Page 33 of Samuel
Davidson’s face softened as he glanced down at Carin, still wrapped in her mother’s embrace.
He nodded slowly, as if piecing together a puzzle, and then he turned back to us, his gaze lingering on the blood on Blake’s sleeve.
“This is a lot to take in,” Davidson said, shifting his weight.
“I’d like to hear more, but maybe back at the station? I can get someone out to retrieve…” Davidson hesitated, clearly struggling with the words, “...the father.”
Blake and I exchanged a look. I could sense his reluctance, mirroring my own.
I’d had enough dealings with local authorities to know they could be more trouble than help.
But then Davidson added, “Please.” The hardness dropped from his voice, replaced by a quiet desperation. “There’ve been… more people missing recently. This isn’t the first time. We could use any help you’re willing to give.”
I swallowed my initial objection, glancing at Blake, who gave me a slight nod.
“We’ll come,” I said, my voice clipped. “But Blake’s arm needs attention first.”
Davidson nodded in agreement, seeming relieved.
He gave Carin and her mother a moment to thank us, then ushered us toward his car.
“I’ll have a medic at the station take a look,” he assured us. “It’s just down the road.”
By the time we arrived at the station, Blake’s face was pale from blood loss.
I clenched my fists as we walked in, keeping my focus on him, half expecting the officer to come out with some nonsense to delay us.
But to my surprise, Davidson kept his word.
Within minutes, Blake’s arm was bandaged, and I could breathe a little easier, though the sight of his injury still made me grit my teeth.
In Davidson’s office, Blake took the lead again. He leaned back in the chair, his movements casual, relaxed.
Watching him, you’d think he was recounting an ordinary day rather than explaining an encounter with a rogue wolf.
“We’re trained hunters,” he told Davidson, his tone as smooth as silk. “Our organization sent us here to deal with rogue wolves that have been causing disturbances.”
I watched in awe as he wove a story that sounded both truthful and impossible to refute.
Davidson nodded along, his expression serious.
He believed every word. It was impressive how naturally Blake could blend a believable story with just enough truth to make it plausible.
The sheriff finally sat back, his eyes narrowing as he considered us.
“There’ve been several brutal murders in town lately along with random fires,” he admitted, his voice low. “There’s something off about these incidents, something unnatural. I didn’t know who to turn to.”
Brutal murders and random fires, I thought grimly. So the rogue dragon and wolves weren’t exactly keeping quiet.
Blake nodded, maintaining that easy, reassuring demeanor.
“We’ve seen it before. This is what we do,” Blake told him.
After a few more questions and another silent exchange between Blake and me, Davidson seemed satisfied.
“Thank you, both of you,” he said quietly, a hint of vulnerability in his tone. “I’m grateful for any help you can provide.”
Back in the truck, the tension I hadn’t realized I was holding finally eased, replaced by a new appreciation for Blake.
