Allister, J. Rose - Discarded Cowboys [Lone Wolves of Shay Falls 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (14 page)

Chapter Six

Talaitha woke to the sound of a husky, seductive growl and the feel of Drew pulling her closer against his naked form. Her eyes refused to open, and her thoughts were pleasantly numb with sleep, but her body responded automatically to his touch and potent male scent. Even without opening her eyes, she could tell from the pale light against her lids that it was early morning.

Fingers slid over her nipples, which tightened deliciously. Wetness slid from her cunt as she reached down to find him stiff and ready for her. Her hand curled around his cock, which jumped in appreciation. Her pussy dampened in memory of the way that long shaft had slid in and out of her in the shower the previous night. He’d fucked her in slow, maddening strokes until she clutched at the slippery walls and her screams of insane pleasure echoed through the tiny bathroom. Then he’d given her what she’d wanted—hard and fast. Now, she worked her fist over his rock of a dick eagerly, picking up the pace when she heard his erotic moan.

“Roll onto your stomach,” he whispered, interrupting her sexy little flashback. “I want to try somethin’.”

Her stomach gave a flip at the thought. She couldn’t wait to find out what new thing he wanted to tantalize her with, but she’d barely begun to turn over when a disturbing realization hit. The knowledge was strong and sure, and, based on the way Drew suddenly froze, she knew he had picked up on it as well.

Something was wrong with Russell.

Drew tossed back the quilt they’d shared and leaned over her. She turned to Russell. He was lying on his back, his eyes shut tight and mouth open. His skin was dewy with sweat.

Drew shook the man’s shoulder. “Hey, Russ. Wake up.”

The lack of response brought Talaitha more fully awake. “Russell?” She glanced up at Drew, who was scowling over her. “Maybe he’s a heavy sleeper.”

“No, he ain’t. C’mon, partner.” His voice grew louder. “Rise and shine.”

That brought an irritated moan from Russell, but beyond that, he didn’t stir.

“What the hell’s that?” Drew asked, pointing at the bandage on Russell’s side. Her mouth pressed into a tight line when she saw the bright-red stain seeping through the gauze.

Now Drew was out of bed, and he rounded the foot to come around Russell’s side. He bent over the other man while Talaitha rose up on an elbow, frowning down at her mate. With his body still against hers, she could tell he was hotter than usual. And his skin did seem flushed.

Drew pulled open one of Russell’s eyelids, and the man finally flinched. “What the hell are you lookin’ for?” Russell snapped, and Talaitha couldn’t decide whether his slurred speech was due to his drowsiness or not. “Whatever you lost, it ain’t inside my skull. I’m tryin’ to get some sleep here.”

Drew put his hands on his hips. “You, sleep past five? Since when?”

That jerked Russell’s eyes open, though they seemed a bit dazed. “Guess last night wore me out.”

“Or somethin’ else did. When did you change that bandage again?”

“After our shower last night, of course. You’re the one who done it.”

“That ain’t my bandage job.”

Talaitha frowned as she glanced at it. Drew was right. This dressing had been applied hastily, and with four bandages instead of the two she’d watched Drew put on Russell the previous night.

“Oh, right,” Russell said. “I forgot. I had to change it durin’ the night when I went in to take a leak.”

“It shouldn’t have had to be bandaged at all, let alone three bandage changes and still oozin’,” Drew said.

“Suppose you were right about that knife bein’ silver.” Russell tried to sit up, but swore and pressed a hand to his side. “Hurts like a son of a bitch.”

Drew let out an aggravated grunt, and without warning, he yanked the bandage off. He and Talaitha both hissed at the putrid sight and smell beneath, but Russell’s indignant stream of profanity drowned them out.

“Shit, Andrew! What the fuck part of ‘hurts like a son of a bitch’ did you miss?”

Talaitha was too busy gawking at the ugly wound to listen to Drew’s response. “Oh, my God,” she said, her hand flying to her hot cheeks. “I am so sorry.”

“This should be fuckin’ healin’, silver blade or not,” Drew said. “If it was a clean cut, that is. But there’s no doubt. It’s silver poisonin’. I’ve seen it before.”

The gaping wound had seemed to deepen overnight, and yellow puss mixed with bright blood filled the depth of the gash. Angry red flesh framed the outer edges of the cut for a good inch or two all the way around.

“How bad is silver poisoning?” she asked, afraid to hear the answer.

“I need a better look at this wound,” he said.

She stroked wet bangs off Russell’s forehead, regret pounding against her empty stomach. “Will he be okay?”

“Don’t know. Not sure why the wound is festerin’ in the first place.”

Fear hummed through her veins as Drew left the room. She tried not to keep staring in horror at the vile gash, the one that had been completely her fault. She hadn’t meant to cut him at all, let alone with a silver knife. She hadn’t known.

Drew came back with an odd assortment of items that he deposited on the bed. She spotted a first aid kit, some washcloths, bottled water, a magnifying lens, and a flashlight. Without a word, he sat beside Russell and picked up a rag and the bottled water. He poured fluid into the wound, catching the overflow with one of the rags. Russell hissed in displeasure.

Drew took up a rag and sighed. “You ain’t gonna like this one damn bit,” he said. “Believe me, I had other plans for this mornin’ myself.”

He dipped the rag right into the wound, coming up with stinking goo. Russell screamed and tried to scoot away. “Damn it!” Russell shouted. “Take it easy.”

