Dead as a Doornail

shoulders, which were so high I was startled all over. The wolf was literally vibrating, a faint shiver that made his fur quiver under my touch. His whole resolve was bent toward rending his rival limb from limb. But Jackson was afraid of the younger wolf.
    “All clear,” I said, and Quinn turned away to open the door. He crouched to step through, and I was about to follow him when the burgundy-sheathed girl shrieked. Moving faster than I thought such a large man could move, Quinn spun on his foot, grabbed my arm with one hand, and yanked with all his might. With his other hand he slammed shut the door, and I heard something crash against it.
    The noises behind me told me the battle had already started, but I was pinned against a huge expanse of smooth tan skin.
    With my ear to Quinn’s chest, I could hear the rumble inside as well as outside as he asked, “Did he get you?”
    I had my own shaking and quivering going on. My leg was wet, and I saw that my tights were ripped, and blood was running from an abrasion on the side of my right calf. Had my leg scraped the door when Quinn had shut it so quickly, or had I been bitten? Oh my God, if I’d been bitten . . .
    Everyone else was pressed against the wire cage, watching the snarling, whirling wolves. Their spittle and blood flew in fine sprays, dotting the spectators. I glanced back to see Jackson’s grip on Patrick’s hind leg broken when Patrick bent himself backward to bite Jackson’s muzzle. I caught a glimpse of Alcide’s face, intent and anguished.
    I didn’t want to watch this. I would rather look at this stranger’s hide than watch the two men killing each other.
    “I’m bleeding,” I told Quinn. “It’s not bad.”
    A high yip from the cage suggested that one of the wolves had scored a hit. I cringed.
    The big man half carried me over to the wall. That was a good distance from the fight. He helped me turn and sink down into a sitting position.
    Quinn lowered himself to the floor, too. He was so graceful for someone so large that I was absorbed in just watching him move. He knelt by me to pull off my shoes, and then my tights, which were ripped to shreds and dabbled with blood. I was silent and shaking as he sank down to lie on his stomach. He gripped my knee and my ankle in his huge hands as if my leg were a large drumstick. Without saying a word, Quinn began to lick the blood from my calf. I was afraid this was preparatory to taking a bite, but Dr. Ludwig trotted over, looked down, and nodded. “You’ll be fine,” she said dismissively. After patting me on the head as if I were an injured dog, the tiny doctor trotted back to her attendants.
    Meanwhile, though I would not have thought it was possible for me to be anything but on the knife-edge of suspense, the leg-licking thing was providing an entirely unexpected diversion. I shifted restlessly, stifling a gasp. Maybe I should remove my leg from Quinn’s possession? Watching the gleaming bald head bob up and down as he licked was making me think of something worlds awayfrom the life-and-death battle taking place across the room. Quinn was working more and more slowly, his tongue warm and a little rough as he cleaned my leg. Though his brain was the most opaque shifter brain I’d ever encountered, I got the idea he was having the same reaction that I was.
    When he finished, he laid his head on my thigh. He was breathing heavily, and I was trying not to. His hands released their grip but stroked my leg deliberately. He looked up at me. His eyes had changed. They were golden, solid gold. The color filled his eyes. Whoa.
    I guess he could tell from my face that I was, to put it mildly, conflicted about our little interlude.
    “Not our time and place, babe,” he said. “God, that was . . . great.” He stretched, and it wasn’t an outward extension of arms and chest, the way humans stretch. He rippled from the base of his spine to his shoulders. It was one of the oddest things I’d ever seen, and I’d seen a lot of odd things. “Do you know who I am?” he asked.
    I nodded. “Quinn?” I said, feeling my cheeks color.
    “I’ve heard your name is Sookie,” he said, rising to his knees.
    “Sookie Stackhouse,” I said.
    He put his hand under my chin so I’d look up at him. I stared into his eyes as hard as I could. He didn’t blink.
    “I wonder what you’re seeing,” he said finally, and removed his hand.
    I glanced down at my leg. The mark on it, now clear of blood, was