Slade narrowed his eyes. “You got shot, and a few hours later, you’re all better.”
“Not completely,” Noah replied. “I’m still a bit sore. It’ll be hard to get around for a while.”
“Sore!” Slade threw his hands into the air. “Sore, he says.” Nearly as fast as a werewolf, he launched himself toward the head of the sleeping bag, putting himself nose-to-nose with Noah. “What the fuck is going on?”
“I… I don’t know what you mean!” Paul had warned Noah not to get involved with humans.When in doubt, play dumb.
Slade twisted, planting his butt on the ground, forearms braced on his raised knees. A furrow appeared between his brows. “You’re not a sorcerer or a witch, are you?” Slade suspected… something.
If you ever get caught, deny, deny, deny,Paul used to say. “What! No! Wait, what? Sorcerers and witches? You don’t believe in those, do you?”
“I’ll tell you my secrets if you tell me yours.” The growl came out more of a command than a mere comment. Slade absently rubbed the back of his hand. “What are you? Who are you?”
This man knew Noah’s secret, or enough to make him a danger. “I don’t know. A man found me when I was around five.” No need to mention the “covered in blood” part. “He raised me. Kept me away from… people. I’d tell you more if I thought you’d believe me.”
Slade lifted the hand he’d been rubbing. “What do you see?”
Black ink swirled as though alive. Noah shrank back. What the fuck? “What is that?”
“What? You see the mark?” Why did Slade sound so excited?
A trick question? “Yes. You have a weird, moving tattoo on your hand.”
For one brief moment, Slade smiled. The smile fell. “The only people able to see the mark are witches. Are you a witch? They didn’t mention anything about witches healing fast.”
“No. I’m not a witch.” A least, Noah didn’t think so. And who did Slade mean by “they.”
“Then what are you?”
“I… I heal fast.”
Slade studied Noah for a long moment before bobbing his head in a quick nod. “Fair enough. You’ve got your secrets. I’ve got mine.” He added under his breath, “As long as you don’t go around putting curses on people.”
Slade wore scruffy well, younger and far more attractive than Noah first realized. He’d initially guessed the man’s age as mid-to-late 50s. Now, seeing him closer, the gray hair might be premature. To trust or not to trust. Noah needed help to get home for sure.
“Do you think you’re up to riding on the back of my bike?” the man asked. No, not the man, Slade. “My truck’s kind of full. I don’t wanna leave anything on the ground for those jackasses to find if I don’t have to.”
“I reckon so,” Noah replied, hoping for the best. Shifters healed faster than humans, but his limbs needed a few more days to be 100%. He couldn’t afford to stay here, not with vicious people out hunting. If they thought Slade helped, an innocent man might get a bullet too.
On second thought, “Maybe I should go by myself. I don’t live far.” Even as he spoke the words, Noah shuddered at the thought of walking at least five miles to the cabin he’d called home for the last six months.
Slade gave him a crooked smile. “If you can, then you’re the toughest sonofabitch I’ve ever met. And I’ve met a lot of tough sonsofbitches, let me tell you. Now, swallow your pride and get your ass on the back of my bike.”
Somehow, the way Slade spoke the words made Noah want to do as told. What the fuck? He’d never felt compelled to obey orders before. He rose, fighting hard not to wince or otherwise show any signs of pain. Dangerous to show weakness to another, especially a human. Noah heard those words from Paul many times.
Wearing a borrowed helmet, arms wrapped around a stranger, Noah fought his instincts, telling someone where he lived.
Slade drove slowly, picking his way over the most level ground. The ride jostled Noah’s injuries nonetheless.
He’d been wrong. He’d run much farther than five miles, closer to eight. During the last half mile, something twisted inside of him. He leaned forward, shouting to be heard, “Stop here.”
Slade pulled the bike off the dirt road. Noah all but jumped off the seat. Slade turned the bike off, dismounted at a more leisurely rate, removed his helmet, and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Noah lacked the words to explain. “Something doesn’t feel right.”
Slade lifted a questioning eyebrow. “How do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I can’t explain. Something feels wrong. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”