Savage Whispers 1 - Mea [ENG]

The heater in my rattling rust bucket is cranked to the max. Sweat slicks my skin as I hike my miniskirt higher. The short sleeves of my top are already rolled into tight little sausages.

“Can I crack a window before I melt or smash the glass out of sheer desperation?”

“No,” Cooper barks at me, sounding tormented, hoarse — worse than ten minutes ago when we left.

I shoot a glance at my favorite beast among all shifters. “Shit, Coop. You’ve got no color left in your face.”

The brakes squeal pitifully as I stomp on them, but they do their job. We skid to a halt on the shoulder.

Cooper groans at the car’s jerky movements, barely able to keep his sunken eyes open; they bob up and down under half-closed lids like rubber balls. Cold beads of sweat have formed on his forehead.

“Mea, I’m fine. Just drive,” Cooper tries to soothe me with a powerless voice.

He’s right. We have to keep moving. Because he is in bad fucking shape. And if he doesn’t see a doctor soon, he might die.

“Hang in there, Coop.”

What a hollow phrase.

A panicked look at the GPS confirms we still need at least forty-five minutes to reach the specialist. As feline shifters, we can’t just waltz into any random ER and expect competent help. Our anatomy differs significantly from humans.

Frustrated, I slam my hand against the steering wheel.

Cooper smiles faintly, his head swaying to the rhythm of the shock absorbers.

“Actually, you’re damn hot,” he says, barely audible.

“Shut up.”

“No, honestly,” he starts again. “You look really good. Why did we never do it with each other?”

Now I’m getting genuinely scared.

He tries to distract me, so that I don't worry too much about him.

“Fuck you,” I hiss at him.

“You misunderstood that, Mea,” he grins at me. “I meant with each other, not in front of each other.”

Funny guy.

I steer the car onto the country road recommended by the GPS.

"Coop, if you start screwing with me now, I’m kicking you in the family jewels the second you’re feeling better... Where the hell does this doctor live? There’s nothing out here but woods and wilderness.”

In the dark, I can barely make out the curves and have to focus exclusively on the surroundings. Earlier, the moon shone under a clear, starry sky. But now, we’re diving deeper and deeper into the forest. The dense canopy almost suffocates me. The potholes on this bumpy track send my headlights cutting through the night like searchlights.

“Dammit, Coop. I hope this is right.”

He doesn’t answer.

"Coop?”

Nothing.

"Coop!”

Since I have to drive slowly anyway, I don’t stop. I don’t dare to. But I can’t suppress the whimper of a sob either.

“Don’t you dare check out on me...” I threaten him, unimpressively. ”Coop, I swear to you, if you die, death will be the least of your problems.”

I wipe my cheeks and exhale shakily. The car rolls to a stop, and I grope fearfully for his pulse.

There isn’t one.

For an endless second, my world plunges headfirst into a bottomless abyss. There is a fine, sickly sweet scent on him that I hadn’t noticed before.

“No, you are not dead, you cynical bastard,” I simply decide.

And actually. There it is. A weak pulse, but it’s palpable.

The damn GPS shows another fifteen minutes. My jaw clenches, and I stomp on the gas. My old clunker bucks but lurches forward theatrically, as if it knows what’s at stake.

We practically fly over the forest path, which seems to adapt to our speed.

I almost miss a turn because the notification comes too late; the cell coverage out here in the middle of nowhere is absolute garbage.

But the direction is right, as far as I can tell.

Coop doesn’t make a peep anymore, and I don’t want to look — just finally get to the destination. I visualize like a maniac, as if that could speed anything up.

I think I’m even praying. To Selene. To gods in general. I beg any higher power willing to listen.

“I’ve never asked for much,” I whisper. “But you are not taking this away from me... Do you hear? You don’t get Cooper yet.”

I love him. Like the brother I never had.

Suddenly, the thicket tears open. Like a mirage, a wrought-iron gate peels itself out of the darkness, behind it a house that looks like it’s being devoured alive by ivy. No lights in the windows.

“Please let him be there,” I wheeze.

I brake so hard the seatbelt strangles the air out of me. Reflexively, I throw my outstretched arm across Cooper to stop him from being flung around.

Gravel sprays as the car comes to a halt in front of the gate.

Silence. Just the ticking of the overheated engine and my own hammering heartbeat.

“We’re here, Coop.”

