Page 47 of Blood Magic

Chapter Eighteen

Though my wolf would’ve preferred staying in her form all night long, I knew people would be worried. Joe, the detective, Lucy, my mother, maybe even Remy.

And when my alpha found out about this debacle, he was going to be irate.

So I didn’t give myself time to heal completely, because that would’ve taken a little too long. When I returned to my clothes, Bastien was gone. It didn’t matter. I had my cell phone.

I called Detective Moreno.

“Kait,” he growled, “where the hell are you?”

“I’m okay, Rick. I was wearing a vest. Other than a few bruises, I’m perfectly fine. But I’m going to need a ride.”

“And I’m going to need one big fucking explanation.”

“Come get me.”

“Tell me where you are.” It sounded like he was talking through gritted teeth.

I was walking back toward the city when he spotted me and pulled off the highway. When I got into the car we both just sat staring through the windshield at a night sky that was quickly heading toward daylight.

“I don’t know what happened,” he said finally. “I saw you being shot. And I saw something…”

“You saw me being carried out of there.”

He nodded “Yeah. Sort of. It’s a blur. The cop who shot you, and the two cops she came in with, they remember nothing, Kait.” Finally, he looked at me. “Why don’t they remember anything?”

Bastien had shaded them to make them forget—and the fact that he’d shaded three cops in a room as he was racing out of it with me in his arms meant that Bastien Martel was one powerful motherfucking vampire.

He’d have to be if he had his eye on being County Master.

“I don’t know,” I lied. “It was traumatic. Stressful.”

“Yeah.” He pulled out onto the highway. “Where do you want me to take you?”

“Home. Everyone will wonder where I am.”

“Why did you call me, Kait?”

“I needed a ride.”

“You know what I mean.” Then he shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Rick…”

“You won’t tell me the truth about anything that happened tonight. You’re not going to tell me the truth about this either.”

Suddenly, I was just tired. Sometimes secrets were too heavy to carry. I’d been shot, and despite what I’d told the detective, I’d not been wearing the vest. Sure, I’d healed, mostly. My wolf would always heal me if the injuries were not extreme—like if my head was sliced off or my heart was cut out. That didn’t mean I hadn’t felt the pain, or that I hadn’t sustained any damage, or that the night hadn’t been upsetting as hell for me. I could’ve been killed. I’d been shot. And that shit hurt.

Quite abruptly, surprising the detective probably more than myself, I burst into tears.

“Shit,” he said. “Shit, Kait, don’t do that.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, sobbing harder. “Just take me home. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t…”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s all right. You hunt and kill demons. You see dead people. They talk to you. I’m sure there are all sorts of things you can’t tell me.”

I forced myself to stop crying and finally, I reached over to squeeze his arm. “Thank you for always being there for me.”