mind. Did Vincent’s innocence mean that not all werewolves were as bloodthirsty as the Society led him to believe? Could they retain self-control? Perhaps even fight against the merciless and primitive of their own kind?

Logan shook
his head to clear it. There wasn’t time to think about that now.

He
worked his arms under Vincent’s shoulders, gingerly hauling him up. His arms burned with the strain, and his nostrils flared. The moment Vincent was upright, Logan bent and allowed him to fall across his shoulders.

“I should be used to lugging your ass around
by now,” he panted. “Anna, the door?”

Her
brow wrinkled in confusion, though she moved to push it against the wall. “Where are you taking him?”

“
This room is trashed. We’re moving to another. I doubt the motel owner will mind. You and I need to swing by the hospital.”

“We can’t just leave him here,”
she protested, following him outside. “The werewolf I shot at managed to escape. What if it returns to kill him?”

“I thought you wanted
him dead.”

“But you don’t.”

He waited while she picked the lock of the next room. The moment she opened the door, he shuffled inside.

“
Wait a minute,” she snapped, stepping in front of him protectively, her gun drawn. While she made quick work of searching the room and bathroom, Logan dumped Vincent onto the nearest bed.

He groaned when he straigh
tened, stretching the muscles in his back.

“We’ll lin
e the room with silver shavings,” he decided. “He’ll be perfectly safe.”

Anna holstered
her gun. “Unless the motel burns to the ground.”

“
We still have my second radio. We’ll hide both of yours in here, too. I think the werewolf you chased off would rather make us desperate enough to call the Society, so it can track the signal back to base.”

“It
can do that?”

“Without a doubt.”

She stepped outside to grab the bags from the other room, calling behind her, “And why aren’t we going for backup? If the werewolf is strong enough to shred your pal, we shouldn’t take it on alone.”

“
It knows our scents. We’re surrounded by werewolf territory. My car is crap, as you so eloquently put it. We can’t all ride that speed demon you call a motorcycle.”

He pulled the co
vers from the second bed and placed them over Vincent. Then he retrieved two towels from the bathroom. They needed to keep the bleeding under control. Stitches would help, but they wouldn’t save him unless the silver antidote was flowing through his bloodstream, and soon. He’d really done himself in with the fresh silver burns on his hands.

With an exasperated sigh
, he sat at Vincent’s side. “You sure know how to mess yourself up, don’t you? We’ll need to talk about this self-sacrificing complex of yours when you wake up.”

He
moved the covers to tie one towel around Vincent’s thigh. It was a wreck, but it could wait. The most severe wounds were those on his chest. Any one of them might have punctured his lung cavity.

Anna
was breathing heavily when she returned, dumping the bags onto the stripped bed. “My radios are in the blue duffle. So is my first aid kit.” Pause. “We could go for backup together, you know. Just you and me.”

She wore
an expression of pained remorse. The realization that she was suggesting they leave Vincent to die made Logan narrow his eyes. “I won’t abandon him.”

The declaration
earned him a view of her back. She began to pace, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her jacket, followed by a lighter. It was the silver flip-top kind, with a skull carved into the side.

After lighting a cigarette
, she finally spoke. “You are the most frustrating man I’ve ever met. What do you really know about him? Has he ever killed anyone before? Will he kill you the next time he changes?”

“I trust him more than I trust you.”

The flash of hurt in her eyes wasn’t as satisfying as it should have been.

“That’s not fair,” she exhaled
.

“Isn’t it?” he challenged.

Somewhere deep within him, he knew he was being harsh. But he couldn’t stop. The way she’d abandoned him in the dead of night was unforgivable. It spoke of who she really was. Not the façade of strength and compassion that made him fall in love with her, but her dark, selfish nature for revenge that would always come before anyone in her life.

“I never claimed t
o be perfect, Logan. That was your belief. You elevated me to perfection, and when I couldn’t fulfill your fantasy of flawlessness, when I acted
human
–” The word caught in her throat. Avoiding his stare, she brought the cigarette to her lips with trembling fingers.

Damn her for looking so
wounded.

Logan grabbed the first aid kit and busied himself with cleaning Vincent’s wounds.
It was too late for apologies. All those nights wondering what happened to her, praying she was alive… It had all been for nothing.

She’d left him of
her own free will, without so much as a note. All because she’d caught wind of the werewolf who’d killed her parents. Their deaths were the reason she became a prowler in the first place. While tragic, it wasn’t uncommon.

The cold,
bitter truth was that avenging the death of her parents wouldn’t bring them back.

They were dead.

Logan wasn’t.

But something inside him
had died when Anna abandoned him: his trust in her. No matter how apologetic she appeared now, no matter how much her pain tore at his heart, he couldn’t allow her to manipulate him. Not again.

“Look,” he began,
voice gruffer than he intended. “Let’s just get through this. I’ll stitch these wounds and then we’ll go to the hospital and retrieve the antidote.”

