Wilder by Christina Dodd Read Free Book Online Page A

her way in the tunnels. She’d been down a long time, watched by a hunting pack of demons who waited for her strength to fail before they tore her apart.
    Although Guardian feared a trap, Taurean’s urgency had sent him out after her.
    Taurean had led the way, loping along while informing Guardian that this was one of the
good
Aboves. Charisma Fangorn had been kind to Taurean. She even listened when Taurean told her about the terrors that stalked the night . . . terrors no one perceived but Taurean. Charisma didn’t call Taurean crazy; she said Taurean was gifted, and she thanked her with offerings of food and blankets.
    Taurean had told him that Charisma saw what nobody else above wanted to see, and she fought for the lost children, and poor families, and for people like Taurean.
    Guardian hadn’t necessarily believed everything Taurean said. Taurean was . . . special. Different. But he patted Taurean on the shoulder and promised to save her friend.
    Guardian had reached Charisma barely in time . . . and still he had been too late.
    Dr. King spoke from the door behind him. “She came to consciousness?”
    Guardian swiveled to face his friend. “She did.”
    “She was aware? Coherent?” As always, Dr. King was impeccably dressed in a suit, white shirt, and tie. His wingtips shone with polish, and his Breguet pocket watch was a work of art.
    “She ate,” Guardian told him. “She drank. She went to the bathroom. She abused me verbally. She tried to kill me. Considering what she’s been through, she is doing well.”
    Dr. King laughed, a deep, contagious laugh that made Guardian smile despite himself. “That is better than I ever dared to hope.” He walked forward, his bag on one shoulder, his other arm swinging awkwardly. He knelt on the floor beside Charisma and studied her relaxed face, then placed a hand on her forehead and nodded. “Almost no fever. Good.” Holding her wrist in his hand, he took her pulse. “She’s a lucky girl. If it hadn’t been for you, we would have lost her.”
    Dr. King was like everyone else who worked below ground—he didn’t fit in among the Aboves.
    He worked with the poor and disabled. He was African-American. He was a dwarf, the smallest man on earth.
    He probably could have gotten along with the Aboves, but he didn’t fit their profile for a dwarf. He had trouble sidling up to an examining room table, not just because of his height, but because of the constant ridicule by his peers.
    Worse, his IQ was off the charts. Guardian could only imagine what it had taken Dr. King to get through medical school, working the long hours and battling his colleagues’ overweening egos. But he kept his diplomas framed on the wall in his underground office to reassure those who doubted his medical qualifications.
    Dr. King opened his bag, donned sterile latex gloves, turned back the collar on Charisma’s nightgown, and examined the demon’s bite.
    After the attack, it was an hour before Guardian got her back to safety, another hour before Dr. King arrived, and in that time, the poison had invaded her system and the wound had turned septic. Dark red streaks ran under her skin, down her arm, and up her neck. Froth bubbled at the edges of the open wound, and a sickly sweet stench rose from it.
    Guardian and Dr. King had worked through the night, opening the wound to cut away the dead tissue, disinfecting and cleaning, applying heat and cold. . . .
    The bite was closed now, resulting in a hard blue mark that looked as if she’d been branded by evil. And perhaps she had.
    “That’s probably as good as it’s going to get,” Dr. King said, and closed her nightgown tightly at her throat.
    Guardian squatted beside her and stroked her hair back from her forehead. “She freaked out about having her eyes covered.”
    “Of course she did. Wouldn’t you?” Dr. King pulled off his gloves and put them in the trash.
    “Yes. But I think I convinced her of the danger of taking off the