Free Moonburn by Alisa Sheckley Page A

mine. “Is she going to be all right?”
    “I don’t know,” I said, scrubbing my nails, then shutting the faucet with my forearm. “But if she dies, we know who’s to blame, don’t we?”
    “I asked you to take care of it! This is your fault! You think you were being responsible? Those weren’t puppies, they were little monsters waiting to come out!”
    I was dimly aware of my boss pushing Marlene out, murmuring something about waiting out in the other room, and I could feel Malachy watching me, but it didn’t matter. All my attention was on Queenie now, and making sure she didn’t lose her life along with her puppies.

SEVEN

    I didn’t want to wake up. There was a headache waiting for me when I opened my eyes—I could feel it, knocking at my temples, wanting to get in. There was a bad taste in the back of my throat, and a wave of nausea chasing it. My muscles were aching, letting me know that whatever it was I’d been doing last night, it had been pushing my body to its limits. Or past them.
    “Good morning, Doc.”
    I groaned, rolling over and pulling the covers over my head. Red, who was clearly not suffering from whatever was ailing me, was now kissing his way up my instep and calf. I made a little flailing motion, trying to shake him off, but it was a pretty weak effort.
    “I know how to make you happy.” Now Red was nipping his way toward the back of my knees. I made a sort of convulsive hand and foot movement, trying to communicate the fact that I was in real distress here. The nips were climbing my inner thigh, at almost the same pace as the nausea was climbing my esophagus.
    I curled up into a fetal ball before looking over my shoulder. Red was looking feral and happy: He liked a bit of a chase. He was wearing jeans and a shirt, and he smelled of pine and sandalwood and smoke, with a faint undertone of musk. It was that delicious woodsy aftershave again. Except that he had said he wasn’t wearingany fragrance. “What time is it?” My voice was hoarse, as though I’d been shouting at the top of my lungs. Or howling.
    “Nearly eleven. Malachy said to let you sleep in. I told him you had to let off a bit of steam last night.”
    A bit of steam. I wasn’t sure exactly what that had entailed. I had a vague memory of going to Moondoggie’s, of drinking the Tuesday apple martini special, and not eating the chicken surprise. There might have been a second martini in there somewhere, but nothing to account for the class-five hangover that was steadily building in strength and intensity. “I need to get up.”
    “Mal said not to worry about coming in today.” Red curled himself around me, his clothing rough against my bare skin. “You didn’t want to talk about it last night, but I got the impression it was a pretty rough day at work.”
    Suddenly the musky scent of him felt overwhelming, and I grunted as the pain in my head battled for precedence with the bile in my throat. Funny to think that I’d once fantasized about having a man who would spoon with me and pay attention to my moods and feelings, back in the days when I’d been married to a narcissistic lout. Now all I wanted was some breathing space. And possibly some throwing-up space, as well.
    “That was some run last night, huh?” Red lifted the hair off the back of my neck, which felt good, and then starting kissing my nape.
    “We ran?”
    “Oh, God, yeah. I couldn’t keep up with you.” He inhaled deeply, and I knew he was drawing in the scent of my hair and skin.
    “Stop. I smell awful.”
    “Not to me. Not to any shifter, for that matter. And considering last night, I’m thinking we should be calling you a shifter, Girl.”
    I threw the covers off my head, needing cooler air. “What happened last night?”
    “Yeah, good question. Let me think: dinner, drive home, something out of the ordinary, but what was it, again?”
    I punched him. “Red, I’m not feeling up to this.”
    Red smiled at me, quizzical and fond. “You