“
He doesn’t have much time. I can go alone.” Her voice had also hardened. “I don’t need your help.”

“Don’t be stupid. You need back
up. Even if you didn’t, there’s no way I’d trust you not to destroy whatever antidote you find. You might save a sample for the Society, but–”

“
And how do you plan to stop me from leaving?”

Before he could stand, Anna m
arched for the door.

“Wait
!” he yelled, rising to his feet. “You can’t go out there alone. This town is full of werewolves. Anna!”

The slamming door was her
only reply.

Logan moved to follow
, but his steps faltered when blood began to pool under Vincent’s rib cage.

“Damn it,” he muttered
. After grabbing the first aid kit from Anna’s duffel bag, he draped a fresh towel over Vincent’s chest. He applied pressure with one hand and fumbled for the disinfectant with the other.

First aid wasn’t even his specialty. It was hers. But since he could neither trust her enough to leave her
alone with Vincent, nor retrieve the antidote, it looked as though the decision had been made for him.

Again.

Vincent was burning. Fire surrounded him, but he couldn’t open his eyes. He called on the wolf to help him. If he could just open his eyes…

He heard a low whine
from somewhere within the depths of his mind. It was so soft that for a moment, he wondered if he’d imagined it.

His heart began to race.
Where was the wolf?

His head tossed on the pillow beneath
his head. This was wrong, all wrong. He was alone.

A hand rested on his forehead, and he jerked in surprise. A soothing litany of
syllables drifted down to him. But he couldn’t rest until he found the wolf. His lips parted to voice some sort of protest. The only sound that emerged was that of his chattering teeth.

He was so tired. Sleep pulled at him, even as something invaded his ear. A sound did escape him then, and he turned
his head away, but the invader was relentless, following his movements until it was joined by the soothing voice. The voice quickly grew impatient with him. Vincent lay still for a short time, hoping they would disappear. There was a beeping alarm and a distant curse before the darkness overwhelmed him…

A vision of a
study came to him, as if a dream. Leaning towers of books stood piled high in stacks. Thick and thin, new and worn, they declared titles like,
Adventures of Backyard Exploring
and
On the Playground.
These were the worn titles, their gold lettering faded atop hardcovers. The pages bound between such covers were brittle and musty, appearing as though they might crumble into dust if they were turned.

Vincent avoided reading the newer titles as he weaved between
the stacks. There was a flickering glow up ahead, and though he was burning, he didn’t wish to wander the lonely aisles of his life alone. He missed the wolf, the protector forever by his side.

The back of a
chair came into view, stationed before a roaring fire. How curious it should be that there was no fireplace. Only a vast expanse of grass beneath the stars. Vincent breathed the night air, thankful for the cold against his skin.

He walked around
the chair and allowed himself to sink into it. Waves of heat from the fire washed over him, but unlike before, it wasn’t unbearable. It was comforting. He leaned his head back and gazed up at the stars, fully aware of the stacks in the study behind him. They piled higher and higher without a roof to confine them. Somehow, he didn’t mind that they might touch the stars.

When he lowered his gaze, golden eyes appeared to him through the darkness, beyond the fire. He knew they were the eyes of the wolf, and smi
led in invitation. Ever so slowly, the wolf approached, but Vincent could tell something was wrong by the way it limped. It only stopped hobbling toward him once it reached the fire. There it collapsed onto a bed of grass, curling up into a ball.

“Please,” Vincent found himself pleading to it. “Don’
t give up. I need you.”

The words were slurred
, but somehow, he knew the wolf understood. It stared at him with pity. Even the simple gaze connecting them was enough to lend Vincent strength. The scene around him faded away, replaced by a disorienting fog.

A ceiling was shaking above him.
The longer he blinked up at it, the more he realized it wasn’t the ceiling, but him. He was shaking under a blanket. But it was so hot. It didn’t make any sense.

A weight sett
led on the bed beside him. Something blissfully cold was placed on his forehead. Vincent tried to speak, but all that escaped was a pathetic moan of confusion and pain. Had he been dreaming?

Someone
murmured, “You’re okay, man. You’re going to be okay.
Shhh.
”

He
didn’t immediately recognize the voice. He must have been in the hospital.

Maria,
he tried to say,
Call my wife, Maria. She’ll be worried about me.

The man
didn’t understand his words. Didn’t move from his side. Vincent tried to push him away, to make him understand, but his arms were too weak. If he could get out of bed, he could find a phone himself.

Something stopped him when he tried to push t
he blankets off. When he tried to sit up, hands gripped his shoulders, guiding him back down.

“No,” he finally gurgled
. He needed to get up. He wanted to ask what happened to him and why fire licked his chest. There was no study around them and no field of grass, so where was the fire coming from? He decided that if a fire could burn between the civilized and primal in his dream, it might also burn between the lucid and incoherent here. For he was both, yet neither.

