Unjustified Claims Read online

  “Over here. Let’s at least get you farther away from the mud.” Brandt slid an arm around the man’s waist and used his whole body to brace the guy a couple of stumbling steps away from the boggy cliff-base onto more solid ground. There he eased him down and went back for the supplies. “Now what?”

  “Pressure wrap for now, I guess.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Rip the damned pants off first.”

  “Got it.” A knife from a side pocket worked to open the hole in the camo fabric, baring a lean thigh dusted with blond hair and liberally streaked with blood. The man tipped his head back, pale and breathing hard. Brandt worked with gauze and padding to replace the guy’s clutching fingers with a suitable bandage. “Tell me if it’s too tight.”

  “Pull more.”

  Brandt snugged the top layer in.

  “Damn, damn, motherlovin’ ouch!”

  “How’s that?” Brandt used white tape to hold it. The result was lumpy and bloodstained, but looked secure.

  “I guess we’ll find out…”

  “Hey.” Brandt got an arm behind the guy before he could crash backwards, and laid him down on the leaves. “Don’t pass out on me.”

  “Not trying to.” The man peered upward, blinking hard. “Whoo. World’s going around.”

  Brandt got up and found a spot where the swampy mud held a pool of brackish water. He crouched to scrub the blood off his fingers.

  “Hey? You still here?” The man on the ground twisted, looking for him.

  Good question.

  The longer he stayed, the more complicated this would get. He was starting to kind of like this guy, for the stoic effort he’d made and for not seeming fazed about Brandt’s naked state. But that lack of curiosity, or politeness, or whatever it was couldn’t last. Best not to have to invent lies. Or worse, think about the truth. He should leave now.

  Fade into the brush, shift back to paws that don’t attract every thorn and splinter for miles, and go on my merry way. Following a pack of dumb beasts who wanted nothing to do with him. Or hanging out in the swamps brooding. Or whatever other brilliant and cheerful activity he could come up with. Wondering how the injured guy was making out…

  “Oh. There you are.” The blond guy had rolled enough to catch sight of him again. “Y’know, I’m really grateful for your help. My name’s Ethan.”

  He hesitated one more minute and then gave in to his damned boredom and curiosity. “I’m Brandt.”

  § § § §

  Ethan Sjulstad had been in scary situations before. But lying on the forest floor, miles from the nearest doctor, with a skewered, bleeding, throbbing, messed-up leg was definitely top of the list. Ex-skewered leg, at least, thanks to the gorgeous naked guy crouching ten feet away. If that was really what was happening, because despite the pain in his thigh and the nausea and the smell of mud and blood and pine needles, Ethan was half-convinced he was dreaming. Or maybe hallucinating.

  He’d only had a second’s warning, a hint of instability, before the edge of the ridge gave way under him. He’d plunged into a jumble of falling, a vicious pain in his leg and his head, dizziness and fear. And then giant wolves and naked dark-haired men, which was where the probably hallucinating part came in.

  He slid his hand down his thigh and pressed there, slightly reassured of reality by the intense pain that arrowed through his leg. The unlikely vision in front of him didn’t change, though.

  The guy who called himself Brandt was tall and fit, his skin golden and unblemished, his shoulders wide, his arms as strong looking as they’d felt. His features were regular, but not extraordinary; his mouth was a little big, his dark eyes shadowed by heavy brows. And he was definitely naked, in the middle of the BWCA wilderness, and amazingly unselfconscious about it.

  For a moment, Ethan let himself imagine Brandt as some kind of woodland god, naked in the primordial forest. Then Brandt swore under his breath and bent to pull a thorny twig from the sole of one foot, and the illusion was broken. Woodland gods didn’t usually say fuck. Unless they were talking to a dryad or… Ethan blinked, wondering if maybe he’d done more damage to his head than he realized. Brandt flicked the thorn aside and gave him an embarrassed look. “Hate pricker-bushes.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” The air of unreality hovered. The throbbing of his leg combined with the pounding in his head to make it difficult to think. Ethan searched fuzzily for something else to say. Godling, madman, or hallucination, he still didn’t want to be left alone out here. “Come here often?”

