Mom just killed someone.
Reality stops making sense as she walks toward me, drops the gun at my feet, and then sits on the porch. As if nothing has just happened.
"What are you doing?" I ask her, finding my voice, but only just barely.
"Well, you all hear them coming. He's injured, so you'll be the only thing between me and my freedom. I won't hurt you, Mila."
I blink at her, and I try with all of my might to keep quiet. But I can't. "It's too late for that."
She nods sadly and looks away. "I know, Spooky. I know."
13
T-Bone
The world comes back into focus, slowly and painfully. The sun is hurting my eyes, and I want to stand to get Mila out of its harmful rays, but my body won’t answer me.
I watch through half-opened eyes as Mila and Markov exchange a few words. Even injured, I can see the sadness on both women’s faces. I’m surprised to hear Markov admit that she’d hurt her daughter.
The words feel heavy on the air. She leans her head back on the cabin wall and closes her eyes. It's surrender.
All because Sveta refuses to hurt her daughter.
It's kind of fascinating. She was holding a gun to her head not five minutes ago.
The sound of the sirens is now accompanied by the flash of red and blue lights against the white building. A dozen agents spill out of the various vehicles, weapons drawn on what can only be described as the oddest scene.
The escaped convict is sitting quietly, not making a single move to run, while her accomplice bleeds out beside her.
"Agent Thrussell." One of my team leaders, Meg, comes to stand above me. “That’s a nasty wound. It’ll take a bit of time to heal up. You’ll need to get that checked out.”
She’s not wrong. I'm suddenly very grateful that I called for medics as well as a few teams to meet us at the Lake Murray location once we spotted the car parked out front.
Not that I need the medical attention, per se, now that the blood flowing from my leg has progressed from a mild deluge to a slowly decreasing flow. But my team leaders are all RCMP agents who have no idea that I'm a Hairy Coo shifter who can literally take a bullet and walk away without becoming ground beef. Injured, to be sure. But I definitely won’t be steak tartare anytime soon.
"Thanks, Meg. But I just need a minute. Cuff her." I gesture to a still very demure Sveta.
My shifter blood is already healing the hell out of my wound, and it's not as bad as it was a few minutes ago. It'll be tender for a day or so, since an artery was definitely nicked, but I’ve definitely survived worse in my time.
"Here," Mila says, helping me up with her slender shoulders. "You're kind of kooky, you know that?" she adds, shaking her head. "You're not as straight-edged as I originally thought. Diving for bullets and all."
"What's going to happen to me?" Sveta asks as her hands are cuffed behind her back.
"Well, I'm guessing more time will be added to your sentence. For the escape and maybe for the death of your accomplice."
"What's a few more years to a thousand-year sentence?" She shrugs.
She's not wrong. She was given over a thousand years behind bars. It was a gesture the judge posed for the victims' families.
"Mila," she says, "my head is a little bit confused. I think... Wait, are you still in school?"
"No," Mila answers sadly. "I graduated a little while ago. I became a professor. Remember?"
"Oh." Sveta nods. "Oh, yes. That's right."
But it's written all over her face that she isn't sure what year it is or even where she is. Mila leads her mother to one of the police cruisers and tucks her inside.
"I'll be right behind you," Mila swears. "This time you’re headed to a FUC prison. They'll know how to help you. Just... be good, okay? Listen to the officers."
"Mila..." Sveta shakes her head. "I have work to do. I need more test subjects."
"Okay, Mom," Mila answers. She closes the door and turns back, her shoulders slumping way down.
I limp toward Mila, ignoring Meg, who is clamoring for me to get checked by the medics.
"Hey." I drape an arm around her. "You'll be okay."
"Yeah," she whispers. "Better than you. You took a bullet for me." Mila's voice is nothing but a whisper, and I know she’s being brave. My wound is healing, but it might take a while to get past this for her. I took the bullet for her, but I would take the emotional hits if I could.
"It was pure instinct," I tell her. We both look down to the wound that has mostly stopped bleeding. "I wasn't going to let you get it."
"I'm a shifter, too." She furrows her brow. "I would heal just as fast as you."
"Impossible woman." I laugh. "Can't you just thank me for being noble?"
Mila rolls her eyes. "Oh, sure. You're noble as fuck for jumping in front of a bullet." She leans up, one of her small hands running against my furry cheek. Her soft lips brush against mine in an impossibly sweet kiss. "Thanks, T," she whispers against my lips.
It's not enough.
Cupping the back of her head, I press her closer to me and bring my own mouth to hers. This time, when our lips meet, there is no sweetness, only an uncontrolled burn.
I can pretend that I'm kissing her because I'm happy to be alive. I can lie and say that kissing her is a lapse in judgment because I was afraid I’d die.
But I'm not a liar.
I'm kissing her because I need to. It feels like this has been destined to happen since the second I walked into her lab as
