Stryker

Chapter 1: Stryker

The skin pulled tight on my face and Rogue's black hooves left the ground. The horse's massive body twisted and contorted into the shiny steel chassis of my motorcycle. The mane and tail disappeared. My gloved hands tightened as the leather reins turned to handlebars. 

I'd passed through. The bitter, rank wisps of bubbling yellow sulfur from the fields of Wynter gone, replaced by the pungent scent of pine from the surrounding forest. The mournful howls that always followed me into Cliffmoor had dissolved and the ghostly hisses of owls rained down on me from the ragged tops of the trees. For me, the transition from the fringes of the underworld to the place I called home, the fog-choked coastal town of Cliffmoor, brought sharp pain, an explosion in my chest and head. But the searing pain was short-lived and not nearly as unbearable as the howls and moans of the dying wraiths and misguided souls I'd left behind. They followed me, always. But I'd learned to ignore them, otherwise I'd be fucked.

Barq's flaring, red nostrils shifted into one gleaming headlight as Maximus passed through. "Look the fuck out, I'm back!" Maximus thundered as the bike wheels landed on the pine littered ground. Haunting moans didn't follow Maximus out of Wynter. He claimed that the only sound he heard on his out was Jimmy Page pounding out Led Zeppelin tunes on his Les Paul. 

Maximus gripped the handlebars of his chopper. Thin lines of blood trickled down his giant arm in perfect unison as if choreographed. It was rare for any of us to leave a night of work without less skin and blood than we started.  

Wilder came roaring through last. His thick leather gun belt still hung loosely across his bare chest as the transformation from wolf to man completed. His bike, like Chino, the red roan stallion he rode, was fast and loud. The motor rumbled like a dragon in heat, sending a half dozen slick black ravens from the tree branches. A beautiful female voice whispering dirty words in his ear, that was what Wilder claimed to hear on his way through. Since he always came through with the same satisfied smile, as if plump lips were wrapped around his cock, I figured it must be true. I could never understand why the fuck my passage to the real world was dark and painful.  

We stopped the bikes and watched as the ripped shreds of gray matter sealed back up, closing Wynter off from the mortal world. Other men spent their work shifts on shipping docks or construction sites. We spent ours in Wynter, the stretch of space between life and death. No one knew who came up with the name, but it stuck, misleading as it was. Behind the splintered, tenuous curtain that separated the real world and the nightmare world there was no landscape of snowy hills and cozy cottages dotting the vast, crystal white horizon. There were no snowmen or kids sledding in thick red mittens and woolen scarves. The Wynter that lay just past the jowly, carnivorous mouth of the underworld was a place so thick with mist and sour with decomposition that there was no way to know where the atmosphere ended and solid land began. The liquid air that pooled in the atmosphere was molten hot, making the place an inferno, where one wrong turn or misstep could bleach the skin off your back. Wynter was a place filled with sorrow, desolation and beings so drenched in evil that anyone who ventured past the clawed shadows fringing its clammy borders would quickly beg for a merciful death rather than stay a second longer. 

No one survived passage through Wynter except those born to patrol it. That was us, the Boys of Wynter, Maximus, Wilder, me and Flint, who was back in Cliffmoor recovering from a broken leg. There were others too, others like us who had been tossed into servitude by fathers who chose wealth and power over their sons. 

Stolen from our cribs as sacrificial firstborns to become part of the Wynter pack, we'd spent our first eleven years with Nessa, the old woman charged with the task of raising stolen sons. Those eleven years were filled with adventure, homegrown affection and a sense that the world was filled with light. But that idyllic life in Nessa's cottage on Oldfall Island ended abruptly one night when were ripped from our warm beds by the Wynter trainers. We were thrown instantly into a life that was so far removed from our early years that it would have been less stark if we'd just been murdered in our beds. Those lucky enough to survive the brutal, harsh training grew into men, fearless and powerful beasts cursed with both lycanthropy and mortality.  For thousands of years, Boys of Wynter have guarded the mortal world against the wraiths and demons who lurk aimlessly in the desolate shadows outside the underworld.

"Don't know about you two assholes, but I'm heading straight to the Seven Sins for a bottle of whiskey and, if the plan in my head works out, a royal good fuck with Dancy and Mirra," Maximus crowed as he turned back to his handlebars. 

"You mean your cock," Wilder muttered as he shoved his black boot onto the foot peg.

