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And hurrying after him was his sister, Emilie, her white-blonde hair more silver than gold under the fall of night.
Logan was stalking back this way—heading toward Jaden, his whole body vibrating as he fought the Shift.
“What did you do?” Logan spat. “Where’s Chrysantha?”
“I can explain—” Jaden tried.
“Where is she?”
“Logan!” shouted a husky female voice. A young woman got out of the SUV—Jaden’s SUV—and sprinted this way. “Logan—stop!”
Logan’s legs visibly shook, his features smoothing with relief as Chrysantha ran down the street, her curly dark hair whipping behind her, her eyes painted with the same fiery brush as her brother’s.
And then the alpha’s fist lashed out, punching Jaden in the face.
The one good thing about being shot in Angelthene was the ability to remove the bullet quickly with the aid of magic.
When Max came to, he was in the back of an ambulance. Surrounded by a trio of paramedics and a Healer. Dallas was in here too—peering between the bodies of the healthcare workers, alarm in her eyes. The wails of the sirens were piercing, the ambulance turning corners sharply.
Only minutes must have passed. Minutes since he’d fainted on the side of the highway—minutes since those men had tried to kill him.
Minutes since those men had stolen Grim.
Travis.
Lacey.
Max lurched to his feet.
“Sir!” the Healer cried.
“Sir, please—you have to sit down!” said a paramedic.
He was at his jacket in an instant, grabbing his gun that sat on top.
Max spun to face them and aimed. Clicked the safety off. “Stop the ambulance.” His torso was bare and covered in blood, his face filthy and sticky with sweat.
Their hands shot up. But no one moved.
“STOP THE AMBULANCE!”
The Healer radioed the driver.
Seconds passed. The ambulance didn’t stop.
Max aimed at the back doors, ignoring the bite of the wound as his muscles shifted, and pulled the trigger.
One of the windows shattered, glass spraying. The Healer screamed.
Max pounded a fist on the wall that separated the driver from the cluttered space in the back. “Pull over!” He could see the driver through the tiny window—throwing glances through the glass, head tucked into his shoulders like a turtle.
The man cranked the wheel, dust billowing over the ambulance, and slowed, tires spinning on loose gravel.
As soon as they’d come to a full stop, Max thumped to the doors, gesturing for Dallas to follow, and forced them open. He stepped out, sucking down breaths of night-cooled air. Dallas jumped out behind him, his shirt in hand. He took it from her and fought to put it on without ripping his wound open wider, the pain agonizing.
People on the sidewalk stared as Max stalked up to a warlock who’d just finished putting money in a parking meter.
“I need your car,” Max said. The man gaped at him, his aura washed with fear. “Give me your keys—now.”
