Moonsong, page 5
“Shit!” Amelia hissed, stumbling over the back of the log to try and put a barrier between them.
The great cat coiled its body low to the ground as if it was about to spring, hips shifting from side to side. Amelia let loose a scream as the animal launched itself into the air, claws extended. Hastily throwing her arms up over her face to protect herself, she huddled in a ball, bracing herself for the blow that never came.
Instead another growl sounded, and Amelia opened her eyes in time to see the mountain lion crash to the ground in a blur as something tackled it from the side. Scrambling to the edge of the clearing, Millie was stunned to find a man struggling with the animal, their bodies coiled around each other as they fought for dominance.
A howl of pain tore free from the man’s throat as the cat’s teeth sank deep into his shoulder. And then it was over, a sickening gurgle and the lion went limp in his arms, its blood covering his hands. Hands that looked huge and misshapen with claws…
In a blink they were normal hands and he lay panting on the ground, shoving the carcass of the animal aside. Millie edged closer, letting out a ragged breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“Are you… are you alright?”
The man turned to stare at her in surprise, almost as if he’d forgotten she was there entirely in the heat of the battle. Chest heaving, covered in blood, his shirt in tatters, he gave a short bark of laughter. “Yep, I’m swell.” With a groan, he pushed his way to his feet, wincing as he limped to the log to take a seat.
Approaching him slowly, Millie tried to figure out how much of that was his blood and how much was the animal’s. The growing stain near his shoulder seemed to be all his, and she frowned over how rapidly it spread. “Take off your shirt, we need to take a look at that bite and see if we can stop the bleeding.”
“It’ll be fine,” he waved away her concern, but she wasn’t about to let it go.
“No, it won’t, not if we don’t do something right now. So take your shirt off!”
His jaw set into a mutinous line and Millie thought he really might be stubborn enough to sit there and bleed to death instead of accepting her help. Finally, he gave in and eased the shredded t-shirt up and over his head, leaving him in a blood soaked and equally shredded wife-beater. Using the ruined shirt to mop the lion’s blood from his hands and arms, he swiped away the worst of the mess but the shoulder continued to bleed profusely.
“Jesus…” Millie breathed when the shoulder wound became more visible. It looked like the lion had taken a chunk out of his shoulder but it was still attached. The man needed stitches at the very least and he needed them fast. Taking off her outer flannel shirt, she wound it around his shoulder, using the arms to tie it tight. “We have to get you to a doctor… do you have a car or something out here?”
“No doctor,” he bit out through gritted teeth as she knotted it into place.
So, he was one of those… “Uh, look tough guy, you might be one of those macho ‘punch my stomach’ kind of guys, but you can’t screw around with a wild animal bite, it can get infected in a heartbeat. My friend Brian was out hiking with some friends, and a wild dog bit him. He thought it was no big deal but two days later he was in the hospital with his leg swollen up like a balloon, and there was even a chance he was gonna lose that leg, so…”
“No… doctor…” he cut her off with another growl, almost as menacing as the mountain lion’s had been.
Men were such babies sometimes. “Any chance of you growing a brain and going to the hospital?” Millie asked, her head tilting to one side.
“Any chance of you shutting up?” he muttered, already trying to push himself up to a standing position.
“You’re a real charmer, you know that?” Millie scowled as he shifted his weight with a grunt, obviously too wounded to carry on by himself, but too stubborn to admit it.
“Yeah, ‘cause that’s exactly what I was going for.”
“Here, let me help you…” Amelia moved to help take some of the weight off the leg that was obviously paining him.
“I don’t need your help,” came the automatic reply, even as she insinuated herself under his good shoulder and wrapped her arm around his back, utterly ignoring his idiotic protests.