Maximus shifted on his motorcycle. The chrome and black chassis creaked under his weight. We were all bigger than the average motherfucker, but Maximus took size to a whole new record. With his sharp black eyes and dark fiery blond hair shaved short at the sides and left long down the center, I'd seen wraiths take one look at him and rather than wait to be obliterated just swallow their unwanted fate and disappear into the underworld, preferring the pits of hell to a run in with the menacing giant. Human reaction was even more intense. Even Wilder seemed to regret his comment as Maximus lifted his dark blond brow at Wilder. 

"Why the hell are you talking about my cock?"

"You mean if the plan in your cock works out. You said head but I think you meant cock. Your head rarely has anything to do with your decisions." Wilder was normally the guy with the sealed shut mouth. He only commented when he thought it was worth the effort, but we'd had a long shift of destroying wraiths and he was obviously feeling a little punch drunk. 

I was right there with him. After one full midnight to midnight shift, we were free for a day while another pack slipped into Wynter for their patrol. And it always took a full day to recover. 

I glanced down at my shredded skin. My last chase of the night had been a screamer, a pink eyed wraith with a shriek that nearly split my head in two, especially in wolf form when my hearing was ten times as sensitive as in human form. I'd been shaking off the effects of a screech that was explosive enough to mess with my brain cells when the slimy creature scratched my chest with its hooked claws. Fortunately, we healed fast, faster than the average human. We could die just like any mortal, but we didn't go easy. 

I twisted the throttle and the motor stuttered beneath me. "Yeah, let's go. I'm ready to drown myself in some whiskey and Wynter Fare pussy too." The Wynter Fare were the group of luscious and infinitely horny women who were disciplined and successful in their careers, but who liked to have wild, no strings attached fun in their time off. Much like rich rock star groupies following their favorite band's summer tour, the Wynter Fare hung out in the Seven Sins waiting for the Boys of Wynter. To the Wynter Fare we were members of a dangerous, rebellious motorcycle club, who spent long nights wreaking havoc. They had no clue that we were wreaking havoc in the underworld. They were, without a doubt, the finest perk that came with an otherwise hellish job. 

As I leaned down over my bike, a small crackling sound raced up my bare back. I knew what it was without turning. Wynter wraiths had an odor that was unmatched on earth. You could be standing five hundred yards away, and the smell would still seep into your skin and invade every cell causing a brutal assault on all your senses. 

The three of us dropped our boots to the ground and stood over our bikes. We twisted back to watch the creature flutter along the pine littered floor of the forest, pretending as if it belonged in this world. Every forest critter within twenty feet scattered. Even the trail of ants marching beneath the dead leaves picked up their regiment and scurried away fast. The odor emanating out from beneath its tattered black cloak was not as foul as most, which meant it was young or a wraith new to the ravages of Wynter. 

"Now how the fuck did that measly piece of shit sneak out?" Maximus growled louder than he should have. I lifted my hand too late to stop him. The wraith's yellow eyes zeroed in on its audience. But even standing in the glowering shadow of three Boys of Wynter, freshly bloodied and streaked with sweat from a night of wraith hunting, the creature howled with a bone chilling laugh.

"Well, fuck," Wilder muttered. "There goes the whiskey and the blow job, and I was hoping to have them both at the same fucking time."

I spoke to my pack mates, all the while keeping my eyes on the misshapen beast as it danced from clawed foot to clawed foot, avoiding the stinging burn of the pine sap. The human world was a harsh, brutal place for a Wynter wraith, but that never kept them from sneaking through the filmy screen of plasma when given a chance. 

"This was my fault. I was on watch as we pushed through to this dimension." I still hadn't taken my eyes off the wraith, and it looked more than ready for a chase. It just waited for the hunter to make the first move. And that hunter was me. "It's small. I'll take care of it. Just remember to leave a bottle for me."

"Are you fucking crazy, Stryker?" Wilder shook his head. "In human form? And without Rogue? Not a good idea."

"It's small and out of its element out here in the forest," I argued. "The thing is already withering away just from swallowing the fresh air. It'll take me ten minutes. Go on. I'll see you at the bar."

Chapter 2: Stryker

Maximus and Wilder rode off reluctantly. I moved slowly as if I was going to follow them, to throw the wraith off. Dead leaves and dirt kicked up as I pulled the bike around in a donut. The beast shot off, leaving behind its stench as I gave chase. 

Wraiths were mostly porous, papery creatures with no purpose except to cause destruction and death. Considered neither alive nor dead, wraiths emanated from the mortal souls of people who had never found happiness in life and who'd found even more strife in death. The more evil the human, the more deadly its odorous half-life. 

