Page 24 of Preacher

Crowbar’s eyebrow ticked up. “Come again?”

“I don’t fucking know.” I waved my free hand at him, the laugh still trying to crawl out around my words. “You think my brain is functioning properly? Images are jumbling in my head, and my thoughts have completely collapsed.” I gestured wildly at the wolf. “That should not be—”

“Trent.” His voice was infuriatingly gentle. “Breathe.”

“You fucking breathe!” Another laugh, a little hysterical now. “I think I need a whole bag of caramels.” I waved again, my limbs taking on a life of its own. “You’re his sergeant of wolves arms or fur arms, tail wagging. Oh god.”

The wolf huffed this time, and I could’ve sworn it sounded offended.

I jerked my head toward it. “Don’t you start with me!”

The wolf’s ears flicked.

“I’m sitting on your floor having a breakdown,” I told it, “and you don’t get to have opinions until you have hands again.”

Somewhere behind Crowbar, Drift made a sound that might’ve been a laugh if he hadn’t tried to swallow it.

“Shut it,” I snapped at him.

Drift held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, but the bastard was grinning while he walked away.

“Trent.” Crowbar’s voice was steady. “Breathe. In through your nose. You’re heading for another faint, and Prez can’t carry you right now.”

“He carried me earlier.” It came out thin. “He carried me inside. With his arms. Which were arms.”

“They’re still arms, sort of,” Crowbar said patiently. “He’s just got four of ’em at the moment, more or less.”

“That’s not how arms work.” I tried to push to my feet but slid back down, my legs too shaky to support me.

“It is for him.”

I dragged in a breath. It hitched halfway. I dragged in another one. The wolf was still watching me, still not moving, and the longer I looked at it, the harder it was to pretend I didn’t see what I was seeing.

The eyes. The way it was holding itself low. The cut on the shoulder.

My stomach hadn’t dropped the way it should’ve. Instead, my body was reading the giant predator on the hardwood and going, oh, that’s him, instead of run, you idiot!

That was the part that scared me more than the wolf did. I didn’t want to run. I wanted to take care of Preacher’s shoulder the way he’d taken care of my hunger.

“Shit.” I pressed heel of my hand over my eyes then dropped it. “Okay. Walk me through this, but I swear, if you break my already-broken brain, I will bite you.”

“You sure you want me to?” Crowbar tilted his head. “Once I say it out loud, princess, you don’t get to unhear it.”

“Don’t call me that.” It came out softer this time. “And yes. Say it. Because if I have to keep guessing, I’m going to throw up on Preacher’s leather jacket, and I think we both know that’s going to upset him later.”

The wolf’s tail thumped, exactly once.

I pointed at it without breaking eye contact with Crowbar. “See. He’s listening. He’s listening to me right now, isn’t he?”

“He hears and understands every word.” Crowbar’s voice had gone careful. “He’s been lying there bleeding on the floor for ten minutes because he’s afraid if he moves you’re gonna bolt.”

The laugh tried to come back. I bit down on the inside of my cheek to stop it.

“Why is he bleeding?” I forced the words out. “What happened in the woods?”

“Somebody took shots at the house.” Crowbar’s face went hard for a second, something underneath it that wasn’t gentle at all. “Prez and the boys ran ’em down. Got one. Other one rabbited.”

“With gunfire.”