Chapter Fourteen
In my imagination I am
In real life I was crouching behind a Dumpster, sputtering and making snot bubbles; my skin was pasty white and “I’ll hit the gym tomorrow” jiggly.
“Someone’s hunting werewolves?” I finally bellowed; my voice was choked with tears and terror. “Does someone think I’m a werewolf?” I pointed to my own chest and then focused on my index finger. “Have I always had hair on my fingers? Oh, holy lord, I’m becoming a werewolf, and someone is trying to kill me!”
Will grabbed my halfway-to-a-paw hand and pushed it to my side. “I don’t think anyone thinks you’re a werewolf, love.”
I shook my head. “What’s going on, Will?”
He gathered up the last of the silver bullet casings and slipped them in his pocket.
“Are you okay?”
I gave myself a mental pat down and a short scan for bullet holes. Other than a bladder that was suddenly, shamefully empty, I was unharmed. “I think I’m okay,” I said, my voice a cracked whisper. “Are you?”
Will nodded coolly as though a shower of bullets was a common occurrence in his English life; then he helped me to stand.
He brushed little bits of gravel from my shirt and frowned. “I think Bettina was right. Someone is definitely out to eradicate their kind.”
My stomach quivered, gooseflesh breaking out all over my arms. “Oh my God.”
“This guy might be after anyone mythical.”
I licked my lips in a vain attempt to stop them from trembling. “So not VERM? Not just vampire defense.”
Will shot me a noncommittal glance. “I’m not sure any of this is a coincidence anymore.”
I slowly began to process what Will was suggesting—a serial killer of mythical creatures?—when I heard a gruff wince coming from the street. My whole body went hot again; the hair on the back of my neck pricked up. My legs trembled like Jell-O and I thanked God that my bladder was empty.
“What was that?”
Will pushed me behind him again and my inner Gloria Steinem was stomped out by my overwhelming girlie desire to climb up on his shoulders and bury my head in his neck.
Will picked his way across the wet sidewalk to where the wincing was coming from; the collapsible iron gate that locked the storefront next door was gaping open, and there was a dark shape hulking inside.
“Hello?” Will asked. “Sir, do you need help?”
Though I trusted Will implicitly, a large part of me considered taking off, running—if only to get help for the downed stranger. To get help and possibly to crawl under a bed somewhere and scream bloody murder until everything was calm again.
Instead, I stayed glued to Will, certain that my thundering heart would bash through my rib cage and kill us both.
I could make out the shape of a large man lying on his side against the brick wall. He made a sound, somewhere between a grunt and a growl, and I stiffened.
“Is he hurt?”
Will shrugged me off. “Sir, I’m an EMT and a fireman. I’m not going to hurt you, but I’m going to come in and check on you. Again, are you hurt?”
“No,” came the gasping reply. “Don’t come in here. Just leave me alone.” A painful breath punctuated every word, and I narrowed my eyes, peering deeper into the shadows. I could make out the man’s rumpled coat; the hem dipped into a shard of streetlight and I noticed that the stitching was even and hand done, the luxurious gray silk lining exposed.
“I think he’s a businessman,” I whispered to Will. “Ask him if he’s a businessman.”
Will glared over his shoulder at me and took another step toward the man, who shifted and lurched. The man jumped out of the darkness and his face was thrust into the light, teeth bared, upper lip snarled. Though he remained crouched, I could see the guy was huge, with biceps the size of melons and a chest at least three feet across, smeared with blood. A vein bulged in the man’s neck, and his dark skin was stretched tight. His brown eyes were wild, and sweat stood out above his eyebrows and lips.
“I don’t need any help,” the man snarled.
“You need a doctor,” Will said. His full body was tensed and seemingly ready to pummel the man.
“I don’t.” The man doubled over and crumbled before he could finish. I whipped around Will and knelt down, just a few inches from the man’s face.
“Sophie!” Will yelled.
I felt Will’s fingers brush past my shoulder as I put my hands on the man’s chest. His head railed against my palm and his breathing came in sharp, fast breaths.
“I’m calling an ambulance.”
“He doesn’t need an ambulance,” I told Will. “He needs to come home with us.”
“What?”
I looked into the man’s dark eyes, which were now hooded and weary. “He’s a werewolf.”
The man started to shake his head and I steadied him. “It’s okay. I recognize you from the UDA, but I don’t remember your name.”
“Sergio,” his dry lips whispered. “My name is Sergio.”
Will’s eyes went wide. “Werewolf?”
I had a hot, sinking feeling in my belly. On a daily basis I surround myself with immortals, angels, and the occasional fire-breathing dragon. From time to time, having that kind of posse tends to make me feel rather invincible, but coming face-to-face with the kind of firepower that could take down a werewolf—let alone turn me into a runny hunk of Swiss cheese—had the uncanny ability to turn me into jelly.
I blinked at the velvety bubble of black-red blood as it made its way out of Sergio’s wound. I felt hot bile rise in my throat. “I don’t feel so good.”
I felt Sergio’s baseball mitt–sized paws holding my shoulder, guiding me softly to the concrete. Will pressed his palm to my forehead.
“Is she going to be okay?” Sergio asked.
I blinked and gulped down a lungful of stale, urine-scented air; then I gagged and coughed.
“Yeah, she’s fine.”
I tried to glare at Will, but I was feeling a little barfy. I swung my head out of the vestibule and sucked in some semiclean air.
Will crouched down next to me. “So, do ... these guys ... bleed out like normal humans?”
I looked back to where Sergio was holding his wound and nodded. “Yeah.”
“Then we need to stop the bleeding or we’re going to lose him.” Will gently pushed Sergio’s arm aside and Sergio let him. “Looks like he was shot in the chest.”
Sergio shook his head again. “Shoulder. It’s the upper shoulder. Not a big deal.”
“Let’s get him home.”
We helped Sergio up and I was astonished to see that he was almost a full head taller than Will; but Will wielded Sergio as if he weighed nothing.
I stared into the street, frowning. “Should we get a cab?”
Sergio shook his head with concentrated effort. “My car is right over there.” He dug in his pocket and dropped a shiny set of keys in Will’s hand. “Do you mind?”
Will shook his head silently, continued to guide Sergio and me toward the car. We helped Sergio lay down in the back of his SUV, then drove home in near silence. The only sounds were Sergio’s occasional groans and ragged whooshes of air. I glanced over at Will, noticing his own arm lying limp in his lap, covered with blood. He was slowly flexing and unflexing his fist.