Without my wolf senses or my horse, it was harder to stay on top of my fleeing prey. Since wraiths were more gas than solid, they moved swiftly through obstacles, like a foul smelling gust of wind.  In Wynter, my pack mates and I took turns, two of us patrolling the edges of Wynter on horseback, waiting to take out less significant, easy to catch prey like ghouls or banshees. While the other two shifted into wolf form, a state of existence that gave us preternatural senses and speed, both required to catch elusive wraiths, the true demons of the underworld. I'd brushed this hunt off as an easy task, but it seemed I'd misjudged the filthy piece of shit. 

The jagged edges of the wraith's tattered cloak disappeared around the trunk of a tree. I leaned down over my handlebars and twisted the throttle. Two deer came thundering toward me, and I turned sharply to avoid them. Frightened birds scattered from trees, flying blindly into the night sky as the wraith twisted and turned through the branches. I couldn't stop until I had killed the fucking thing. A wraith loose in the human world could cause more chaos, terror and death than the most powerful hurricane. And Feenix, the fuckface who reigned over the Boys of Wynter from his throne in the underworld, would have my head if I didn't prevail. Not that Feenix worried for the mortals outside his realm. His worry would lie in exposure. The last thing the dwellers of the underworld wanted was to let the mortal world know they existed. It was much more fun taunting humans with unexplained sightings, noises and hauntings.  

For some strange reason, the wraith was heading north, away from the cities. As the temperature dropped, fragments of ice bit at the naked skin on my shoulders and arms. Chasing down a runaway wraith was the last thing my body had anticipated after a long night of hunting. My forearms and thighs shook with fatigue as I maneuvered my unwieldy motorcycle through the rough, hilly terrain. I would have given anything to have my horse beneath me traversing the mountainside. The motorcycle was meant for cruising the coast with a beautiful Wynter Fare wrapped around me from behind, her lush tits pummeling my back at each bump in the road. I shook my head to clear it. I couldn't let my guard down yet. I needed to finish off this last ugly, stinking fucker before I could let that happen.

Crumbs of ice turned to blinding snowfall, and I'd lost sight of my repulsive quarry. I had no idea why it was heading up the mountain. There was nothing ahead but brutal cold and the few animals that could survive in the brittle climate of the tundra. Not even trees were much interested in growing at the higher elevations, which helped me once again locate my prey. I was done with this hunt. My stomach nearly gnawed itself with hunger, and the deep crevices carved in my chest from the screaming wraith's claws stung as if they were on fire. 

A sudden movement in the sparse trees up ahead grabbed my attention. A terrified moose barreled out from the shadows. I could see the whites of its eyes as it thundered toward me in blind fear. I turned the bike too fast and laid it down in the snow.  The massive moose stampeded past as if being chased by the devil, which in a way it was. 

I climbed off the bike. It had become too impractical in the snow and trees. Laughing yellow eyes peered at me around the bristled trunk of a pine tree. A hideous squeal followed as the wraith took off through the branches. It was playing a damn game with me. I was waiting for whiskey and a good, stress releasing fuck, and I was stuck chasing a rat-faced, sewer scented court jester. It was times like this that I wished I could shape shift to my more primal self, but shifting now, bloodied and fatigued after an entire twenty four hours on the hunt, would take every ounce of my remaining energy. Then I'd have nothing left to take the ugly little fucker out.  Not to mention that shifting in the mortal world was technically forbidden, meaning there had to be a good fucking reason to do it, and not just for some stupid, throwaway, pathetic wraith. 

Snow was making its way into my black boots, and my pants were soaked, making my legs and feet nearly as cold as my naked torso. The leather from the gun belt across my chest was beginning to stick to my frozen skin. My fingers were stiff from cold as I reached into the holster and pulled out my gun. Wraiths could die in two ways, from the deadly bite of  a werewolf or from a bullet. But the bullet had to enter right between its eyes, the only corporeal part on its body. 

The air thinned and the night sky above was a sea of stars. The only true light came from a slice of moon and the glowing eyes of my prey as it looped through the air like an acrobat. It snarled back at me over its bony shoulder and shot up the hill. My breath puffed out in front of my face. My rage seemed to temporarily heat my skin. The only thing working in my favor at the higher elevation and steep terrain was that the trees had thinned to just a few frost hardy specimens. Aside from the occasional bristly cackle of the wraith, the landscape was as quiet as a morgue. Any animals tough enough to withstand the harsh climate had been scared into burrows or caves by the putrid smelling menace. 

