Free Storm Warned (The Grim Series) by Dani Harper Page A

easily forgotten. Its dark fur was muddy and bedraggled yet couldn’t hide the handsome lines of its body. Liam immediately thought of an ancient sight hound that might have run alongside a pharaoh’s chariot. Despite its size, the dog’s body was lean like a greyhound’s. The downcast head was elegantly shaped, ending in a delicate pointed muzzle. Long, graceful legs promised cheetahlike speed—or they would have if the poor thing hadn’t been using only three of them. The fourth was held off the ground, and even from a distance, Liam’s practiced eye noted the odd angle of the limb.
    The black dog stopped when it saw Liam but didn’t raise its head. Instead, the animal seemed to expect rejection and slowly turned as if to leave.
    Liam whistled and the dog hesitated. He whistled again and its ears pricked. The lowered head swung back to look at him. “Come on, that’s the way,” he called gently. “Come over here! Good boy, come here!” Clinging to the fence to steady himself, he made his own way to the open gate as quickly as his battered head would permit. He whistled again as he slipped through, then grabbed the post for support. He’d only meant to get down on one knee, to make himself smaller and less threatening.
    He hadn’t expected to slide down the gatepost like a rag doll. The jolt of landing on his ass sent spikes of purest agony through his brain, and he moaned aloud. Goddamn it . . . Liam felt like he was holding his skull together with his hands, and for a long moment he half expected his brain to start leaking out of his ears. Through the haze of pain, however, he saw that the dog was now facing him, head up and alert. And slowly, painfully, it limped over to him.
    It was huge. Even seated as he was, Liam was a tall man. Yet the strange dog was looking down at him. “I sure hope you’re not looking for easy prey there, fella,” he joked. As if in answer, the animal pressed its nose to Liam’s knee and lay down—albeit gingerly. Big, intelligent eyes focused their gaze on Liam with unmistakable concern, and the dog’s tail wagged weakly.
    “Well, shit.” He had to rub a bit of moisture from his eyes then. The dog was doing exactly what Homer had done when a fourteen-year-old Liam had been thrown from a horse. He was far from the house with a badly busted leg, cold and scared and in pain. Good old Homer—still a pup himself—had stayed right there with him for hours until Uncle Conall had come looking for him.
    Liam reached out a hand and rubbed the soft ears, the intelligent forehead. The dog’s tail wagged once more, but it shivered then, and he remembered it was injured too. He struggled to his knees. “Let’s have a look, fella, see what’s wrong here. Maybe I can help.” For a moment he didn’t think the animal would comply. Then slowly it relaxed onto its side and closed its eyes, and Liam felt along its body with gentle hands. The leg was definitely broken—he didn’t need to touch it to know that—but he thought some ribs might be busted up as well. And there was a wide strip of black fur missing from the back of its neck and across its shoulders, the exposed skin blistered as if burned. Was it possible it had been struck by lightning? Liam thought he’d seen a silvery collar when he’d first spotted the big dark creature, but there was nothing around its neck now. Whatever had happened, the dog was probably in a world of hurt, yet it was calm and stoic. “There’s a good fella,” Liam said, stroking its flank. “There’s a good boy.” Suddenly he realized he’d missed something important. “Good girl ,” he corrected himself.
    Despite the sun’s warmth, the shade of the barn felt downright cold to him. Had the storm brought in a cool front? The dog was shivering again too, and Liam immediately unbuttoned his shirt and covered the creature, wishing he had something warmer to blanket her with. She’s probably thirsty. He struggled to his feet—standing very