South of SomeWhere (-Editing-)

|Shifters|

"Are you ok?" When he doesn't answer, I grow worried. "John. Please tell me what to do," I plead, and I feel my bravado crumbling and tears leaking into my eyes. Rapidly, I blink them away scolding myself for the weakness, but I know it's too much. I'm beginning to fall. I can't take too much more of this. "Please John," I beg. Falling down my face like rain, the tears come without my bidding. I suck in a huge sob.

"John...?" it ends on a breath.

Stiffly, he reaches out a hand. I'm not terrified. I just want...to be comforted...? No. To be held...? Maybe. But what I want...I just want him. A mechanical robot, he helps me to my feet with jerky movements. I burst into full crying mode and wrap my arms around his neck. Limply, his arms hang at his sides, but I don't care. He's safe. I'm safe.

'I like him.'

It's a startling realisation, and there is so many things wrong to this equation.

'I barely know him. I don't even belong in this world. He drives me nuts. Plus, the big factor is what on earth is he? I can't like him. This squeezing feeling in my chest is just flat out gratitude that he saved my butt a second time from near dying at the hands of several loony characters in a horror movie. Right. You're developing feelings for him Waverley, and you might as well except it.'

My mind spins at a mile a minute, all the time I'm hugging the bejesus out of John's neck. "You're ok...we're ok." I sob. Distancing myself, I wipe my face and nose on my sweat shirt cuff and beckon. "Come." He takes my hand and like a man in a daze, follows me blindly out of the clearing and to the edge of the forest. We scramble through brush patches, over fallen trees, and around muddy water puddles. I don't know where I'm going. Instead, I just walk. When we reach the solid rock shore that chasms into a steady flowing river, I drop to the cold stone and lay, back to the ground, hands shaking. Dixie clip clops across the bank and into the water slurping at it in delight. I suddenly realise how much more like a animated dog-stallion he is than an actual full bred horse.

He crouches by the stream, his breathing labored and even though he tries hard to hide it, I can tell he's in pain. Sitting back on my heels, I unsure of what to do. Help him or let him bleed out. Two distinct options, but I know which one is the right answer. "Here let me see," I say, closing the gap between us, leaning forward, and gesturing with my hand. Wildly, he looks up, jerking back, the movement causing a groan of pain to escape his lips. Tears jerk into my eyes. This...this whole damn mess is my fault. I blink hard wishing the sign of weakness away and try to remind myself that this is no time to get emotional. Especially over the psychotic guy who kidnapped me. Still, seeing him broken and in so much pain tears at my heart. Wind whips through the skinny pines at the clearing edge, lashing my damp hair against my face. Stinging cold bites through my jacket and it doesn't help that it's riddled with holes from all the thorns we'd dived through. I gaze off downstream, but suddenly, a soft but strong voice jerks me back to reality.

"Okay."

I jerk my head around and am startled to realize how close he's gotten. His voice is soft and gravely. Damn him and his ninja skills. Tentatively, I stretch forward a hand. It's hard to forget what he is, to me, and the animal lurking inside him, but in the moment, my mind has abandoned all thoughts except the one of helping him. I retract my hand. "You gotta take that off," I say gesturing at his worn-in jacket. Painfully, he reaches up and drags it off, right shoulder, then left. What I see makes me gasp. Blood covered the front of his midsection, and it seemed to be spreading with invisible fingers up the charcoal crew neck that he wore.

Suddenly, I hear my voice jerk out a sharp order, "Take your shirt off. Now."

Our eyes meet, and a flicker of amusement sparks in his eyes, but is replaced by pain as he pulls the shirt over his head. I bite my tongue to keep from gasping again. Rock hard. That's the only way to describe his toned abdominals. I feel ashamed for noticing so I avert my eyes as much as I possible can and focus my attention on the footlong gash on his stomach. I still look.