The wraith slipped up and around the edge of a shard of granite jutting out from the mountainside. I readied my gun and crept quietly toward the outcropping. Even in the glacial air, I could still smell the wraith lingering behind the rock. I had no doubt it was planning to jump out and scream at me. That was their usual tact, especially for a small weak wraith with only slightly toxic odor. I would be ready to pull the trigger and hit it squarely between its yellow eyes. 

I stood in the shadow of the rock to catch my breath and then circled around the granite. The wraith hovered in the chilled night air, staring at me with its glowing eyes, a hideous slit for a mouth tilting into a monstrous grin.

"We're done here, fuckface." I lifted my gun, slightly stunned at how still the beast remained, even as it faced down the barrel. 

As my frozen finger curled against the trigger, a black gaping hole opened beneath the yellow eyes and a cloud of noxious fumes covered my face, suffocating and blinding me. I fired a shot and a wraith scream followed.  Somehow, in my blind, dizzying haze, I'd managed to hit the damn thing. But not before it took one last swipe at its nemesis. Through the blurred fog of the fumes, I saw the glint of a blood stained sickle, a deadly, razor sharp hook-shaped blade. It sliced across my chest. The numbness from the cold delayed the pain. My gun belt fell away, and hot blood cascaded over my otherwise icy skin. 

A sickle clawed wraith was rare but more evil and deadly than most. I'd made the rookie mistake of misjudging it because of its size and smell. My miscalculation might just have cost me my life. The acrid fumes cleared, leaving a choking bitter taste in my throat. My eyes felt as if they were pools of fire, and my blood was now painting the powder white snow a deep red. 

I braced my hand against the granite to keep myself upright as I waited for the dead wraith to turn to a gelatinous vapor. My bullet had split its head wide open enough that the two yellow eyes stared in opposite directions. It bubbled into a gray gel before withering into the putrid dust of death. Every last speck then disappeared into the snow. It was gone for good, but it had left me with an injury that might very well prove fatal.

I had inadvertently cupped my palm beneath the river of blood flowing from my chest. It spilled over my fingers, and I watched it cascade to the snow like a macabre waterfall. Bile rose in my throat, and my vision deteriorated as my head swam from blood loss. I scooped up a chunk of snow and held my breath as I jammed the icy crumbs into the gash to slow the flow of blood. It took all my strength to sweep my broken gun belt up off the snow. I shoved the gun back in the holster and jammed the broken leather strap under my arm. I needed to find shelter, a place where I could figure out a way to sew the thick, deep gash. I'd sewn my own cuts many times before. It was a skill we'd learned first before hunting wraith, before shifting into another life form. The trainers, Boys of Wynter who had grown too old and tired for the hunt, taught us first to survive under the worst possible circumstances. When we were eleven, Maximus, Flint, Wilder and I had been yanked from Nessa's comforting and nurturing home. We were thrown almost immediately into the wilderness, naked and scared and without food, water or shelter. It was our first lesson in a long string of lessons that prepared us for our predestined lives. 

The snow had stopped, but the night air grew more frigid. It helped slow the flow of blood. My motorcycle was no doubt buried in a snowdrift a good three miles away. 

I looked around for some sign of life or shelter. While my sight grew dim, my nose picked up the light, sweet scent of burning wood. A fire. A glowing hearth. Somewhere someone had built a fire. I stumbled in the direction of the smoke, fully aware that I was more than likely to get shot by anyone seeing me approach. I was a six foot two, tattooed half naked man. Not to mention that the blood streaming down my chest would make it that much more obvious to a stranger that I wasn't up to anything wholesome or good out on the tundra. 

I stumbled forward several steps and somehow managed to stay upright. The brutal reality that I was quickly losing my bearings sent an unexpected laugh through me, which sent a stabbing pain through my chest. 

I trudged through the deep snow in the direction of the smoke. Each step felt as if I was being sucked into one of the bone breaking sludge holes that dotted the Wynter landscape. It was one of those holes that just days earlier had snapped Flint's lower leg clean in two. In my weakened state, the deep snow pack felt just as treacherous. 

My head pounded enough that even the starlight glinting off the white landscape made me squint in pain. Fuck. That bottle of whiskey sounded better than anything now. 

A pale glow arched over the top of a hill. It wavered as if coming from flames, glowing red flames. I headed toward the glow. The incline was small, but it felt as if I was climbing the final peak of Everest. I stopped at the crest of the hill to catch my breath and regain my balance. The cabin was a wavy blur as if the stacked logs were shifting back and forth in a dance. 

