David and his long-haired friend are still pressed against the wall. They can’t run. Not anymore. The flash of light was the other gunman shifting form. Now, instead of a puny human, I face a lioness.
“I didn’t realize your friends would be so eager,” I say to David. My lungs are on fire, but I’ve got to stay on my feet. I’ve got to fight off this beast. I’ve got to get David out safely and get the injured man to a hospital and wipe the other guy’s mind before he goes crazy. Which is a tall order, considering I’m not sure I can draw my next breath.
Ironic that just a few days ago, I’d teased death, welcoming the final flames. Now, as the darkness blurs the edges of my vision, I fight it with everything in me.
“Fuck. These are my favorite jeans.” David’s voice barely registers. There’s another flash, and the man from the club cries out as if he’s been scalded. With a low growl, David saunters between me and the lion. The blonde wave, pouty lips, and killer ass are gone. In their place is the biggest, darkest wolf I’ve ever seen.
The two animals scent the air. There’s not much space for a fight. David’s growl bounces off the cinderblock wall, and the lioness answers with one of her own. I stumble over to where Burly still lays on the concrete. The rich scent of his blood torments me. I bend, almost toppling over, and check his pulse. I can’t find one. David’s growl turns into a series of barks, short and harsh and deep. The lioness crouches down like she’s going to pounce.
I can’t help the poor soul at my feet, and I’m tempted to kneel down and lick his blood from the street. It’s a lot warmer than the shit I get from the blood bank, and it would help me heal. I stay standing. Must not be desperate enough.
Something happens on a level I’m too foggy to sense, and the two predators launch themselves at each other. I fall back against the wall, drawing the man from the club close. He’s whimpering, as if these events have pushed him past his ability to cope, so I stroke his brow, blurring the memories. Just because humans know about supernaturals doesn’t mean they like it when their hookup sprouts fur.
David’s wolf is bleeding from where the lioness caught him, but he throws himself at her, knocking her off her feet. He gets his front paws planted on her chest, turning his big body sideways to avoid the eviscerating claws on her rear legs. Before she can tear into him, his jaws snap tight on her neck. I have no idea how a fight between a true wolf and a lion should go, but few animals can match the son of the Alpha. With a vicious strike, David rips open her throat and howls his victory.
I worry about the noise, but then figure if no one in WeHo heard the gunshots, we were okay. With the last of my strength, I murmur a charm to the man with long hair, making him forget. The dark wins, and my eyes close.
Chapter Three
A SHARP SLAP brings me around. I lay on the cement between the gas station and a chain-link fence. David kneels next to me, his expression grim. The pain in my chest has dulled from open flame to smoking coals. There’s tension, as if my muscle fibers are caught in a fight between the need to expel the silver pellets and my innate ability to heal.
“Wake up, Tony.” David raises his hand again, but I turn my head out of his line of fire.
“Name’s Trajan.”
“Whatever.” He sits back on his heels. “I brought your car around. We need to get the hell out of here.” He runs a hand through his wrecked hair, telegraphing worry and fear. “Is there someone I can call?”
He glances around, and I realize he’s looking at the bodies.
“Stone.” I struggle onto one elbow and fish in my pocket for my phone. “In my contacts. Tell him I need a cleanup.”
I’d known Stone for about ten years. Half troll and half human, he’d come to LA to get rich playing drums. When that didn’t pan out, he traded on his supernatural inheritance and became the go-to guy when the mess won’t fit with LAPDs specs.
I try to stay with it, but the blackness rolls in. Before I fade completely, David introduces himself to Stone without using his last name.
When I wake for the second time, I’m in the passenger seat of my SUV. David’s shaking my arm hard enough to make me bite my own tongue. “What?”
“Where are we going?”
Nausea’s a drone under pain’s shrill song. I hate him for dragging me back to consciousness. He had to, but I’d rather stay down. His pants catch my eye. They’re black and stained and twice as big as the pretty jeans he’d had on at LAX. I don’t ask. “You still got my phone?”
He tears his gaze away from the rearview mirror. “I gave it back.”
I reach around, patting. He’s stuck it in my left rear pocket, and the idea that he might have fondled my ass in the process sits weirdly in the back of my mind. I manage to pry both eyelids open, but I have to squint to focus. I read off the hotel’s name and address and manage to get my phone into the inside pocket of my shredded jacket.
David is still entering the address into the Escalade’s GPS when I drift out again.
Third time’s the charm, I guess. He’s got ahold of my arm like he’s trying to pull it off my body. There’s a sleepy valet ready to park my car, and David’s got the passenger door open. The blue and white neon TRAVELODGE sign hits me like a hot poker. David’s standing too close; the combination of wolf and hair product and pain makes me want to puke.
“You need to check us in, Tony, ’cuz we look like a couple of homeless dudes.”
To my shame, he has to help me out of the car. Once I’m on my feet, though, I take two or three deep breaths and get a handle on the burning in my chest. When we get up to the room, I’ll have to dig out every pellet. The thought preoccupies me while I get us registered and wipe the desk clerk’s memory.
Finally, we’re in our suite. The place is nowhere near fancy, coming much closer to ugly, but it’s one of the only chains with vampire-ready rooms. David’s room looks out over the city, and beyond that, the Pacific. Mine is windowless and spartan, and I want to crawl in and lock the door.
He pulls off his borrowed trousers as soon as the bellhop leaves. I avert my gaze, surprised by his lack of modesty. “For tomorrow…” My words fade away because he’s bent from the waist, digging into one of his trunks. That ass. Embarrassed for ogling, I clear my throat and start again. “My friend Sheena will be here at noon.”
“Sheena? Seriously?” He stands, clutching a flimsy piece of fabric that doesn’t cover nearly enough. A scattering of hair covers his chest, much darker than the hair on his head. “Why is she going to be here, and why does she have a cartoon name?”
“She’s an Amazon, and she’s the only person I trust to keep you safe during the daylight hours.”
He gapes at me as if he can’t grasp my intent.
“I figure you’re going to want to go to the beach, right?”
He drops the fabric, and God help me, I can’t help but flick a glance down. Which is crazy, because it’s all I can do to stay conscious, but for the first time in over a year, my cock stiffens.