  Brandt laughed. The man had a good laugh, warm and sane. It sounded real. “No. And definitely not naked.”

  “Ah. I didn’t want to mention it.”

  “Well, you’re the politest fucker I’ve met in a long time. You have to be wondering.”

  “Wondering, yes.”

  “I figured I was alone, went skinny-dipping, wandered a bit, and then I heard you.” Brandt came closer and sat down, looking at him. Ethan was grateful not to have to crane his neck. His vision was a bit fuzzy, but Brandt looked just as good close up as he had at a distance.

  “And you came running to help me without getting dressed.” There was something odd there, but Ethan wasn’t looking a gift godling in the mouth. He breathed through his nose, trying to focus on the man and not his own pain. Say something. This guy might’ve saved your life. If he made it out, of course. “I’m grateful.” What else? Ethan fought the urge to clutch Brandt’s ankle and beg him not to leave. “If you, um, want to go get your clothes now, you’ll know where to find me.”

  Even if Brandt never came back, Ethan was free of the log. His leg was bandaged and he’d make it home somehow. Infinitely better than where he’d been before Brandt showed up.

  Still he was relieved when Brandt sighed and looked embarrassed. “Problem is, I’m not sure where I left my things. I got a bit turned around in the river, even before you screamed. I’d waded along a ways, kind of in a hurry, because there were, um, wolves.”

  Ethan had wanted that part of his memories to be a hallucination. “Really? Damn.”

  “Yeah. There’s this pack. I’ve been studying them. I’m a, uh, naturalist. I’ve been following these wolves for a while, but when I went swimming I didn’t think the pack was that close. They got between me and my clothes and I, kind of, left. Quickly.”

  “Oh. Understandable.”

  “Yeah.” There was a thread of amusement in Brandt’s voice that Ethan, in his present muzzy-headed state, couldn’t begin to untangle.

  “That’s… not good.” Ethan tried to think. “You could borrow some of my stuff. Until you find yours. You don’t really want to be wandering the woods naked-assed. Pricker bushes and all.” He choked because even in this state, his mind went to naked ass and prick and wanted to make the obvious connection. Jesus, that fall must have scrambled his brains. He added, “We’re about the same size.”

  Brandt hesitated, then nodded. “Makes sense. If you really don’t mind.”

  “I really don’t. Take anything you like. They wouldn’t have been much use to me dead.” The sudden realization of just how bad a death it might’ve been, impaled and slowly rotting in a swamp, made Ethan’s stomach heave. “Ugh. Excuse me.” He rolled onto his elbow and the lance of pain that shot down his leg finished the job. He vomited convulsively into the leaf mulch, gasping for breath as each spasm tightened his muscles and set off another round of pain and dizziness and puking.

  An arm came around his shoulders, supporting him, while his forehead was braced by a damp hand.

  “Gah.” He tried to breathe through the nausea. The spasms of vomiting backed off enough for him to realize that his face was less than a foot from the nicest uncut cock he’d seen for a long time. And unfortunately, his sole goal right now was not to puke on it. He puffed a few breaths, heaved again, and shuddered, grateful for the support that kept him from collapsing into his own filth. Slowly his dizziness receded, although the pain was still there, shooting in oddly variable waves from his leg throughout his body.

  Brandt asked, “What do you think? Done? Can I set you on your side?”

  “Yeah.”

  Brandt eased him down onto his shoulder, farther away from the puke, and bent over him, uncapping his canteen. “Here. Drink.”

  Ethan reached out shakily, but Brandt held the canteen up to Ethan’s lips. He took a small sip, rinsed it around, tasting the foulness of his mouth, and then spat as far away from Brandt’s naked foot as he could.

  “Warn a guy,” Brandt muttered, but he held the canteen close again so Ethan could get another mouthful he actually wanted to swallow. “You have any medications in that kit?”

  “At the bottom. Pain meds and antibiotics. I should probably take both.”

  “You want to wait a bit longer and make sure you don’t just puke them back up?”

  “Probably.” Ethan lowered his head onto his outstretched arm.

  There was rustling, as Brandt presumably dug around in the pack. Ethan roused himself enough to say, “Take whatever clothes you like.” The sight of Brandt, naked and gloriously unconcerned, was a sin to cover up, but Ethan wasn’t in any shape to really appreciate it and the afternoon was getting cooler.

