The Lost Wolf

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Val woke up to a hand gently caressing the thick fur of her neck.

Eyelids fluttering open, she blurrily watched Damian holding himself up with an elbow over her outstretched legs. His other hand was hovering over her, picking out leaves and lumps of mud from her fur. He was careful not to brush his hands over any of her wounds, brows creased in concentration as he tried to pick out a persistent one.

Morning, she mumbled groggily. Damian jolted, plucking the small lump out along with a hair or two. Ow!

"Sorry," he rushed, using his hand to stop himself from falling on her legs. She thought she saw color on his cheeks before he turned away, half laying on his back. He wasn't acting like he usually did. "Zack says we'll be leaving soon. I thought you might want a few more minutes after..." He didn't finish, a sudden silence falling over them. "Anyway, you're up now so—"

Val hooked a leg around his waist and pushed him all the way back down. Thanks for yesterday, she said softly, blowing a breath onto his face. A dark brown curl bounced on his forehead.

"Are you going to make me taking care of your hurt ass a habit, Donovan?" He raised an amused brow.

Only if it comes with you buying me pizzas every time.

He thumped a hand over his heart. "That's all you want me for?"

Maybe a few of those happy blobs of yours, too. She sniffed.

"Aha!" —he pointed an accusatory finger at her— "So you did like them!"

They were acceptable, just barely. She rolled her eyes. Damian huffed out a laugh. It occurred to her then, that they probably looked weird to anyone else — human else — watching them. She spoke through the link, while he answered aloud. Giant-sized wolf thing aside, he probably sounded crazy. That brought a small smile to her face.

Her stomach rumbled, catching their attention. I know I can hold off for a little while longer, she continued, but you're not planning to drink my blood when I'm not looking or anything, right?

His face twisted into mock disgust. "I don't like how fur tastes in my mouth. Moreover, I don't like my meals smelling of dog."

If smell is the condition by which you choose to bother people, maybe I should have made sure to eat a clove of garlic whenever we fought. I bet that would have been a great distraction toward my 'enemy'. She gave a sideways glance.

"You're plenty distracting already," he said, eyes glinting with humor. "But I'm pretty sure I could ignore it if I absolutely had to. Beggars can't be choosers." He shrugged, another smirk pulling at his lips. "Why, were you going to offer?" Red suddenly bled into his irises; fangs dropped down his teeth, tongue flicking around them suggestively.

Val made a puking sound in her throat, which, unsurprisingly, didn't sound exactly like she wanted it to. But Damian threw his head back and laughed anyway, nodding to the backpack behind him. The top of an empty blood bag poked from one of the outer pockets. "They didn't have time to bring back much when they met up with Daphne, but they came somewhat prepared."

She stuck her tongue out, and like a proper adult, he stuck his own right back.

Careful of her wounded leg still over his torso, Damian moved her other leg under his head, effectively using her paw as a pillow. Her paw — with claws long enough to skewer him, which she seriously pondered doing — and he had the audacity to look self-assured while doing it; the prick!

"I'll buy you pizza when we get to New Orleans," he said, eyes softening, and she wanted to grumble something offensive back at him but — to her immense surprise — couldn't.