“You okay?” I wanted to know.
I watched the muscle twitch in Will’s jaw. I saw the pink tip of his tongue slide across his lower lip. He leaned over to me.
“What does it take to make a person ...” His eyes flicked from the windshield to his blood-covered forearm.
“Into a werewolf?” I finished for him.
Another whoosh of air from the backseat and Sergio pushed himself up. “Don’t worry, man. You’re fine. I didn’t nick you, did I?”
My eyes went wide. “He didn’t nick you, did he?”
Will wagged his head and I let out a tiny, relieved breath. “You’re fine,” I said. “It’s only a bite, a really significant scratch, or drinking from his footprint.”
Will knitted his brows. “Drinking from a footprint?”
I shrugged. “I’m just the messenger.”
We rounded a corner and Sergio winced again; I angled myself over the back of my seat. “You’re going to be okay, Sergio. We’re almost back to my apartment.” I eyed the man and his well-tailored suit—that gorgeous coat now glistening with a growing sheen of wet blood. “Do you know what happened? Do you know who did this?”
Sergio shook his big head. “I don’t really know. I was walking home from the office and I heard tires squeal. I didn’t really pay attention because, you know, downtown San Francisco.”
We all nodded knowingly, used to the constant honks, tire squeals, and inarticulate shouting from the downtown residents and tourists.
“Then I heard the first pop. Naturally, I ducked, but I didn’t think it had anything to do with me.”
“Gangbangers?” I asked.
“Something like that. I really try and keep to myself mostly. There are a lot of thugs out there, a lot of bad elements. I like to keep my business clean.”
I socked Will on the shoulder. “See? I told you.”
“Good guess,” he said without looking back at me.
“I felt the first shot whiz by me, so I dove into that doorway. I wasn’t too worried because”—Sergio’s dark eyes glanced from Will to me—“well ...”
“Werewolf,” I finished. “Yeah, we get it.”
For the first time Sergio seemed to brighten. “You too?”
“No”—I pointed to Will—“Vessel Guardian.” Then I jabbed a thumb at my chest. “Supernatural Tupperware.”
Sergio grinned, his teeth practically glowing white in the dim car. “Vessel Guardian. You don’t say! I thought that was all just a bunch of religious mumbo jumbo.”
Will stepped on the gas and easily maneuvered us through an intersection, finding a space just in front of my building. “You don’t say,” Will mumbled.
“And Tupperware? What’s that like—”
“Vessel of Souls,” I confirmed, shrugging nonchalantly.
Sergio’s eyes went wide, and Will cut his eyes to me. “Way to keep that one under wraps.”
Will put the car in park and we helped Sergio up to my apartment. He was groaning less and starting to stand up a little straighter by the time we reached the third floor. You gotta love that supernatural healing power.
I sank the key into my lock and kicked the front door open. Vlad, seated on the couch, snapped his head toward us; his nostrils flared, and his brow furrowed.
“Vlad, this is Sergio,” I said. “Sergio, take off your coat. Let me have a look at the wound.” I nodded to Will. “Go grab the emergency kit underneath the bathroom sink. And there’s extra Bactine in the medicine cabinet.”
I would like to say that I kept a fully stocked emergency kit and a Costco-sized bottle of antiseptic just for Florence Nightingale situations like these, but, the truth was, I had a tendency to walk into things. Or fall off them. But I was still feeling very much like a lifesaving battlefront nurse, until Will returned with a heap of bandages and Bactine. I turned back to Sergio, who was now down to his white shirt, the blood soaking through to his collar and all the way down his breast pocket.
There was a lot of blood.
But I was used to blood in copious amounts—when it came from a blood bag and wasn’t attached to an actual bleeding person.
That was the last thing I thought before the room started to spin... .
I felt ice-cold fingers pressed to my cheeks. When I blinked, Nina was hovering over me. “She’s awake. She’s going to be okay.”
“Are you sure she doesn’t have a concussion?” It was a gruff, unfamiliar voice and I struggled to sit up, but Nina held me down, fingertips pressed against my shoulders, surprisingly strong.
“What’s your name?” Nina asked.
“Let me up, Nina.”
“Answer the question,” she commanded.
“Sophie Annemarie Lawson. And you’re Nina LaShay.” I pointed. “That’s Will Sherman and ... I have no idea who you are.”
“Sergio, remember?” Sergio grinned at me and I cocked my head, remembering. “Nice shirt,” I said finally.
He had traded in his bloodstained button-up for a borrowed shirt from Vlad. It was three sizes too small, emphasized Sergio’s bubbly muscles, and the VERM logo was stretched unmercifully across his huge chest. Sergio smoothed it, grinned, and patted the two inches of exposed belly under the hem of the shirt. “It’s the best we could do.”
“Whatever,” Vlad mumbled.
I sat up and smiled at Sergio. “You’re okay.” I pointed to my own shoulder. “The gunshot?”
Sergio blushed, his dark skin tinged a deep red. “Your Will is quite the nurse.”
Will’s eyebrows disappeared in his bangs. “Hey! No, it must be the werewolf-healing thing.” He snapped his fingers. “Quick. I had nothing to do with it.”
I stood up and brushed off my pants. “I’m glad. But I thought the silver bullet would, you know ...”
Sergio wagged his head. “No, only through the heart.”
“Oh,” I said, “like vampires. But with the stake.”
“
Will leaned in to me. “They’re not going to start the whole werewolf-vampire arm wrestling thing, are they?”
I looked from Sergio to Vlad, narrowing my eyes on the scowling century-old sixteen-year-old. “No, they’re not. Besides, the whole vampire versus werewolf thing has mainly been fabricated by the media.”
“That sounds very VERM.”
“We
Sergio clapped his hands together. “So, now that this is all sorted out, I should probably be on my way.”
I grabbed him by his ham-hock bicep. “You can’t go. You’ve just been shot. You need to relax and we need to figure out what’s going on. Your shoulder might be healed, but you’re probably still a little weak, right?”
Sergio frowned and rubbed his flat belly. “A little, I guess.”
“Can I get you something? Crackers or something?”
“No, thanks.” Sergio wagged his head. “Do you have anything with protein?”
“Oh,” I said, “because you’re a werewolf.”
“Actually, it’s because I’m gluten intolerant.”
Will followed me into the kitchen while I pulled open the fridge, willing a turkey breast and a hunk of Brie to magically appear. My powers of astroprojection being nil, I was greeted with the usual selection of blood bags, condiments, and a carton of vanilla soy milk.
I shook the carton, then upended it in a glass.
Will winced. “Is it supposed to be chunky?”
I tossed the carton in the trash. “Do you think I could pass it off as chocolate chip?” I blew out a sigh. “Hey, Sergio, what do you like on your pizza?”