I moved to lift my foot but there was nothing. It was as if I no longer had control over my limbs. I stood there staring at the cabin, a miraculous shelter in the dark of night, a place to sew my wound and regain my strength. Only I couldn't reach it. And then, as if the black night air had swallowed me completely, I dropped to my knees. The last thing I saw was my own blood splattered across the snow.

Chapter 3: Willow

Gunner finished licking his white winter coat and then trotted over to curl up on the rug in front of the fire.

"Gunny, I wonder how many other Arctic foxes are spending this bone chilling night in front of a roaring hearth?"

The fox moved almost as if shrugging off my silly comment before resting his head down. Instantly, his head popped back up, and the white tufts of fur on his triangular ears pointed toward the window.

"Those noises you are hearing are the snow critters who actually live outside. Yes, there are some poor souls out there in the freezing snow." I focused back on my book and got no more than two sentences in when Gunner shot to his feet and raced to the window. He stood up on his back legs, resting his front paws on the window sill. Three sharp barks followed.

"It's going to be one of those nights, isn't it?" I shook my head and dropped my book onto the table. "Every noise barked at and every wisp of wind howled at."

I humored the fox and joined him at the window. I smeared away the condensation on the glass pane and peered out into the night. It was just a dark speck. It could have been dust in my eye or a rogue eyelash hanging over my iris, but it wasn't.

I patted Gunner on the head. "Good job, Gunny. We better go see if it's a wounded animal."

I grabbed my woolen cape and draped it over my threadbare cotton pajamas. After two years living in the bitter climate of the tundra, I'd grown so used to the frigid temperatures, I had little need for protective winter gear. Of course my unique genetic nature probably helped with my astounding acclimation to the cold. 

I grabbed the kerosene lantern off the table and wrenched open the front door. Gunner and I instinctively turned our faces away from the icy wind pummeling the cabin. My bare feet plunged into the snow, and I plowed toward the motionless animal. 

It was hard to discern where the lump ended and the dark night sky began, but the bright white canvas beneath showed the bold outline of something big. A bear, I thought. Too big to be a mountain elk, and there were no antlers jutting up from the ice.

Gunner released a frightened yelp and raced back to the cabin. I lifted my lantern and watched my faithful friend push open the door with his paws and disappear inside. Gunner was easily frightened, but I'd never seen him dash away from an animal that was so gravely injured that it no longer posed a threat.

I pulled shut my cape and trudged ahead. I saw no flicker of life, but as I neared the lump, a breath caught in my throat. The black outline in the snow had been blood, a pool so wide there was little chance that the animal lying in the center of it was still breathing. I still couldn't make out the form, and the biting wind made my eyes water and my vision blurry. I lifted the lantern higher but the light wavered wildly in the wind.

I finally reached the bloodied mass, and the breath I'd caught earlier ushered out in a long, stunned sigh.

The recent storm had left a good two feet of powder, and, apparently, a dead stranger. The man was lifeless and blue, wrapped in a cocoon of ice and blood and drained of color. Except the blue, the blue that assured me he was dead. 

Everything else was as it should be, a never ending carpet of white and cold. There were no footsteps leading to the place where he had given up his fight to survive. But then two feet of snow would have erased them.

It was terrible but I was relieved to see that he was dead. I was guardian only of the animals. Sabre had handed out that edict herself. A hybrid freak, as the other guardians had so charmingly labeled me, was not allowed to watch over humans. And it had suited me fine. The animals, even the ones that made their homes in this harsh environment, were my charge. It was what I wanted. It was as it should be. 

I ran my lantern like a sputtering spotlight over the man from head to toe and suddenly felt guilty for being thankful he was dead. Even in his lifeless state, he was a breathtaking, powerful example of a man. The dark lashes that cast spiked shadows over his sallow cheeks hid what I could only imagine were incredible eyes. And the magnificence didn't stop there. The thick corded muscles of his naked torso drew my gaze along his body. I looked past the horrid, mortal wound on his chest as my eyes drifted along the sinewy muscles of his stomach, symmetrical rows of hard muscle bisected by an erotic trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath the low slung waist of his buckskin pants. My gaze stopped for far too long to take in the outline of his manhood beneath the well-worn fabric. Instantly, the natural urges I constantly suppressed seeped into every muscle in my body and a warmth trickled between my legs. I could never deny the passion that I kept tightly hidden. It was always there, waiting to burst free from that iron box I called a heart. My mother had given me the innate ability to walk with the wild animals, a connection and skill that I cherished, but she'd also passed on to me the curse of insatiable physical lust. Only she had allowed that hunger to rule her life. It had left her alone and heartbroken. I had no intention of making the same reckless decisions. Living in a barren landscape, surrounded only by critters of the tundra, had made that an easy task. 

