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But he didn’t say anything else, and he didn’t release me. Instead, he rolled me over his body, and then repeated the action, until we were barrel rolling toward his truck. Dust flew, stones embedded into my back and sides, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did, except the fact that the sharp noise of that car backfiring was chasing us, biting into the roadside, missing us by inches. I caught brief glimpses of the truck’s underbelly and tire as we passed them, but Aiden didn’t stop. Not until we’d reached the rear tire. Even then, he didn’t immediately move, but remained as he was, his body lying over mine protectively, his expression intent and his gaze scanning the area. Two bullets pinged off the front bull bar, and then silence fell.
But not my tension level.
And not his, if the quivering in his limbs was anything to go by.
His gaze dropped to mine. His eyes were bright, fierce, and almost otherworldly. He was caught between worlds, I realized—between the human need to ensure I was safe, and the wolf who wanted to hunt.
“Go,” I said. “I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not—I can smell blood.”
“Then you’ll know it’s nothing major. I’m fine—really. Go.”
“Get into the cab, but keep low.” His voice was losing its clarity, becoming a growl. The wolf within wanted to run, to chase.
“Go,” I repeated yet again.
He rolled away from me and sprang to his feet, the movement fluid and beautiful. In three strides he went from human to wolf, although a shimmer of energy hid the actual change. His wolf was as lean and powerful as his human, and his coat rippled silver in the morning sunshine.
As he disappeared around the front of the truck, I carefully pushed onto my hands and knees, and crawled to the passenger door. I reached up, grabbed the handle, and hauled the door opened, my heart hammering and every sense I had attuned to the silence around me, waiting for the sound of another bullet being fired.
When it didn’t come, I climbed into the truck, keeping low as ordered, then closed and locked the doors. That’s when the shaking began. I lay across the bench seat, my head on the driver side and my arms crossed across my chest, fighting the urge to cry.
Who the hell could want me dead? It couldn’t have been the witch—not this time, not here on Marin grounds. I may not know a whole lot about werewolves, but if they had guards on their main entry point, then they’d run regular patrols around the rest of it.
So if not the witch, then who? No one else on this reservation had any reason to hate me.
They may not be on the reservation, but the Fitzgeralds certainly do, Belle commented. Maybe that little rat infestation you left behind when they ran us out of town pissed them off so much they’ve decided payback is required.
I snorted. Those boys are gutless wonders. They used the local cop and innuendo to do their dirty work; I can’t see them suddenly gathering the courage for more direct action.
It doesn’t take courage to hire a hit man. Are you okay?
Yes. The ache in my leg amplified even as I said that. I twisted around and saw the tear in my jeans and the blood seeping around it. Although it would appear I’ve been shot.
What!
It hurts, but not that much. I gingerly pulled the material away from the wound, but instead of the hole I’d been expecting, I discovered a shallow scrape. It’s a flesh wound, and nothing serious.
She says with utter authority, because she’s seen so many flesh wounds in the past.
Trust me, some of the wounds I received in knife spelling class were far deeper than this. Not that they were supposed to be dangerous, but knives and me hadn’t been a great combination in those early years—and I still had some of the scars to prove it.
Having seen some of those wounds, I’m now comforted. Amusement ran through her mental tone. I’d still recommend bandaging it, and then getting a doc to check it as soon as you can. Or I will nag.
Which you do so well.
A familiar does have to look after her witch, even when the witch doesn’t like it.
And a witch had to look after their familiar
, or they’d be lessened by their absence. That was something they’d ingrained into us from a very early age. Is the RWA witch still hanging around the café?
Yeah. He’s currently studying the spells protecting the place. I think he’s impressed.
Anna thought their informal construction was dangerous.
He’s certainly intrigued by their construction, but I’m not getting the impression he thinks our magic is dangerous.
