Low whines lanced through theair.
I closed myeyes.
Matt wascrying.
This bear of a man wascrying.
There goeswinning.
I twisted back to find the brute gnawing on his forearm. Was he planning on chewing off his paw to get out of the trap? It wouldn’t regenerate. We were wolves, notlizards.
I moved back toward him.Stop.
A pitiful snarl rose from his reddened muzzle.Goaway.
I shook my head then dipped it toward the snare. I’d get no pleasure in winning if I left him behind. The smell of Matt’s blood, of his agony, overwhelmed my senses. I almostretched.
Matt snapped at me with blood-soaked teeth. Growling, I rammed my head into his chest to get him to back off.Stop your yapping, Hulk. I’m trying to helpyou.
He froze. I placed my paws on either side of the snare and drove my weight down hard on the levers. Besides sending explosive bolts of pain into my bones, it created a thin opening, but failed to release Matt’s paw. I tried again, wincing. Matt must’ve shifted his paw, because when the metal jaw clamped back shut, he let out a low, mournful keening, and fresh blood gushed down hisfur.
Don’t move, Igrumbled.
He snarled at me. I shot him a look that must’ve translated well because he shut his muzzle. I heaved on my paws again, and again the trap opened, but not wide enough for him to shimmy out. Why the hell did he have to have giant pawsanyway?
Ugh.
I triedagain.
Nothing.
Again.
My attempts were paltry and clumsy. If I had hands instead ofpaws—
I sucked in a breath just as Matt’s eyes took on a glassy sheen like the marbles I used to roll on the hardwood floors of my childhoodhome.
Whoomph.
Matt went down so hard Ijumped.
Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.
Matt!
His flattened ears didn’tflick.
I howled, hoping someone would come, but they hadn’t come for me, so they most probably wouldn’t come for him. Still, I waited. Wasn’t Frank worried? When no voice answered mine, I loosed a rough breath, shut my eyes, and willed my body tochange.
I would be disqualified, but at least I’d be able to live with myself, wherever it was I would beliving.
Chapter Eighteen
I’d been half-rightabout what my body would look like. Where I wasn’t entirely mottled with bruises, my palms and soles were in bloody tatters. For the first time since Matt had become unconscious, I was glad for it. After all, I was standing over him in my birthdaysuit.
Even though I felt and looked like roadkill, I was still prudish roadkill. I kneeled next to his massive, inert form, and worked my blood-soaked fingers nimbly around the levers, prodding them. In one swift jerk, I jammed my palms against them and the trap’s jaws opened like a night-bloomingflower.
Sweat trickled down my neck, down my smarting spine, as I delicately lifted Matt’s ravaged paw and set it on the grass next to his head. I tossed the trap aside, and it clinkedshut.
