She looked around uncertainly, still holding the t-shirt. “Buck?”
Something white fluttered at her from a nearby bush—a hiking sock, worn thin at the heel. She found its mate twenty feet away and ten feet up, flung over a tree branch well above her head. A further ten minutes of searching turned up two battered work boots, and a ripped, muddy pair of blue jeans.
“Okay,” Honey said, staring at her discoveries. “There is a logical explanation for this.”
Buck had been upset. Perhaps he had some kind of combat-related PTSD—he’d certainly moved like a man trained to react instantly and violently to any threat.
That would explain why he’d shoved her away from Ragvald and then stormed out. He’d been triggered, so he’d gone for a walk in the woods to clear his head. And at some point, he’d… taken off all his clothes? And thrown them into the trees?
Honey fingered the gaping rents in the jeans. Maybe he’d just snagged them on some truly vicious thorns… but the rips looked awfully like they’d been made by claws.
Bigclaws.
And the woods were utterly silent…
Honey swallowed, throat going dry. She whispered, “Buck?”
Something growled in answer.
Honey let out a strangled scream before realizing that it had come fromaboveher, and was thus unlikely to be a bear. The sky had been clear earlier, but now dark clouds gathered overhead. The light had taken on a shifting, uncertain quality, like a dream.
A storm,she tried to tell her racing heart, as the rumble of thunder echoed across the mountain again.Just a storm.
Which admittedly wasn’tthatmuch of an improvement over a bear, given that she had a vague idea you weren’t supposed to stand under trees in a thunderstorm. She could try to sprint back to camp, or find other shelter… but she doubted Buck would do the same. A man who’d scattered his clothes across the woods was not a man in his right mind. She couldn’t leave him alone out here.
“Buck!” she shouted. She took a few steps out from under the nearest tree, expecting at any moment to feel the first drops of a downpour hit her bare skin. “Damn it, answer me! I’m not leaving without you!”
Thunder growled again, vibrating her bones. And this time, it didn’t fade away.
That rumbling growl got louder, and itwasa growl now, a real growl, not thunder at all. It was deep and feral and animal, raising the hair on the back of her neck.
And then she was hit by lightning.
Or nearly. The bright streak of light hit the ground barely six feet away, whiting out her every sense. She staggered, almost knocked off her feet by a hammer-blow of hot, electric air. Her hair crackled, abruptly alive with static. Her skin tingled… but she wasn’t dead.
And the lightning… wasn’t lightning.
Energy crackled around vast, spread wings; rippled under thick, storm-gray fur. Honey stared, eyes still watering, trying to understand what she was seeing.
It was a wolf.
Awingedwolf.
Its eyes were pure white, like captured lightning. Its fur was the same dark gray as the clouds above. Sparks snapped between its feathers. Even discounting the wings, it was far bigger than a normal wolf. She could have thrown a leg over its shaggy back and ridden it like a pony, if it had been real.
Which of course it wasn’t. Winged wolves did not fall out of the sky in a crash of thunder.
“I think,” she told it, and was quite proud of how calm and sensible her voice sounded, “that I am losing my mind.”
The winged wolf tilted its head like a quizzical dog. For all its breathtaking power, she had a sudden mad urge to scratch it behind its pointed ears. It was a giant glowing winged wolf, and she wanted to bury her face in its fur and breathe in its wild, stormy scent.
She squeezed her eyes shut instead, counting to ten. When she opened her eyes, the wolf was still there. It had sat down on its haunches, wings folded, waiting patiently. When it saw her looking at it again, the enormous plumed tail started to wag.
Maybe Buck hadn’t had a mental breakdown. Maybe he was just crazy. Maybe it was contagious, and now she was crazy too.
“You haven’t seen a naked man around here, have you?” she asked the wolf, because if you were going to go mad, you might as well go all out and start talking to your hallucinations. She held out a hand a little above the level of her own head. “About this tall, shoulders for days, permanent scowl? Answers to Buck?”
The wolf had been looking at her with bright-eyed—literally—attention, but at this last word its ears went back. It growled, the sound echoed by thunder overhead.
