Page 689 of Love Bites

“Chavvah.”

“No,” I said. “You don’t get to die.”

“I am glad for you, Chavvah. I am thankful…” His voice faded as his eyes fluttered to a close.

“No!” I shouted. He was breathing, but it was a quick, shallow panting. The first thing I wanted to do was call my mom. She was a nurse. I needed a nurse. Or a doctor. But the doctor was not fucking in!

Be calm, little wolf.

Shut the hell up! If there was ever a moment to panic, now was the time.

Sister, you are strong. You are brave. Be calm.

This was not how the story ended. Billy Bob and I had a lifetime of stories to create. Brother Wolf could just suck it. “You be helpful,” I cried. “Be helpful.”

I am, little wolf.

That was the second time he called me little wolf. Oh shit. “I’m a wolf!”

I could feel the pleasure of my guardian spirit.

“Sue me,” I said. “This better work.”

I moved my hand off the hole in Billy Bob’s chest, gathered all the saliva in my mouth until it was full then spit on the wound. The white froth mingled with his blood, but nothing happened. There was no magical healing like I’d seen when Billy Bob applied his juju to injuries. Of course, his was usually in some kind of salve or balm. Maybe I was missing a second key ingredient.

“Brother Wolf!”

Be patient.

“Doc,” I said. “Billy Bob Smith, come back to me. I promise I won’t be so stubborn. Just please don’t leave me.” Fat tears along with some pretty awful snot streaked my face. I lay across his stomach, my hand back on the wound. “Brother Wolf, please help me. Save him. Save him.”

“He doesn’t have to,” the low, familiar voice of a certain werewolf shaman doc said. “I…I’m recovering.”

I wiped my runny nose on the bottom of his shirt before I sat up. He moved up on his elbow. A grimace told me he might be better, but he was still in pain. I didn’t let him get too far before I kissed him. I didn’t go all passion-diva on him because he groaned at one point, and it wasn’t because it felt good.

“Sorry,” I said. “I just didn’t think I’d ever have a chance to do that again.”

“You’re going to have the rest of our long, long lives.” He gave me a crooked grin. The wound on his chest looked raw, but it had stopped bleeding. He poked his finger about an inch or two in and plucked out a bullet. “How?”

“I’m part wolf now,” I shrugged sheepishly. “I have my ways.”

“You spit on me.”

“Yep. A great big loogie.”

He stroked my hair back from my face. “Thank you.”

“You took a bullet for me. It was the least I could do.”

“And I would again and again.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I said. “I prefer you among the living.”

“I prefer you alive as well.”

“Then we’re agreed. Neither of us takes a bullet again.”

“This is going to be an interesting life with you.”

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