“Shota!Ayusta?ye!”
But Shota didn’t stop, didn’t so much as glance back, running until he had vanished.
Chaska stopped when he came to the place he’d last seen the animal, Win close behind him and breathing hard.
“Do you think you can track him?”
The ground was wet from last night’s rain. “Maybe.”
From nearby came Shota’s howl. He was calling to them, calling his pack.
“Maybe I won’t have to.”
“That way.” Winona set off again.
Chaska ran beside her, the terrain rocky and dropping steeply to a ravine below.
“There!” Winona stopped, pointed with a jerk of her head.
Shota lay on his belly partly concealed in what looked like a small cave or an old mine shaft, his gray fur like camouflage in the shadows. He craned his head to look over at them and whined.
Chaska moved toward him. “What’s gotten into him?”
“You’re asking me?”
“Aren’t you the wolf whisperer?”
They approached Shota slowly, not wanting to spook him into running. Chaska let Win take the lead. She was the expert, after all, and Shota’s official guardian.
She switched to Lakota, spoke in a soothing voice. “Waste, Shota. Lila waste.”
The wolf stayed where he was, tail thumping on damp pine needles.
Winona reached him first. “Oh, God. Chaska!”
But Chaska had already seen.
There beside Shota lay a woman, eyes closed, blood on her jacket, her dark hair damp, tangled, and full of pine needles. She was partially hidden inside the collapsed mine shaft. She had probably taken shelter there. The wolf had scented her—and come to help.
Chaska dropped to his knees beside her, felt her throat for a pulse, relief rushing through him to find her alive.
“What happened to her? There are blood and bruises. Did she fall?”
“I don’t know.” Chaska had seen a lot since he’d joined the Team, and this didn’t look like a simple accident to him. A half dozen ideas chased each other through his mind, none of them pretty—kidnapping, sexual assault, partner violence.
He shrugged off his backpack, pulled out his first aid kit, radio, and hand mic. He turned the radio on, waited for traffic to clear. “Sixteen-seventy-two.”
“Sixteen-seventy-two, go ahead.”
“I’m at about the four-mile mark of the Lupine Trail with an unconscious adult female, break.”
“Sixteen-seventy-two, copy. Go ahead with your traffic.”
“She appears to have multiple injuries, possibly from falling or a physical altercation. Tone out the Team and medical, emergent. Better send a deputy as well. I’ll be on FTAC Two going as Lupine Command.”
“Sixteen-seventy-two, copy.” Then dispatch came back with the time, part of the official record. “Six-twenty.”
It would take most of an hour for the rest of the Team to mobilize, reach the trailhead, and hike here. Until then, it was Chaska’s job to do what he could for her—which wasn’t much. She felt cold, her skin damp from the rain. But she had a steady pulse, and her breathing was regular and unlabored. He pressed a hand to her shoulder and gave her a little nudge, taking in the bruises on her cheeks, her long lashes, her pale brown skin, the blood on her jacket. “Ma’am, are you okay? Can you hear me?”