could be in here. Bunyips. Neanderthals. The odd rapist.
She was losing her mind, and she was going home now! She turned, pushed forward, and a branch slapped her forehead with a swish of leaves. She almost screamed. She was absurdly pleased that she didn’t.
But still no howl.
Where was it?
She was going back to the house. There was no way she was going one inch further.
Where was the thing behind the howl?
She shoved her way around the next bush, pushing herself against the thick foliage. Suddenly the foliage gave way and she almost tumbled out onto the track.
Hands grabbed her shoulders—and held.
She screamed and jerked back.
She raised her poker and she hit.
CHAPTER TWO
SHE’D killed him.
He went down like felled timber, crumpling from the knees, pitching sideways onto the leaf-littered track.
She had just enough courage not to run; to shine the torch at what she’d hit.
She’d hit someone—not something. She didn’t believe in werewolves. Therefore …
Sanity returned with terrifying speed. She had it figured almost before she got the torchlight on his face, and what she saw confirmed it.
She whimpered. There seemed no other option.
This was ghastly on so many levels her head felt it might explode.
She’d knocked out her landlord.
The howling started up again just through the trees, and she jumped higher than the first time she’d heard it.
A lesser woman would run.
There wasn’t room for her to be a lesser woman.
She knelt, shining the torchlight closer to see the damage.
Gabe’s dark face was thick with stubble, harsh and angular. A thin trickle of blood was oozing down the side of his cheek. A bruise with a split at its centre was rising above his eye.
He seemed totally unconscious.
To say her heart sank was an understatement. Her heart was below her ankles. It was threatening to abandon her body entirely.
But then … He stirred and groaned and his fingers moved towards his head.
Conscious. That had to be good.
What to do? Deep breath. This was no time for hysterics. He looked as if he was trying to focus.
She placed the poker behind her. Out of sight.
‘Are you … Are you okay?’ she managed.
He groaned. He closed his eyes and appeared to think about it.
‘No,’ he managed at last. ‘I’m not.’
‘I’ll find a doctor.’ Her voice wobbled to the point of ridiculous. ‘An ambulance.’
He opened his eyes again, touched his head, winced, closed his eyes again. ‘No.’
‘You need help.’ She was gabbling. ‘Someone.’ She went to touch his face and then thought better of it. She definitely needed help. Someone who knew what they were doing. She reached inside her jacket for her cellphone.
His eyes flew open, he grabbed her wrist and he held like a vice.
‘What did you hit me with?’ His voice was a slurred growl.
‘A … a poker.’ His voice was deep. In contrast, her voice was practically a squeak.
‘A poker,’ he said, almost conversationally. ‘Of course. And now what?’
‘S … sorry?’
‘You have a gun in your jacket? Or is only your poker loaded?’
Her breath came out in a rush. If he was making stupid jokes, maybe she hadn’t done deathly damage.
‘There’s not … that’s not funny,’ she managed. ‘You scared the daylights out of me.’
‘You hit the daylights out of me.’
Reaction was making her shake. ‘You snuck up.’ Her voice was getting higher. ‘You grabbed me.’
‘Snuck up …’ He sounded flabbergasted. ‘I believe,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘that I was running up the track. On my land. Back to my house. And you burst out of the undergrowth. Bearing poker.’
He had a point, she conceded. She’d almost fallen as she lurched onto the cleared track. She might indeed have fallen into his path.
It might even have been reasonable for him to grab her to stop them both falling.
And he was her landlord. Hitting someone was bad enough, but to hit Gabe …
It hadn’t been easy to find decent rental accommodation in Banksia Bay and she’d been really lucky to find this apartment. Apart from howling dogs, it had everything she needed. ‘Just be nice to your landlord and respect his privacy,’ the woman in the rental agency had advised. ‘He’s a bit of a loner. You leave Gabe in peace and you’ll get along fine.’
Leaving him in peace wouldn’t include hitting him, she conceded. Mentally she was already packing.
‘I need steak,’ he said across her thoughts.
She blinked. ‘Steak?’ She groped for basic first aid; thought of something she’d once read. ‘To stop the swelling?’ She tried to look wise. Tried to stop gibbering. ‘I don’t … I don’t have steak but I’ll get ice.’
‘For the dog, dummy.’ He’d raised his head but now he set it down again, staying flat on the leaf litter. Gingerly fingering the bruise. ‘The dog needs help. There’s steak in my fridge. Fetch it.’
‘I can’t …’
‘Just fetch it,’ he snapped and closed his eyes. ‘If you run round in the middle of the night with pokers, you face the consequences. Get the steak.’
‘I can’t leave you,’ she said miserably, and he opened one eye and looked at her. Flinching.
‘Turn the torch around,’ he said, and she realised that just possibly she was blinding him as well as hitting him.
‘Sorry.’ She swivelled the light so it was shining harmlessly into the bush.
‘No, onto you.’