I rip the driver’s door open. The cool night air slaps my sweaty face, but I ignore the shivering that instantly seizes my body. I slam the car door shut and run to the gate, but a heavy chain keeps it locked.

“Shit.”

I rattle it, but — big shocker — it doesn’t crumble like it would for Superman.

“HEY! Help!” I bellow as loud as I can, jumping up, waving my arm, hoping someone is home.

I scream a second time at the top of my lungs and am rewarded with a flickering lamp timidly illuminating the small side entrance.

A large figure steps out.

“I need help, please!”

He goes back inside but leaves the light on and the door open.

A good sign, right?

I dash back to the car and tear open the passenger door. Cooper hangs limply in the belt, his head tilted unnaturally to the side.

“Come on, big guy.”

I release the belt, and he tips toward me. He is heavy. Damn heavy. A sack full of muscle and bone that no longer moves. With a groan, I hoist his arm over my shoulder, my knees almost buckling under the weight.

“If you survive this, you’re going on a diet,” I grit out as I drag him toward the gate.

My heels dig into the soft forest floor.

I don’t have to ring. Before I even reach the intercom, there’s an electric buzz, and the heavy gate swings inward with a ghostly squeak.

Behind it, under the canopy of the dark house, stands a silhouette. Tall. Broad. And with eyes glowing a faint amber in the dark.

“Feline shifter,” a voice rumbles, deep as an earthquake. “I can smell the fever all the way out here.”

He walks toward us and supports Cooper from the other side.

“Feline shifter like you,” I pant. “Are you the doctor?”

Instead of an answer, he just grunts, shoving himself almost roughly between me and Coop, taking over his weight as effortlessly as if my nearly two-hundred-pound best friend were a scarecrow stuffed with straw.

Suddenly, my hands are empty and trembling.

“Hey! I asked you something,” I call after his broad back as I stumble to keep pace.

The guy is fast. Damn fast.

He carries Cooper down a long, functionally furnished hallway that smells of old wood, dust, and sharp disinfectant — a mix of Grandma’s attic and a slaughterhouse.

“Close the door,” he commands without turning around.

I obey automatically, slamming the heavy oak door shut, locking out the night.

We land in a large room with high ceilings.

In the center thrones a massive steel table, above it hang surgical lights that belong in a bunker rather than a doctor’s office. Shelves lined with brownish glass bottles flank modern medical equipment along the walls.

The giant lays Cooper down on the metal. Gently. Quite different from what his gruff manner suggested.

Then he finally turns to me.

In the harsh glare of the OR lamp, his eyes look even wilder. Amber with green specks. His pupils are narrow slits, even though it’s bright in here. He wears a washed-out black shirt straining across his chest and sweatpants that have seen better days.

“You don’t find this place by accident,” he says calmly. His voice vibrates deep in the pit of my stomach. “So, yes. I am the doctor. Call me Silas.”

He immediately turns back to Cooper, grabs the hem of Cooper’s shirt, and rips the fabric in two with an ugly tearing sound, as if it were paper.

“Dammit... that was his favorite shirt!” slips out, completely irrational.

Silas ignores me. He places a large hand flat on Cooper’s sweat-drenched chest, closes his eyes briefly, and inhales deeply. He doesn’t sniff like a dog; it looks more like he’s tasting the air. “When did this start?”

“Ago... I don’t know, two hours? Maybe three?” I step closer to the table, my hands clawing into my miniskirt as if the fabric could give me stability. “He was just tired at first. Then came the fever. He was burning like an oven, then freezing. He was hallucinating.”

Silas opens his eyes. His gaze is dark. “This isn’t a normal infection, Kitten. He smells of Dusk Lily and...” He leans lower over the crook of Cooper’s neck. “...Synthetic.”

He grabs a syringe from a rolling cart without looking.

“Synthetic?” I echo stupidly.

“A Felidoxin. An artificially created poison specifically targeting our metabolism.” He draws a clear liquid. His movements are precise, lethally efficient. “Someone didn’t want to make him sick. Someone wanted to take him out. Permanently.”

I feel sick. The room starts to spin.

“But... we’re nobodies. We keep to ourselves. Who would...”

Silas jams the needle into Cooper’s upper arm.

Cooper doesn’t even flinch.

“Shut up and make yourself useful,” Silas barks at me, without aggression, just pure urgency. “Back there in the cabinet. Blue bottle, no label. Bring it to me. Now. If his heart rate drops any further, that’s it.”