I glanced around the area one last time to decipher how the man had gotten so far in the frozen terrain. But there was nothing. It was as if he'd been dropped there at my doorstep for no other purpose except to die. 

I couldn't leave his body out on the snow. It would attract every type of carrion-eating predator, and I couldn't bear to watch the man have the flesh eaten from his bones. He had been someone's brother or son or husband. I stared down at his restful face. His full mouth had turned blue from the cold, even in the bristly warmth of his beard. I couldn't imagine the depth of heartbreak some woman would be feeling once she realized she'd lost him. 

I stomped back to the cabin and pushed inside. Gunner had resumed his position in front of the fire, only this time he was pulled in a much tighter circle as if hiding from something. 

"It's all right, Gunny. The man is dead. He can't harm you." 

I put the lantern, which had fizzled to a mere red glow in the cold air, on the table. I'd have to rely solely on the moonlight's reflection off the snow. I pulled on my boots and added a scarf around my neck. I lifted it up over my nose to keep the frost from my face. I plucked Pilgrim's harness off the door hook and headed out to the back of the cabin. I whistled for Pilgrim as I set to work readying the sled. Although to call it a sled was an overstatement. It was a crudely made stretcher, a worn out bear pelt stretched between sturdy branches. But with Pilgrim's help, it was the perfect vehicle for transporting injured or sick animals. Only tonight there was no moose or bear or elk. 

I heard the plodding, padded feet of Pilgrim behind me. The polar bear's oversized black nose twitched in the direction of the blood scented snow. His black eyes showed me that he knew why I'd summoned him. I had no real plan except to drag the body to the shed behind the cabin where it would be safe from carcass eating birds. 

I lowered the leather harness over Pilgrim's big head and buckled it on tight. This was no light cargo. I only hoped I'd have the strength to drag the man onto the sled. Pilgrim lowered his round head and moved slowly through the new snow behind me. I put my hand up to lead the bear around in a circle so that the bottom edge of the bear hide was right below the man's dark hair. 

I stood for a moment and tapped my chin to devise a plan. I saw no other way. I stepped over him so that I had a foot on each side of his head. My boots squelched in the slushy mix of blood and snow, and I was thankful that I'd had the forethought to pull them on. I gazed down at the man with his muscular arms and legs splayed out in the snow. The weight of him had caused his body to suck down into the snow. If only he'd sunk deep enough to disappear completely into an icy grave, then my burden would not have been so great. 

I pushed the scarf up over my face to keep it warm and leaned down over the body. I curled my fingers under his arms. Then I crouched lower, nearly sitting on his face as I used all my strength to pull him. 

"Fuuck." The sound was low and deep. Nonetheless, it sent me a good five feet into the air. I landed with a thud in the blood drenched snow right next to the man. 

I glanced at Pilgrim, who had turned his big head and fluffy ears back toward the sound. I couldn't talk directly to animals, but I always knew well what they were thinking and Pilgrim was assuring me that the sound hadn't come from him. 

My mind worked to decipher what I'd heard as I pushed up to my knees and leaned down over the man. Perhaps it was just the mythical death rattle I'd heard, the final sounds of a body shutting down for good. Only I'd never heard mention of the rattle sounding like the word fuck. 

I pushed it off as my imagination. Now, covered in his blood, I rose up on my knees and was close to standing when a large, icy hand grabbed my wrist. He had moved so fast, I didn't have time to work up a proper scream. But I was sure my eyes showed my terror as he revealed his pale green gaze. 

He stared hard at the dark pink star, the angel's mark, on my forearm and then lifted his heavy lids to look at me. The scarf was still around my face and I was relieved that he couldn't see how stunned and frightened I was. 

"Are you a guardian?" His voice was deep and gravelly.

His strong fingers dug into my flesh, and I was sure my wrist bones would break in his grasp. I swallowed hard to get my words flowing, muffled as they were by the scarf. "Yes but only for wild animals."

"That works." As he rested his head back onto its frozen pillow, his dark lashes dropped down, covering the unearthly green of his eyes.

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