He nodded and hung back, his hand still pressed to his stomach and the look of intense pain seemingly entrenched on his mauled features.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly, carefully, opened the door. Nothing stirred the night except the cool breeze. Metal creaked somewhere to my right, and from the left came the steady hum of traffic, soft laughter, and babble of voices as people walked past. From farther away still came the bass thump of rock music.
Switching to infrared, I opened the door wider, and stepped out. No splashes of body heat greeted me, though if the spiders were up here, I wouldn't have seen them anyway.
The night breeze stirred my hair, and suddenly I was aware of the space and the night, and the sensation that we were high, so high, swamped me. Cold sweat broke out across my skin and my stomach rose. I closed my eyes, swallowing heavily.
I could do this.
I really could.
I switched back to normal vision, and glanced at Misha. He was sweating profusely, and shaking with pain. Shock, or something else? I didn't know, but it was obvious I had to get him to the hospital, and fast.
"I think it's safe."
He nodded and pushed past, heading to the left of the door. A building loomed above us, its inner bones revealed by the massive holes dotting its side.
The shifting haze skimmed across Misha's body, and in wolf form, he ran for the ledge and leapt for the nearest gap. I watched as he hit the other side, his body only half in, his back legs scrabbling for purchase on the rough old bricks. My heart lodged somewhere in my throat, and for several seconds I couldn't even breathe, my fear for him was so great. Then he was in, and safe, and it was my turn.
Oh God, oh God.
I licked my lips again, my eyes on the building directly opposite. It was just a little jump. A tiny jump. A sneeze when compared to some of the things I'd jumped in the past.
I called to the wolf within, felt the haze of energy sweep across my body.
But I couldn't force my paws forward. The concrete seemed to be attached to my feet, holding me down, holding me still.
Then I heard it.
The scrabble of tiny feet against concrete.
The spiders had found a way into the stairwell. It was either the jump or the spiders, and I'd had more than enough spiders for one day.
I sucked in a breath, then ran across the roof as fast as four legs would carry me. Not thinking, not looking, just running.
My leap was long and high, and it was terrifying to feel the wind batter my body, to see nothing but a long drop underneath me. My stomach rose and fear clenched my gut, my lungs, and breathing was suddenly impossible.
Then my claws hit concrete, and I was sliding to safety. I changed shape back to human form, but for several seconds couldn't move, couldn't do anything but sweat and shake and gasp for air.
But the thought that the spiders might somehow be able spray themselves across the gap got me moving. I rose and looked around for Misha. He was halfway across the gutted expanse, heading for the stairs.
"Misha, wait."
He stopped. I caught up with him. The smell of sweat and blood and fear tainted the air, and when his gaze met mine, true terror lurked in the silver depths. My stomach plummeted. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
"I feel like shit," he croaked.
"That's because you look like shit." I wrapped an arm around his waist, half-supporting him as I hurried forward. "My car is across the road. You'll be fine once I get you to hospital."
He coughed and moisture spurted from his mouth. Moisture that was bloody. God, he had internal injuries. "Hang on, Misha," I muttered, almost dragging him as I half-ran for the stairs. "Just hang on."
"You were right," he said, his voice so soft it was barely audible over the sound of our steps. "He figured a way into my foxhole."
"But he didn't kill us, and that's a plus."
"I'm not so sure about that." He stumbled as he said it, bringing us both down.
I grunted as the shock of the fall reverberated from my knees to brain. Misha rolled onto his back, his face contorted and his hands clutching at his stomach. "God," he said, voice a harsh rasp of suffering. "It feels like I'm being eaten inside out - " He stopped as a cough racked him, and bits of blood and water and what looked like specks of flesh gushed from his mouth.