  “Thanks.”

  Ethan let his eyes drift shut, trying to center himself against the pain, trying not to think about what came next, miles from any kind of civilization. The next few days were not going to be fun. Ethan was a master at ignoring facts, though. By now he had a PhD in reality-avoidance with a minor in wishful thinking. Sometimes that was the only way to survive the present. So he put practical thoughts away and let himself speculate about the origins of his woodland god.

  A skinny-dipping naturalist was far too mundane. Brandt could, with just a little imagination, be turned into an alien, dropped to earth without clothes because aliens didn’t wear them. Or the spirit of the swamp, brought to life by the offering of Ethan’s blood on the soil. Or the ghost of a young man, lost in the woods a century ago… That one cut a bit close to home, and the throbbing in Ethan’s thigh was making his favorite game hard to maintain. He opened his eyes.

  A couple of feet away, looking very ordinary in Ethan’s own T-shirt and spare shorts, Brandt was going through the first aid kit. He looked like any camping buddy. Well, other than the bare feet.

  “There’s a pair of heavy sandals at the bottom of the pack, for when my boots get wet. You’re welcome to them.”

  “I wear a fourteen.” Brandt flashed him a grin.

  If they’d been in a gay bar, Ethan would have taken that wicked look as commentary on the relative sizes of feet and dicks. As it was, it was probably just one-upmanship. He said, “They’re thirteens. Should work.”

  “Oh, sure, thanks.”

  Things got fuzzy next. Time obviously glitched somewhere. When Ethan opened his eyes, Brandt’s sandal-clad foot was planted a few inches from his face. Brandt leaned over him, touching his cheek with a surprisingly gentle hand. “Are you still with me?”

  “Yeah.” Mostly.

  “Here then, let’s sit you up so you can take the pills.”

  “Pills are good,” Ethan agreed.

  He tried to tell himself this was a stupid little injury, just a puncture wound, so there was no reason he should feel so woozy. But he was glad of Brandt’s help to get him up on his ass. Brandt supported him with a knee behind his back and handed him the pill vials, holding the canteen ready. “All I found for pain was ibuprofen.”

  “That’s all there is.”

  “Pretty skimpy supplies for someone hiking alone. Or did you get separated from the rest of your group?”

  “No. No group.” Ethan managed to swallow several painkillers and an antibiotic, grabbing the canteen to wash them down.

  “You do know you’re crazy, hiking out here all by yourself, right? Especially, without a satellite phone or any way to call for help.”

  “I like hiking alone. I’ve done it for years. Probably before you could lift a pack.” Because with clothes on and that amazing muscular body covered, Brandt looked younger. Early twenties, maybe even nineteen, and Ethan was thirty-one.

  “So a stupid risk stops being crazy, once you’ve been crazy long enough?”

  Ethan snorted with laughter, then winced. “Something like that.”

  “I call bullshit.”

  “From the guy who was skinny-dipping alone. Closer to a bunch of wolves than to his co-workers.” His brain tried to do something with nudist/naturalist and music, but it sounded more like an advertising jingle than a real composition. He blinked away oddness and the first music that had come to him in months. “That’s crazier than hiking alone.”

  “No it’s not.”

  “Why?”

  Brandt coughed. “It’s a research thing. Just take my word for it. So now what? You need to get to a doctor ASAP.”

  “Yeah.” No way around it. Even for someone with Ethan’s avoidance skills.

  “I’ll give you a hand, but I have no clue which trail will get us out of the park fastest. Do you know where you are right now? Can you take the lead?”

  “Yes. Thanks. Absolutely, thank you.” Ethan clenched his teeth at a flood of relief that Brandt wasn’t just going to immediately head off. Or disappear. Imagining Brandt was a spirit who would mysteriously vanish into thin air and leave him behind as wolf-food was his damned weirdness at work.

  “Well, I can hardly ditch you now.”