“Hold the fuck still so I can clean this mess out. I need to see what the hell’s wrong in there.”

Russell glared at him, nostrils flaring. “What’s wrong is you diggin’ around like a gold miner. If I didn’t feel like shit on a boot, I’d kick your ass.”

“You’d try,” Drew said, glancing at Talaitha. “Can you hold him or somethin’?”

The sheet slipped down to her waist, baring her breasts as she grabbed the man’s clammy hand. “I’m so sorry about all this, Russell. Just squeeze my hand if you need to.”

“I ain’t a pussy,” he said weakly. “But you might distract me better if you brought those luscious tits of yours closer.”

That protest lodged, he clamped down hard enough on her fingers when Drew went back to work that she wondered whether her bones were crushed. Pain radiated from him palpably.

“Grab that flashlight and shine it here,” Drew said to her.

She was shocked to see how deep the wound had gotten. There was no way she’d sliced him that deep. Drew bent close to the wound, holding a magnifying glass over it. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Stinks to high hell of silver rot. Shit.”

He stared for a good while, moving the lens an inch this way, then that. “There,” he said at last. “Flecks of metal are embedded in the wound. No fuckin’ wonder.” He sat up and looked at her. “Guess the knife weren’t pure silver after all. Just enough silver plate on it to flake off and fuck him over hard.”

Drew sifted through the first aid kit and came up with a pair of tweezers. “This time, you’d better hold the fuck still. Unless you want silver bits to fall into your gut cavity where I won’t find ’em before they rot out your spine.”

Talaitha’s eyes flew wide, and the flashlight began to quiver. This time, she was the one with a vise grip on Russell’s hand. Drew took a deep breath, and she did the same through her mouth so she wouldn’t have to inhale the horrible smell. When he leaned over with the tweezers, though, she flinched.

“Shouldn’t you sterilize those first?”

“Few germs can hurt us. About the only thing that’ll keep a werewolf from accelerated healin’ is silver. These tweezers are stainless steel.”

Talking ceased, and Russell held his body rigid while Drew extricated three tiny flakes of silver. He was cleaning around the wound afterward when a glance at the clock brought him up short.

“Shit.” He held a rag out to her. “Think you can help with cleanup? I gotta go make a call.”

He was gone before she said a word. She picked up a wet cloth and dabbed gingerly at the edges of the wound to clean away the blood.

“What the hell do you suppose that was all about?” Russell asked, and she noted his voice already sounded a bit more lucid. “Who the hell is he callin’?”

She shrugged. “Maybe he’s ordering us some breakfast. I’m starved.”

Drew took longer to return this time, and when he did, his frustration was so palpable that she felt it before he was even inside the room. She seemed to be much more in tune with the men’s emotions now, but even if she weren’t, it would have been obvious from his expression that the call hadn’t gone well. He stood in the doorway naked, a muscle working in his jaw.

“What’s wrong?” Talaitha asked.

“I’m fucked five ways to Friday and sideways,” he said. “Damn Gypsies. No offense.”

She scowled at him and crossed her arms over the sheet covering her chest. “Gee, why should that offend me, just because I happen to be a Gypsy?”

“Yeah, well, your band of happy fiddlers just cost me my fuckin’ job.”

Russell struggled to sit up. “You have a job?”

Drew’s eyes flared with hot bits of gold. “
Had.
Weren’t you just listenin’?” He stormed into the room and threw open a drawer on his simple wood-veneer dresser. “I can’t believe this shit.” Drew pulled on a pair of tight underwear and all but yanked on a pair of tan jeans. “I finally got a job—a
real
ranch job—and that band of idiot travelin’ yokels screwed it up for me.”

His glare shot through Talaitha’s chest, and even though she could see in his expression that he didn’t blame her outright, his venomous hatred toward her clan still boiled hot in her stomach.

“What are you talkin’ about?” Russell asked. “What happened?”

“Seems the ranch boss took exception to my little unscheduled vacation. No call, no show ain’t appreciated at the Triple W. He told me to pick up my last check and my shit.”

Russell groaned and sat up straighter, leaning against the pine headboard. “Wait. You worked at a ranch? How the hell did you manage that?”

“Not easily, I’ll tell you that. Now it’s gone.”

“But
how
? I had to quit ranchin’ when I got turned. Animals don’t exactly take to havin’ our kind underfoot. They can sense our predatory nature.”

“Don’t I know it. But I landed me a job helpin’ manage the financials. Some occasional land work thrown in when one of the hands would fall sick or such. Fence repair, shit like that. It was perfect.” He yanked on his boots and promptly used one to kick the dresser, knocking some change and personal items clattering to the floor. “Damn it all to hell.”

“Can’t you get another ranch job?” Talaitha asked.

His rabid stare landed on her again. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to come by that job? A werewolf ain’t exactly sorted for just any line of work, and cowboy work is at the bottom of that list. I know dyed-in-the-wool cowpokes that deliberately got themselves killed off after turnin’ shifter because they couldn’t deal with havin’ to abandon ranch life. I finally figured out how to get back in the saddle, even if a horse weren’t attached to it. Now your criminally insane gang of Romani ruined it for me.”

The bubble of anger rising in her chest finally burst. “Stop talking like we’re a bunch of monsters,” she spat. “Our people have known what your kind is capable of for centuries. Don’t turn it around and make us the bad guys.”