Page 33 of Soulmates
“Sure. Maybe my boots made it through the firestorm.”
And maybe wolves can fly.
OXO
My Fluevogs did not survive the apocalypse. My suitcase, however, did, but if shifting to my wolf had burned, shifting again so soon will feel like diving into a pool of battery acid. I opt for the wolf, rationing my energy so I don’t become an even greater liability.
Because this is, without a doubt, all my fault.
Our cute little hideaway cabin is now three walls and some rubble, festooned with strands of decorative yellow police tape. We stay long enough to collect what we can, then drag everything along a narrow trail to the old Forest Service road where Trajan left his Escalade SUV. And thank the sweet baby Jesus, it’s still there.
I put off the shift as long as possible, riding shotgun and pretending not to hear Trajan muttering about lupine insanity. The hum and sway of the big vehicle makes my wolf queasy. When Trajan finally pulls off the freeway, the best I can do is an irritated yip.
He parks at a strip mall, a low white rectangle with black glass andneon signs.Yum Yum Donuts. Teriyaki. $8 Hair Cuts. Words in a script I can’t read. We’re not far from the road, and it’s not like I can shift in the car. “Hang on,” he says, and climbs out.
He goes to the door between the donut shop and the hair salon, his cell phone stuck to his ear. He doesn’t knock, but after a minute, the door opens. I can’t see the person he’s talking to, the glass door reflecting headlights from the street behind us.
When Trajan finally comes back, I’m pissed. I snap at him, and he tells me to shush. “Stone is cool.” He steps to the side, putting himself between me and the street, and opens the door. “Go on. I’m going to grab your stuff, and I’ll be right behind you.”
Which means I have to walk into a strange place on his word alone. I growl at him, hackles bunching.
He shakes his head, a hank of hair falling into his face. “It’s okay. If I was going to kill you, I’d have done it before now.”
He has a point, but I still can’t quite keep my upper lip from curling up over my teeth. I give him another snarl and leap out of the car. I cover the distance to the open door in about three steps. Once inside, I come to a dead halt.
A fucking troll is standing right there.
Seven feet tall, maybe 280 or 300 pounds, he’s got a moon face and black hair pulled up in a knot. I crouch, haunches shifting to find traction. Can’t help myself. He’s a fucking troll.
“David,” Trajan snaps at me from the doorway. “Chill out. Stone is my friend.”
The thing about LA is, every one of the three and a half million people in the city moved in with their own crazy traditions. I haven’t been in this town long, but tripping overkelpies and cait sidhe and golems is part of the deal. But a troll? Standing in what looked like somebody’s janitorial storeroom?
Not what I expected.
The door whooshes shut behind me, and I pivot, snarling. Trajan drops my suitcase, sending up a puff of smoke. “Oh for gods’ sake. David, this is my friend Stone.” He strides forward like he’s afraid I’m going to jump at the human mountain. “Stone, this little asshole is David Collins. We need a room where he can shift”—he glares at me hard—“and I swear he’s got manners when he’s on two legs.”
Stone chuckles, a sound that rumbles lower than the foundation of the building. “Sure, Traj.” He jerks his thumb toward a doorway in the corner of the room. “My guys went home already. Just go do your thing and lemme know what else I can help with.”
Wondering how I hooked up with a vampire who had a troll on speed dial, then wondering again at the craziness of the situation, I pad past both of them, refusing to skulk around the perimeter of the room. The door opens at the touch of my paw. The back room is an office of sorts, with a desk and a couch and a flat-screen TV. Porn plays soundlessly, two men working over an enthusiastic blonde. I turn my back and grit my teeth.
This is going to hurt.
Ten minutes later, I’m curled like a fetus, on fire from my soles to my sinews to the straggled remains of my expensive haircut. Three complete shifts in just over twenty-four hours could kill a wolf. Mine just got pissed, and had no problem letting me know about it, clawing at my bones like he could force me back to his form.
“Shh.” I can’t get my finger to my lips. Hell, I can barely pucker.
“What?”
The voice startles me, causing a flinch that brings tears to my eyes.Fuck. This sucks.If it’s not Trajan on the other end of that word, I’m in a world of shit. Pretty much my only option is to play dead, so I do, hoping whoever it is will go away.
“David?”
Damn.It’s Trajan. He’s concerned. I blink to let him know I heard him.
“Stone sent a guy out for a steak. Should he bother to cook it?”
My mouth waters, and even that stings. I inhale. Just gotta get one word out. Exhale. “No.” Yes would have been easier to say, but really, just give me meat.