“What am I supposed to do, leave you out here to bleed to death while I skip on home without giving you another single thought?”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
Right beside him, Millie took the opportunity to study him up close. The piercing green eyes she noticed right away, hard to miss when their glare was aimed right at her. He was handsome in a rugged, outdoorsman way, and she could easily picture him as a lumberjack or some other physical profession. Or maybe that was just a fantasy spun by his well muscled chest and arms that looked like they could easily swing an axe hard enough to split a man’s skull… or crush a mountain lion. Older than her by at least a good ten years or more she guessed, his eyes showed faint traces of laugh lines. At least that proved he knew how to laugh. Dark hair fell in a slightly shaggy style that begged for a haircut, but the overall effect wasn’t unappealing, if she could get past the ever present scowl.
“You could try being grateful for the help you know.”
He gave a bark of laughter, “Me… be grateful to you… at the honor of being that thing’s chew toy for saving your ass? You’re a piece of work, lady.”
“Hey, I didn’t ask you to tackle a mountain lion for chrissakes, who does that?” She shook her head over the stupidity of such an action. “But I am grateful to you for saving my life,” Amelia added in a more subdued tone.
“Sure kid, anytime,” he grunted.
“You say that like it’s a normal occurrence for you. Do you fight wild animals on a regular basis?” He had managed to kill the animal pretty quickly and without a weapon as near as she could tell.
“Most of the time we leave each other alone. Then again, I’m not stupid enough to bring a picnic lunch into the middle of their feeding ground.”
“I didn’t know it was their feeding ground, and I was hungry…” Amelia protested, how was she supposed to know something like that?
He stopped walking and stared down at her like she’d grown another head. “For real you were sitting there eating lunch? Jesus lady, you don’t care much about temptation do you? When I said picnic lunch, I meant you; I didn’t think anyone was brainless enough to bring bait with them.”
Amelia resisted the urge to stomp on his foot, temper pricked by the insults when all she was doing was trying to help him. “No one bothered to go over lunchtime etiquette with me before I got hungry. What do you do when you stop for lunch?”
“I eat.”
“So the difference between us is…?”
“I can take care of myself. You… on the other hand, are nothing but a walking meal out here. Do yourself a favor, lady, go home and lock the door where it’s safe.”
“Would you stop calling me lady? My name is Amelia,” she snapped back, unable to fault his logic, only she hadn’t thought through the danger during the day.
“Go home, Amelia, I’ll be fine,” he stared down at her, his voice losing some of its bite as his eyes swept over her face.
For long seconds she stared up at him, tempted to leave him to his own idiocy, but there was something in his face that made her wonder if he didn’t want her help just the same. After all, he could easily shove her out from under his arm, the man was made of muscle, injured or not. Something about him intrigued her, and she wasn’t ready to give up yet. “I’m taking you out of here whether I have to drag you kicking and screaming or not. So get over yourself; I’m more stubborn than you are,” she urged him in the direction they’d been heading.
A long drawn out sigh was given, but he started moving forward again, the silence stretching between them until she spoke again.
“What’s your name?” He met the request with stony silence, focusing on the path ahead. Amelia frowned over the non-response; the guy had no social skills whatsoever. “God, I asked for your name, it’s not like I asked for your social security number or anything,” she grumbled.
“Cutter,” came the terse reply.
“Cutter,” she repeated. “As in Cutter’s Folly?”
“Just Cutter.”
“Okay…” Millie tromped along beside him for another few feet before she asked another question. “So, do you work out here? Live out here?”
“I have a place up that way, not too far.”
“Do you live by yourself?”
“I like my peace and quiet.”
Message received.
Chapter Seven
Millie took the hint and walked in silence, focusing on little more than lugging the hulk of a man through the woods. “How much farther is it?” she asked finally, her voice sounding overly loud to her own ears in the stillness of the forest.
“Not too much longer, see that formation of rocks there?” Cutter automatically pointed with his free arm which happened to be the wounded shoulder, causing him to wince.
