Page 93 of Crimson Moon Falling

The pediatrician’s smile froze. “I’m sorry?”

“Meat. Protein. Our grandma used to give us strips of raw venison when we were teething.”

“No raw meat at her age.” Dr. Haddad’s voice was firm. “Cooked, unsalted, puréed meat can be introduced around six months, but raw meat poses a significant choking and bacterial hazard.”

“No raw meat,” I reassured the doctor. “And we’ll start with approved shifter baby food when the time is right.”

“Good.” The doctor smiled. “Set up her next appointment with my receptionist. She looks great. Keep it up.”

Owen picked Feeny up, and I grabbed her diaper bag. “You cannot give a three-week-old baby raw meat,” I muttered as we walked back to the waiting room.

“What? I ate raw meat, and I turned out fine. You’re not a wolf shifter. You wouldn’t understand.”

“It’s debatable whether you turned out fine, and I understand food poison–”

The words died as we rounded the corner. The waiting room was empty except for Freda, who lay sprawled and unconscious on the floor near the front desk. Her hands were secured behind her back with three-inch-thick handcuffs, and two massive figures stood over her. Ogres, I realized with a jolt, and I’d seen them before. Their slate gray skin gleamed in the fluorescent lighting.

Chairs were overturned, and the coffee table was smashed. The ogre with long black hair sported a bloody nose, and his right eye was swelling.

A lean, sharp-faced cat shifter in a black suit pointed a gun at us. She was another one of Langston’s agents, and her energy was detached and professional.

“Don’t make any sudden movements. Ms. Blackthorne, we have a warrant to bring you in.”

Owen stood rigid and wide-eyed beside me, Feeny cradled against his chest. His eyes bled to gold, his wolf clawing to break free. But he couldn’t shift here.

The short-haired ogre grinned, his white teeth bright. “Look at this. The Alpha Mate is out on a little family outing.”

I moved forward, putting my body between them and Seraphina. “I’ll come with you if you let them go.”

The ogre with the long hair shook his head. “You’re coming with us no matter what, and taking these two will keep the Alpha and his Pack in line.”

I dropped the diaper bag and held out my hands, palms pointed toward them. Then I sent jolts of electricity out, crackling in front of me.

The cat shifter stiffened. “So the rumors are true. You really can manifest electricity.”

“I can. Director Langston wants me alive and functional, but if you try to take Owen and his child, your lifespan can be counted in seconds, not years.”

The cat shifter’s eyes narrowed, and she studied me, then glanced at Feeny. Something shifted in her eyes, and she lowered her gun.

“Garrett, they’re not included on the warrant. Let them go.” Her voice held quiet authority, but both ogres turned.

“Fuck the warrant,” the injured ogre snarled, raising his gun toward Owen and Feeny.

My vision tunneled, and I narrowed in on the imminent threat, sending a jolt of pure electricity through his gun, up his arm, and right into his chest.

The energy blast hit the ogre like a small explosion. It wasn’t the controlled, directed blasts I used before, but something lethal and hungry. The force lifted him off his feet and hurled him backward. He hit the plate-glass window, and his body smashed through it, sending fragments glistening through the air.

Before the agents could recover from their shock, I turned to Owen. “Run! Go out the back and get her to safety.” Owen stared at me for a split second. “You promised me we’d do whatever it takes to keep her safe. Now, RUN.”

Owen turned, clutching Feeny in his arms, and sprinted back through the pediatrician’s office. The remaining ogre lunged for him, but I threw myself between them, my hands coming up to use whatever energy I had left.

But the ogre’s massive fist caught me in the ribs. The impact drove the air from my lungs and sent me slamming back into the receptionist counter. My implant sent another shot through my system to dampen the pain, but it felt like he’d cracked a rib.

He drew his leg back to kick me, but I raised my hand and sent another blast at him, this time straight to his groin. When the ogre clutched himself and howled in agony, I rolled to all fours, then stood and staggered toward the shattered window.

Glass crunched under me. Beyond the jagged frame, the other ogre’s body lay sprawled on the concrete walkway, his shirt ripped and smoking. He wasn’t moving.

When I jumped through the now mostly empty frame, glass sliced my forearm, but the pain was distant. I hit the ground and rolled, then came up running even as my ribs ached.