Free Hunter's Fall by Shiloh Walker Page B

getting disemboweled because he zoned out right in front of a feral. He hadn’t bothered getting the bastard restrained, and the wolf had come to, seen Sheila staring at Dom, seen his chance. The werewolf had screwed up by trying to do a little more damage, by assuming Sheila’s preoccupation with Dom meant she was as fucked in the head as Dom had been.
    Sheila had killed the feral but not before the feral had all but laid Dom open like a gutted fish.
    He could still feel the cold ache of the silver, could still feel the itch and burn of healing flesh.
    And he felt like he losing his damned mind. The dreams . . . the dreams were bad enough, but this hadn’t been a dream. He’d been wide awake and on the tail end a fight, not exactly a safe zone. He could have gotten killed, Sheila could have gotten killed—innocents could have died if the feral wolves had managed to evade capture. They still didn’t know where the rest of the small feral pack was holed up, either.
    Rafe was skeptical? Hell, why wouldn’t he be?
    Shoving a hand through his hair, Dominic turned away and stared out the window. He’d only been awake for four hours, but he still felt weak. Despite feeding, he was already hungry. Exhaustion pulled at him, and he knew he’d have to rest again soon. Injuries caused by silver—shit, he’d heard they were bad, but this was the first time he’d taken more than a nick.
    “Look, Rafe, I don’t know what happened. I don’t know if she’s real, if I’m going crazy, or what.”
    Rafe leaned back in his chair and watched him with dark, intense eyes. “I don’t think you’re going crazy. But we need to figure out what’s going on. This could have been bad, Dom. Hell, it was bad. You almost got yourself killed. If Sheila hadn’t been there, you could be dead.”
    “I know that.” His voice sounded more than a little frustrated, more than a little pissed off, but he couldn’t help it. “You think I’m a fucking idiot as well as a nutcase?”
    Rafe sighed and said, “You’re not a nutcase.” Then, forcing a smile, he said, “And you’ve always been an idiot. That’s beside the point. Look . . . I want you to get some rest. You need another solid eighteen hours of rest and another good feeding before you’ll feel a little less like hell.”
    “A little less like hell?” Dominic passed a hand over the fading pink scar that bisected his middle. It was nothing short of miraculous that he was moving around at all, but this lingering weakness, the exhaustion, it pissed him off. Still, although he was tired, he was reluctant to believe Rafe was going to let it go as easy as that. “So that’s it? You want me to rest, feed? You’re not going to smack my hand or anything?”
    Rafe shifted his gaze away, a muscle jerking in his jaw. “I’m not going to smack your hand after you all but had your guts spill out at my wife’s feet, no. I’m tempted to beat you senseless for it, but I won’t.” Then he lifted his gaze and focused on Dominic’s face. “Go rest. And when you get up . . . pack.”
    That caught Dominic by surprise.
    He stilled and turned to face the Master. Rafe was more than just his Master—he’d been the one who brought Dominic through the Change, the one who’d helped him find a purpose after he’d found himself in a strange and fucking terrifying world where monsters really did exist.
    Rafe was also Dominic’s best friend . . . and he was sending Dominic away.
    Swallowing, he managed to force something out of his tight throat. “Pack . . . Master?”
    Rafe curled his lip. “Don’t call me that, and don’t look at me like that. I’m sending you to Excelsior—I want you to talk with Kelsey, or one of the healers. Somebody. See if they can figure out what in the hell is going on, so we can fix it.”
    He kicked his feet off the desk and rose, stalking around to stop just a few feet from Dominic. “I’m not dismissing you,” Rafe said, his voice edgy.
    Dominic looked