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He eased his legs flat.
I crouched over him, peeled away his t-shirt and held back tears as he twisted and screamed at the lightest touch. Organs bulged against the stinking wound; gravity and one shaking left hand kept his intestines from spilling over his jeans. He wouldn't make it another half-hour, let alone survive a trip to the ER. Spoke to the kid’s character, that he’d managed himself to this point. He didn’t deserve what was coming.
“What's your name?” I asked.
“James.”
“Well, James, you are one tough cookie.” I climbed from the chest and helped him sit upright against the inside. “We need to move you, but you aren’t walking out of here with that. I’ll have to bring the truck around.” I circled behind the teen. “Sheriff Harlowe will guard you.”
The wolf’s ears perked.
“I can do it, Caelan.” I shifted the gun into a comfortable position and told James the truth. “This is bad.”
“Humpty Dumpty bad," the boy wheezed. He pointed across the pool. “Our house is past those oaks. You can almost see Mila’s room. My sister, Mila, she loves nursery rhymes. She's not here. She's at a sleepover with my mom’s friend ‘cause my parents are taking me to tour Yale tomorrow. 27 Larkspur Lane, Simsbury. You’ve gotta get her.”
“We will, James.” Hot tears rolled down my face. It took every ounce of willpower I had to hold the firearm steady and not throw my arms around the boy.
“Please, you have to. She’s three. I didn't want to get off my ass and drop her off. I'm so glad I did. If we'd waited, she’d be—”
I shot him in the back of the head. So fast, so sudden, even Caelan flinched. Skull and grey matter splattered the floats. I shut the lid on James’ teak coffin, then my stomach constricted and I was vomiting, vomiting, vomiting, until I couldn't do anything more than collapse beside a pink float and dry heave.
My ears rang, my eyes stung, and as I looked to the reaper for comfort, for reassurance I'd been right putting James out of his misery, that quick was better than what teeth or time could have rendered, the wolf walked to the pool’s edge and growled. Over the sheriff’s raised hackles and flattened ears, a tall, flickering shape lurched into view. A werewolf of the four-pawed variety, charred and burning, dragged its hind legs as it neared the fence.
“Why isn't it dead?” I whispered, resting a sweaty palm on Caelan's flanks. “It should be dead.”
Behind us, the wooden chest creaked.
chapter 15
THE WAIT
The lid locked into the open position. Fabric rustled. Nails scraped the chest’s wooden, bloodied belly. Cold sweat beaded my neck. Fighting every instinct to run, I turned.
James stood hunched, brain-matted hair fallen across his remaining eye. An eye which, as my sharp inhale alerted Caelan to the rising threat, rolled to the shine of a wet pearl. His fingers twitched and spasmed until the nerves in one hand responded enough to clench the rim of the chest. A leg lifted in the same, volatile manner to step out. I ran over and shoved him back down. He fell into the box a wild beast, grunting, clawing, and gnashing bloody teeth.
I slammed the lid and sat atop as furious, raging howls and thumps beat against the teak.
Caelan's growl flattened to an intense quiet. Black fur shining under his opponent’s hellish glow, he rounded the pool and sank into a low stance beside upturned loungers.
Every step smoking, shoulder melting to flame, the werewolf struggled over the low point in the fence. It wriggled and whined, belly caught in an oozing tangle against the chain link until a brutal tug sent its guts slithering. Embers singed the muzzle it directed toward the steaming offal, tattered ears lifting as if in surprise.
A wheezing howl ripped from the remains of its throat.
Answers, mutilated and wholesome both, consumed the night.
I covered my ears, cringing. My throat burned, my eyes watered.
The sheriff leaped. In a swift, deft motion his jaws cut the instigator’s cry. The werewolves became a blur of searing ash and flame, tumbling over and again toward the pool. Momentum flung them into the deep end in a hiss of steam and burbled growls.
The pungent char of flesh and fur drifted through the oily chlorine.
Ready on the trigger, I watched the churning waters.
Golden eyes cleared the surface. Ears pinned, Caelan squeezed past the wreck and paddled to the shallows. Dirty water fell away, but crimson soaked his neck and shoulder. I ran to him, didn't know what I'd do once I got there, but we were getting the hell out together.
A black snout and milky eyes emerged beneath the shadow of the diving board. Extinguished but undeterred, the undead wolf scrabbled against the van’s wreckage.
Considering the savage in the chest, I had my doubts taking aim at the wolf's skull. Pulling the trigger confirmed them. The bullet stalled the wolf for a yelped second, then blackened flesh sheered off its hips as it forced its uncoordinated lower half around the van.