“Don’t do that!” she scolded automatically before turning her attention back to the distinctive rocks. The log cabin came into view as they rounded the rock formation, a faint trail of smoke from the chimney the only indication anyone lived there. It was much sturdier than the shack she’d been imagining, but small to be someone’s entire house. There was no sign of a car, though there was an overgrown gravel drive leading up to the cabin. Both an axe and a chainsaw were propped near the front door, lending to the theory that he was some kind of lumberjack.
“Thank God,” she breathed, as they finally reached the threshold.
To say the cabin was a mess would be an understatement. Not that there was an abundance of garbage lying around, but the place clearly hadn’t seen a good spring cleaning in years. Thick dust clung to nearly every surface and cobwebs hung from the rafters. The furniture was dated and faded, though not particularly worn upon closer inspection. There were no light fixtures and a quick search turned up a lack of any light switches or power outlets visible anywhere. A lantern on the table and an oil lamp on the fireplace mantle were the only signs of lighting sources except for the midday sun that struggled to penetrate the dirt streaked windows. And wood shavings, everywhere there were wood shavings! On the floor, the table, the kitchen counter; how could someone live like that?
Someone had once made an effort to make the cabin a home. There were faded throw rugs on the smooth, wooden floor near the couch, before the fireplace and another in front of the kitchen sink. On top of the mantle were framed photos lined up neatly but so obscured by dust, she couldn’t tell what the subject of the pictures were from her vantage point. All in all… kind of a hole to be living in.
“Where do you have first aid supplies?” she asked, tearing her attention away to more immediate matters.
“You did your good deed, la… Amelia. I’m home, you don’t have to fuss over me,” he scowled, pulling a bottle Jim Beam closer and taking a long drink.
“That won’t do you any good, you need that arm bandaged up better, probably even stitches,” she frowned at the amount of blood that had seeped through the makeshift bandage.
He pointed to the cabinet next to the sink. “There should be a box of stuff in there, knock yourself out.” Cutter took a long drink, and then another.
Amelia found the first aid supplies inside an orange tackle box in the cupboard and drew it open by the light of the kitchen window. It was surprisingly well stocked with enough bandaging to do a decent job of wrapping his arm. “You don’t have any antiseptic, would it be in another place?” she called out over her shoulder, pulling out the scissors and gauze and leaving the rest on the kitchen counter.
“There’s a bottle of vodka in the cupboard next to it; that should work in a pinch.”
Frowning over that as an option, Amelia retrieved the bottle and went to wash her hands, noticing for the first time that the water was operated by a hand pump which meant no hot water. Charming. “I don’t suppose you have any antibacterial soap?”
“Sorry, fresh out, used up the last of it with the bubble bath,” his grin slid to one side as the bourbon started to take hold of him.
“You actually bathe?” she scoffed, rinsing off her hands and pouring a measure of the vodka over them.
“Twice a year, whether I need it or not.”
“Yeah, I can see how that would be a real chick magnet.”
“Seems to have worked pretty good on you, I can’t get you to leave.”
“Apparently I have slightly masochistic tendencies,” Millie returned, loosening the knots of the bandage and unwinding the blood soaked flannel.
“Welcome to the club, I can’t think why else I would have jumped that mountain lion like that. I should have just let him eat you; it would have made for a much more peaceful afternoon.”
“Ha, ha,” Amelia muttered sarcastically, worried about how fast the blood welled up again once she took the pressure of the bandage off. Hastily she clamped the shirt back down over it, eliciting a hiss of pain from Cutter. “Sorry… look, there’s no way I can talk you into going into town to see a doctor is there?”
“Not a chance in hell, sweetheart,” Cutter grinned, “I may be well on my way to getting drunk, but I ain’t that drunk,” he punctuated his statement by taking another swig.
Amelia frowned over the declining level of the bourbon in the bottle. Cutter was fast working his way towards passing out, and that couldn’t be a good thing. “This needs to be stitched up.”
“So stitch it. Or is that a little squeamish for such a pretty little thing?” he challenged her with a grin.