  Not a ghost, not a spirit, stupid fuzzy brain. Ethan tried to focus. “It might be best to find the rest of your team first. The nearest trailhead is two days off, and I’m not likely to manage any kind of speed. Do they have a sat phone? I’ll be okay here for a bit, if you want to go meet up with them.” I will be okay. Will be. He hadn’t been afraid to be alone in the woods since he was ten. The creepy feeling of being watched from the shadows was surely his newfound insecurity. Not wolves. Probably not wolves.

  “Unfortunately… that’s not going to work.”

  “They can’t be far.”

  Ethan felt Brandt tense up. “They, um, they had to head back unexpectedly, um, yesterday. I stayed to track the pack on my own for a while. So it’s just me and you, until we reach somewhere more civilized.”

  “Crap.” Ethan slumped against Brandt’s supporting knee. But then he had to laugh, no matter how it hurt. “So you’re really just as crazy as me. Crazier, since you’re not familiar with the area.”

  “I’m very good in the wilderness. Although I admit my sanity’s been questioned once or twice.” There was a tight, dry note to Brandt’s voice. “Either way, it’s just us and one long freaking walk. Or I could make you more comfortable here. Then I could walk out myself and come back with help?”

  “No!” Damn. Spending an hour incapacitated and alone while Brandt went for his team was one thing. But it would be fully dark soon and for all that he’d camped alone for years, he didn’t have the guts to do it now. Panic rose to choke him, weird and new, with a memory of that strange wolf’s burning eyes and pricked ears and wild strength. New, and more than he could handle, however feeble it made him sound. “Really, I… I’m sorry, I don’t want to sit waiting in the woods at night with a bleeding leg and a pack of wolves around.”

  “They won’t bother you,” Brandt said, with a certainty that Ethan was far from feeling. “They’re pretty shy of humans.”

  “I saw one extremely close though.” Too close. Unless that had really been a hallucination from his fall, but he didn’t think so. The wolf was so sharp in his mind, a sense-memory with smell and sound and the weight of fear. “A huge male. Right over there.” He pointed. “It was just a few yards away and it stared at me. I guarantee you, it wasn’t the least bit intimidated.” He had a vivid recollection of those eyes boring into him, oddly-colored and intent. He made an effort to keep his voice steady. “A massive gray wolf with gold eyes.”

  “Not likely,” Brandt said. “This pack’s all females. They’re pretty small, although one of them’s really pregnant. You were knocked out, I bet, having a nightmare.”

  Ethan wanted to protest. He considered insisting that Brandt go look for giant paw-prints in the mud. But perhaps it was better not to antagonize the only human help for miles.

  Maybe Brandt was right. The memory was a pain-blurred jumble. He almost believed the wolf had dragged his backpack… Yeah, maybe not. Ethan wasn’t sure what would be worse— a hallucination that vivid, or finding out the giant, helpful wolf was real. “I’d still rather try to make it out of the park on foot myself, and not sit around for days, waiting for rescue.”

  “Fair enough. Start now or in the morning?”

  Ethan thought about standing up, but walking wasn’t close to being possible yet. He temporized, “Shouldn’t you go look for your gear first? Do you have a phone? A rifle? Anything useful? What about your research stuff?”

  “I travel light. No sat-phone and I don’t like guns. All I have is clothes and camping shit. My research notes are all in here anyway.” Brandt tapped the side of his head.

  “Seriously?” Ethan figured a naturalist would have cameras, instruments, samples, but then he didn’t know a whole lot about research. “If you want to go look, I’d be fine for an hour.” He sat up straight, pushing away from Brandt’s support to show he meant it, and then breathed fast through his nose as the action shot pain from his thigh all the way up into his groin. Damn, that hurt!

  Brandt grabbed his shoulder. “Yeah. You look fucking fine. Here, why don’t you lie back down. I’ll get your bedroll out.”

  Ethan let himself be eased to the ground. He watched from that angle as Brandt bent over his gear and unstrapped his pad and sleeping bag, brushing mud off the bottom of the pad. Brandt knelt, moving with the grace of a dancer or maybe a martial artist, and lifted Ethan to slide the pad under his shoulders and then his hips. Ethan managed not to scream at the motion. Go me. Instead he got out, “I’m really sorry about being such a nuisance.”

  “Not your fault.” Brandt tucked the sleeping bag over him. His nose wrinkled. “You’re still bleeding.”