Free The Alpha's Choice by Jacqueline Rhoades Page B

damage was done. With her free hand, she followed the
short length of attached chain to the stake that was supposed to
anchor the trap, grasped it and began to drag it along behind
her.
    "I said leave that stuff," Charles called
back over his shoulder in that you-will-obey-me voice.
    Kat ignored him. Her mind was running on a
kind of autopilot where she knew what she had to do, but couldn't
articulate why. The umbrella had to go. The trap had to go. The gun
had to stay. The body? Every time the word entered her thoughts,
her mind shut down a little more. Body? What body?
    Charles already had the unconscious Buddy
settled in the back seat by the time Kat caught up with him. He
stood aside and held the passenger door for her, the perfect
gentleman. She nodded her thanks, slid into the seat and arranged
the umbrella along her leg and the leghold trap on her lap as if it
was her purse, the perfect lady.
    "Seat belt," Charles ordered as he climbed in
the driver's side. He frowned as he jerked the seat back as far as
it would go which apparently wasn't far enough because he muttered
something about a piece of shit car.
    "But it's my piece of shit, so watch your
mouth," she snapped without thinking. "You don't like it, you can
walk."
    She turned in her seat to check on Buddy and
heard Charles sputter. She couldn't tell if it was indignation or a
laugh and didn't care. She was still trying to make sense of what
was before her eyes.
    Charles threw the car in gear and said, "As
soon as we get there, I'll carry him upstairs. The wounds need to
be cleaned…"
    "You'll carry him to the kitchen," she said,
staring out the window, "You'll lay him on the table. He'll be
easier to work on and it won't be so back breaking. Is there a
doctor or a vet you can call or is this all on us? Because I can
stitch, but I can't set bones," she said earnestly.
    Her autopilot mind didn't even register the
absurdity of the questions. When Charles didn't answer, she looked
over at him. "Well?"
    He was staring at her with a dumbfounded look
on his face. "You're taking this all pretty well," he said.
    Kat thought about that and nodded. "I suppose
I am," she told him truthfully, "Though I'm not sure how else I
could take it. Like you said, Buddy needs our help. There'll be
time enough later for me to fall apart." She pointed at the
windshield. "Keep your eyes on the road. It won't help if you run
us into the ditch."
    "You must have questions…" he began.
    "I guess I do." She had a hundred questions
and by the time her befuddled mind was working smoothly again,
she'd have a hundred more. Right now, she needed to sort out the
most important ones, the ones that would help Buddy. "First off…"
she began.
    "No," Charles cut her off.
    "What do you mean 'no'? I haven't asked
anything yet."
    "The answer to your first question is no, you
won't turn because he bit you. It doesn't work that way."
    Kat looked at the back of her hand where a
thin line of blood defined where Buddy's razor sharp tooth had
broken the skin. She hadn't thought of infection until Charles
brought it up.
    "Nice to know you're not a mind reader," she
said wryly. "I wasn't thinking of biting. I was thinking of
changing. What's the chance of him changing while I'm
stitching?"
    "He won't change. He can't. And you won't be
stitching."
    "Really? Why not?" she asked curiously, "Is
he stuck this way? How does he, uh, do you, uh, change, anyway? Is
that the right word? Change? Does it hurt? Do you think like a man
or an animal when you're, uh…?" So much for holding her
questions.
    "Over the moon."
    "Is that what you call it? Over the moon?
Over the moon." Kat tested the words out several times before
nodding her head. "I like it," she said and then she frowned, "I
can stitch, you know. My grandmother taught me. Brandon thought it
was horrible when I told him about it. She'd use white cotton
thread and a sewing needle."
    "Brandon?" Charles said the name as if he
didn't like the taste of it.
    "My ex