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“Scissor,” I barked out at Bayleigh as I ripped the tape off her mouth.
“Kitchen. Don’t leave me with…” she begged.
“He’s dying,” I told her, even though the man in question was still upright, using his shirt to wipe the saliva out of his mouth.
“The fuck did you say, you…” Kyle started, but broke off on a gagging sound.
It was only a couple more seconds until the vomiting started.
With him distracted, I ran past him and into the kitchen, rummaging around for the scissors, then rushing back toward the bedroom to free Bayleigh.
“You need to run,” I said, pushing her over the vomiting Kyle. “Run and get to the police,” I told her.
“You have to come with me,” she insisted, reaching for me.
“I don’t think I will make it far,” I said, shaking my head, feeling the way my heart was hammering in my chest. Too fast. Too hard. And some tingling was setting in.
I couldn’t run.
Maybe I would live, but I wasn’t going to be able to go with her.
“You swallowed some?” she asked, looking completely crushed even as Kyle groaned and cried on the floor at our feet.
“Bayleigh, run. Get help,” I demanded, and something in the desperation in my voice seemed to snap her out of her own panic.
Now she was the one with purpose.
And it pushed away all the other crap that would likely catch up with her later.
“Run,” I said, pushing her out of the bedroom door.
As soon as she was gone, my gaze slid down to Kyle on the floor, clutching his chest, his mouth open, gasping.
Heart failure.
Vomitting, heart failure, and tingling.
Wolf’s bane. Monkshood.
That was what had been in the vial.
If I couldn’t tell by the symptoms, I could by the bitter taste. It was why there weren’t a ton of accidental poisonings of this particular plant. Anyone who accidentally tasted it would spit it right back out again.
But the vial? It was super fucking concentrated.
Within a few more minutes, Kyle’s heart was going to give out.
Who knew what might come of mine.
If I got assistance immediately, I could likely live. They’d give me fluids, some meds, maybe even shock my heart to a normal rhythm until it evened itself out, likely leaving me with some permanent damage.
But the chances of getting to a doctor soon enough?
Not great.
No matter how fast Bayleigh ran.
Taking a steadying breath, I moved out of the bedroom, closing the door behind me, knowing his death was coming, and really not needing to witness it.
I was just making my way out of the hallway when the front door burst open.
And there he was.
Looking like the avenging demon I’d fantasized about while on the ground back at my homestead.
There to slay the dragon.
And save the girl.
Crow.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Crow
“Morgaine!”
The sound that came out of me was strange, unfamiliar.
Panic.
That was panic in my voice.
I rushed the chicken over toward the coop, pushing her inside with her friends, then closing the door before making a mad dash toward the door.
A light was still on inside, and I saw the signs immediately.
Shit scattered.
A knife on the floor.
And was that a small splash of blood on a cabinet?
Fuck
“Fuck!” I yelled, rushing back out of the house, knowing she wasn’t around.
I was halfway back to the SUV when I saw the tire tracks.
“Goddamnit,” I growled, reaching for my phone.
“It over already?” Slash asked, tone casual, even as the party raged behind him.
“Someone took her,” I barked out, and listened as he yelled to shut down the party immediately.
“What? How do you know?”
“The chicken was out. She wouldn’t have them out. And then I got inside and there were signs of a struggle. And then tire tracks.”
“Fuck. Okay. Where’s your mind going?”
“Kyle,” I said immediately.
The broken glass.
The story of the missing crow clay pendant.
He’d been watching her, creeping around, looking for an opportunity to swoop in.
And that was exactly what I’d given him when I’d gone back to the clubhouse for a few hours.
“Kyle?”
“Kyle Carston. The guy from the bar whose life I saved before realizing how much he deserved a drink full of belladonna.”
“Alright. Get them out of here,” Slash barked, likely meaning the women at the clubhouse. “Point us in a direction,” he demanded.
“The Bog,” I said, thinking of the bar. “Nyx and Cillian Murphy might have more information on this fucker.”
“And where are you going?”
“The motel.”
Jack was really going to have a bone to pick with me if I found out Kyle had taken Morgaine to his room to do God-knew-what with her.
All the blood I would spill.
I didn’t even know how much of a head start he had on me.
Once I got into the SUV, I flew through town, not giving a single fuck about lights or signs, or the cops who might be parked anywhere waiting to hand out speeding tickets.
“The fuck, Crow?” Jack yelled as I nearly drove into his office before throwing the SUV into park and flew out of the driver’s seat, leaving the thing running.
