A Wolf After My Own Heart (BeWere My Heart #2) - MaryJanice Davidson Page 0,1
back up only to see the children’s expressions had transformed; they were actually edging away from her. “Why are you doing that? You guys lured me here. If anyone should be uneasy, it’s me. Shouldn’t you have picked my pocket by now?” She looked around the utterly deserted alley. For the first time, she realized she couldn’t hear anything: no bugs, no birds, nothing. And not much light from the lone streetlight. Downright creepy.
She checked the mouth of the alley for the wolf and was again disappointed to see nothing.
“You’re right, sorry,” the boy said.
“Yeah, sorrywebotheredyougoodbyenow.”
Lila sighed. She was in it the minute she’d stepped down from the vehicle that wasn’t an ambulance. “God damn it. Okay, so, just because I can’t help doesn’t mean someone else can’t.” She stood, only to see the children take several steps back. “Maybe call animal control?” She had to, she realized. You couldn’t just leave a random bear cub in a random alley after random kids flagged down a random adult.
But in the time it took her to fish out her phone and begin looking up Lilydale Animal Control—or would that be Saint Paul?—the children had (cue the dramatic music) vanished. Like the wolf, her patience, and her faith in the good people at Apartment Guide.
“Nice quiet neighborhood,” she muttered to the Realtor who wasn’t there. “Lots of families. It’s in the middle of a national park. Bargain.”
She’d been a Lilydale resident for fewer than eighteen hours and had no idea who to call. And after a day of unpacking, she was standing in an alley at 8:00 p.m. After hitting a wolf. The one thing she did know: she—they—couldn’t stay there indefinitely.
“You’d tell me if you were a metaphor, right, teeny tiny bear cub?”
She scooped it up, surprised by how light it was, given that it was the size of a small golden retriever
(it must be mostly fur, the way birds are mostly feathers)
then checked for the wolf one more time, and headed back to her nonbulance.
* * *
He had her, he had the cub’s scent, he had to
(make her safe)
do his job, he had to
(keep her safe)
and that was fine, he could and he would but then
YOW!
the big noisysmellything bit him and sent him tumbling and here came the Stable so he crouched down down down
(don’t see me)
in the dark hollow by the ditch and here she came
(don’t smell me)
and she was looking and he was he was downwind of her which was good which was perfect and
(oh)
the Stable smelled like berries and blankets, sweet and safe, and it was wonderful, and he didn’t realize he’d followed her out of the ditch until he caught the scent of two more cubs and if they saw if they all saw
(if She saw)
they would be scared and scatter and that would not would not do so he slipped back into the dark and watched and watched and watched and drank in as much of her scent and watched some more.
And followed.
Chapter 2
“Yes. For the third time, I found a wounded bear cub about a quarter of a mile from my house. Well, someone else’s house.”
“What?”
“I’m just renting. And it’s a bargain, or so they keep insisting.”
“A bear cub.” This in a tone that suggested the dispatcher was questioning Lila’s sanity. Which was smart, frankly.
“Fourth time,” Lila pointed out helpfully. “Yes. And don’t forget about the wolf.”
“The wolf.”
“I can’t shake the feeling that you’ve got a criminally short attention span.”
“Can you still see the animal?”
“Which?”
“Do you have eyes on the cub?” the dispatcher asked.
Lila looked down at the animated ball of fuzz taking up her lap (and then some!) while licking honey off her fingers. For a wild creature (was it? maybe it escaped from a zoo? or was someone’s pet?), it was gratifyingly vermin-free, as far as she could tell. It had interesting coloring, too… Most of its fur was a deep black, with a whirl of reddish-orange fur that curled down from its shoulders, forming a rough V-shape down the chest. Its face was broad, with a short snout, tiny ears, and it had cream-colored claws. It—wait.
Lila discreetly checked, then noted she was a little muddy, and her right foreleg was clearly causing her pain, but that seemed to be the worst of it. She didn’t even smell bad, more like…old cotton? Dusty curtains?
“Ma’am? Do you have eyes on the cub?”
“Yeah, I can—ow!—see her. So anyway, my address is…”
“I’m afraid we don’t deal in cubs. You need to call the IPA.”