Sweat trailed
down his face. It soaked the pillow beneath his head, but it wasn’t enough. The air awaiting him deep within the forest would cool him down. He knew it would. Ice crystals cast in shadow had already nested against the hollows of roots. Burrows left by foxes and bears lay vacant, in need of a warm body to cradle through the night. The earth would lull him to sleep with the natural aromas of soil and pine, chasing away the fire dancing over his chest.

He shifted restlessly. Wher
ever he was, the blankets pressing him down were too  binding. They swaddled him as if he was a child. But they wouldn’t suffocate the fire. Only him. The fire would remain, burning through the lives of everyone around him.

“Ju
st take it easy,” he heard. He tried to free his arms in response, plainly demonstrating why he couldn’t relax, couldn’t breathe. “
Shhh.
It’s all right. Just go to sleep.”

Something
wet was lifted from his forehead. A hand pushed his hair back from where it clung to his face.

V
incent squinted up at the man beside him, unable to keep his eyes open much longer. He couldn’t make out a face. The unfamiliarity was frightening. A growl rose in his throat, and the hand pushing his hair back paused.

“
Stop.” The scolding tone reminded him of the one his father used. “None of that.”

As a cool weight settled on his forehead once more
, the growl quieted to a whine. But the fear remained. Why couldn’t this man tell him anything? Something told him that he meant no harm, but there was an air of danger about him. Vincent needed to know what it was. His instincts needed to know.

Something pressed against his li
ps. Water trickled over his chin, running down his neck. It made him shudder. The heat surrounding him disappeared, and his teeth chattered more violently. It was suddenly so cold. He yearned to have the fire back.

“Drink.”

His lips immediately parted, though he wasn’t certain why. The water tasted bitter, like it had been sitting in the pipes too long. It soothed his scratchy throat. He was only allowed two or three sips before it was taken away, but he couldn’t swallow any more. The man who offered it to him seemed to know that.

A wave of vertigo washed over him. Vincent found
that peculiar, as he was already on his back.

“Sorry about the sedative,” he heard. “I d
on’t like slipping people drugs, but something tells me I’d like a delirious werewolf even less. I’ll do my best to keep your fever down. Hopefully it’s a result of your injuries. Those should heal pretty quickly once Anna returns with the antidote…”

The blanket was pulled
out from under him and away from his chest, while the man continued to speak in soothing tones.

Vincent
couldn’t make out the words anymore, but it didn’t matter. He was cold and he wanted the blanket back. Ten more, even. He wanted the weight of them to press him down.

His legs were heavy and uncooperative as he turned onto his side and tried to curl into a ball. The wolf had done so with certainty. He could do the same.

Except he couldn’t, because a bolt of pain made him cry out. The voice above him sounded less than pleased, berating him with words he couldn’t understand. Hands straightened his legs by pushing his knees down, and then gently rolled him onto his back once more.

Fingers inspected
his chest with a feather-light touch. He snarled in warning and tried to arch backwards, unwilling to experience pain again. It still lingered, doing nothing to quell the nausea in his gut. But the drugs in his system prevented him from moving very far. There was only a
creak
from a worn spring when he shifted.

“Just l
et me cool you down. Don’t fight me.”

Understanding dawned. Vincent waited for the stranger to say something else he might understand, too occupied to care about whatever
trailed over his shoulders, neck, and arms. It left behind a wake of cold air, and he shivered.

One of his hands c
ame up, weakly grabbing the man’s wrist to stop him. The ministrations briefly paused, there was a sigh, and then his hand was guided back down to his side.

“Should have known you’d fight the seda
tive, tooth and nail,” the man muttered. He stood and shuffled away.

Vincent couldn’t be certain ho
w much time passed. He heard rushing water and sloshing. The swift friction between terrycloth and metal. When the footsteps returned, the blanket was pulled away from him entirely.

“Sorry about this.”

Fingers made quick work of unbuttoning his jeans. There was something around one of his thighs that made pulling the jeans off difficult. It wasn’t like he didn’t spend half his time in the buff anyway. The real question was–

His eyes flew open, shoulders rising in alarm
when something heavy and wet covered his uninjured leg.

“Stay down, Vincent.” Hands pr
essed his shoulders to the mattress.

He blearily gaz
ed around, suddenly aware that he was in danger, yet unable to do anything about it. He searched his mind for answers. But his thoughts were scrambled, out of order. Something about silver and the man leaning over him were connected. Bile rose in his throat, but he swallowed hard.

Those eyes. He
recognized those eyes.

Another drenched towe
l was placed over his hips. Then another, over his left arm.

“Stop,” he finally slurred
, distracted. “I don’t– I’m not hot.”

There was a soft chuckle.
“Tell it to the thermometer, man. You’re burning up and I had to try something that would keep your stitches dry.”

A
hand patted his shoulder.

Just leave me alone
, he wanted to say.

But t
he pull of the sedative overpowered him, and he sank into oblivion.