He thought she was pretty? Funny how that was the only thing she picked up on, until she shook herself back to reality. “Do you have a needle and thread? You don’t exactly strike me as the needlepoint type,” she smirked back at him, and he waved the bottle in the general direction of the couch.
“There should be a sewing basket on the far end of the couch, if memory serves.”
“Hold this tight if you can let go of the bottle for a couple of minutes.” Amelia pulled the bottle out of his hand and pressed his palm to the wound to keep the pressure on.
“Don’t be too long at it.”
The old fashioned basket opened up to display a dozen spools of brightly colored thread affixed to the lid and various sewing implements jumbled inside. Selecting a cardboard packet of needles, she withdrew one and on a whim, picked a spool of hot pink thread. Soon enough she had the needle threaded and liberally doused with vodka.
“Okay, this is gonna hurt…” she promised, holding the bottle of vodka over his shoulder. Amelia flinched as he tensed, hating the thought of inflicting pain on him when she was trying to help. “Sorry, I’m so sorry…” she murmured over and over, putting pressure on the wound again with a clean gauze pad.
“I’ll take that bottle back now,” he said, his face ashen.
Millie passed it over without argument, feeling like she could use a drink herself. “Ready?” Another deep drink and he was able to give her the go ahead. Not wanting to draw it out any longer than she had to, Millie delved right in, pushing the needle through the sliced flesh, her movements precise as she sewed him up with small, even stitches.
“You look like you’ve done this before,” Cutter remarked, watching her handiwork.
“My brother Luc, he came home torn up all the time, he didn’t like doctors either, he…” Millie added up two and two and came up with five, her brows drawing together as she made the connection. Of course Luc always came home with such horrible wounds. Always with a crazy story, each one more far fetched than the last. Always with some sort of plausible explanation and he’d always been so quick to heal. It must be a common occurrence for a shape shifter. Which meant that Cutter…
“He what?” Cutter prompted after her prolonged silence.
“You’re one of them aren’t you? That’s why you don’t want to go to the doctor?”
His eyes narrowed, “One of who?”
“One of them… you know, shifters. Or crap, I guess one of us, I keep forgetting they’re my family too,” she sighed, resuming her stitching.
“You said them, you’re not one yourself?”
“Me? God no, but my brother was and my parents. I was sorta out of the loop, you know? I guess they didn’t want me to freak out about it. But they should have told me.” A wistful note entered her voice that she’d never gotten to share that entire facet of their lives.
“Yes, they should have,” he answered solemnly and she looked up to catch his gaze for a long moment before she returned to his task.
“Is that how you killed that mountain lion? Are you abnormally strong?” she wondered aloud. He seemed to be more talkative and less standoffish even if it was the liquor talking.
“I’m strong, but not strong enough to crush an animal that size with my bare hands. I cheated.”
“Cheated?”
Setting down the bottle, he lifted his hand between them and while Millie stared, the end of his fingers elongated, nails thickening into wicked looking claws. “Cheated.”
“Sweet Jesus…” Amelia’s voice came out in all but a whisper, the needle falling from her nerveless fingers to dangle from the wound as she reached up to touch the tips of his fingers.
“Don’t…” Cutter pulled his hand away, the claws disappearing in a matter of seconds.
“I’m sorry,” Millie dropped her gaze, reaching for the forgotten needle, unsure quite what to say to that. Knowing someone could shift wasn’t quite the same as watching the molding of flesh right before her eyes. “Does it hurt?” she asked after a few moments of silence.
“No, you’re doing a bang-up job.”
“No, not the stitches, I mean when you… change. Does it hurt?” Millie kept her gaze on her work.
“Oh… It’s hard to explain. A little shift like that, it’s uncomfortable, but doesn’t hurt too much if you’re careful and do it right. If you’re rushed, then yeah, it can hurt like a sonofabitch. Shifting all the way to your true form… it hurts, but it also feels… I dunno, right somehow.”
