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"The hospital doesn't know Nathaniel's a shapeshifter, do they?" I said.
He lowered his voice. "They know. He's healing too fast for them not to know."
"So why whisper?"
"Because I'm out in the waiting room on a pay phone." There was a sound on the other end like he'd had to take the receiver away from his mouth. He muttered, "I'll be off in just a minute." He came back on. "I need you to come down, Anita."
"Why?"
"Please."
"You're a werewolf, Stephen. What are you doing babysitting one of the kitty-cats?"
"I'm one of the names in his wallet in case of emergencies. Nathaniel works at Guilty Pleasures."
"He's a stripper?" I made it a question because he could have been a waiter, but it wasn't likely. Jean-Claude owned Guilty Pleasures, and he would never have wasted a shapeshifter off-stage. They were too damned exotic.
"Yes."
"The two of you need a ride?" It was my day for it, I guess.
"Yes, and no."
There was something in his voice that I didn't like. An unease, a tension. It wasn't like Stephen to be cagey. He didn't play games. He just talked. "How did Nathaniel get hurt?" Maybe if I asked better questions, I'd get better answers.
"A customer got too rough."
"At the club?"
"No. Anita, please, there's no time. Come down and make sure he doesn't go home with Zane."
"Who the hell is Zane?"
"Another of Gabriel's people. He's been pimping them out since Gabriel died. But he's not protecting them like Gabriel did. He isn't alpha."
"Pimping them out? What are you talking about?"
Stephen's voice rose high and far too cheerful. "Hello, Zane. Have you seen Nathaniel yet?"
I couldn't really hear the answer, just the buzz of all the people in the waiting room. "I don't think they want him to go just yet. He's hurt," Stephen said.
Zane must have stepped very close to the phone, very close to Stephen. A low, growling voice came through the wire. "He'll go home when I say he goes home."
Stephen's voice held an edge of panic. "I don't think the doctors will like that."
"I don't give a shit. Who are you talking to?"
For his voice to be that clear he had to have Stephen pinned against the wall. Threatening him, without saying anything specific.
The growling voice was suddenly very clear. He'd taken the phone from Stephen. "Who is this?"
"Anna Blake, and you must be Zane."
He laughed, and it sounded too low, as if his throat were sore. "The wolves' human lupa. Oh, I'm so scared."
Lupa was the word the werewolves used for their leader's mate. I was the first human so honored. I wasn't even dating their Ulfric anymore. We'd broken up after I saw him eat somebody. Hey, a girl's got to have some standards.
"Gabriel wasn't scared of me either. Look where it got him," I said.
Zane was quiet for a handful of heartbeats. He breathed over the phone like a dog panted, heavy, but not like he was doing it on purpose, more like he couldn't help it. "Nathaniel is mine. Keep off of him."
"Stephen isn't one of yours," I said.
"Does he belong to you?" I could hear cloth moving. A sense of movement on the other end of the phone that I didn't like. "He is sooo pretty. Have you tasted these soft lips? Has this long yellow hair swept over your pillow?"
I knew without seeing it that he was touching Stephen, caressing him to match the words. "Don't touch him, Zane."
"Too late."
I gripped the phone tight and forced my voice calm, even. "Stephen's under my protection, Zane. Do you understand me?"
"What would you do to keep your pet wolf safe, Anita?"
"You don't want to push that button, Zane. You really don't."
He lowered his voice to an almost painful whisper. "Would you kill me to keep him safe?"
I usually have to meet someone at least once before threatening to kill them, but I was about to make an exception. "Yeah."
He laughed, low and nervous. "I see why Gabriel liked you. So tough, so sure of yourself. Sooo dangerous."
"You sound like a bad imitation of Gabriel."
He made a sound that was somewhere between a hiss and a bah."Stephen shouldn't have interfered."
"Nathaniel's his friend."
"I am all the friend he needs."
"I don't think so."
"I am taking Nathaniel with me, Anita. If Stephen tries to stop me, I'll hurt him."
"You hurt Stephen, I hurt you."
"So be it." He hung up.
Shit. I ran for my Jeep. I was thirty minutes away, twenty if I pushed it a lot. Twenty minutes. Stephen wasn't dominant. He was a victim. But he was also loyal. If he thought Nathaniel shouldn't go with Zane, he'd try and keep him. He wouldn't fight for him, but he might throw his body in front of the car. I had no doubts at all that Zane would drive right over him. Best case scenario. Worst case scenario was Zane would take both Stephen and Nathaniel. If Zane acted as much like Gabriel as he talked, I'd rather have taken my chances with the car.
4
My second emergency room in less than two hours. It was a red-letter day even for me. Good news was that none of the injuries were mine. Bad news was that that might change. Alpha or not, Zane was a shapeshifter. They were able to bench-press medium-size elephants. I was not going to arm-wrestle him. Not only would I lose, but he'd probably pull the arm out of my socket and eat it. Most lycanthropes liked to try and pass for human. I wasn't sure Zane sweated little details like that.
Yet I didn't want to kill Zane if I didn't have to. It wasn't mercy. It was the thought that he might force me to do it in public. I didn't want to go to jail. The fact that the punishment worried me more than the crime said something about my moral state. Some days I thought I was becoming a sociopath. Some days I thought I was already there.
I carried silver-plated bullets in my gun at all times. Silver worked on humans, as well as on most supernatural beings. Why keep switching to normal ammo that only did humans and a very few creatures? But a few months ago I'd met a fairie that had damn near killed me. Silver didn't work on fairies, but normal lead did. So I'd taken to keeping a spare clip of regular bullets in the glove compartment. I peeled off the first two rounds of my silver clip and replaced them with lead. Which meant I had two bullets to discourage Zane with, before I killed him. Because, make no mistake, if he kept coming after I'd pumped him full of two Glazer Safety Rounds, which hurt a hell of a lot even if you could heal the damage, the first silver bullet was not going to be aimed to wound.
It wasn't until I was going through the doors I realized that I didn't know Nathaniel's last name. Stephen's name wasn't going to help me. Damn.
The waiting room was packed. Women with crying babies, children racing through the chairs belonging to no one, a man with a bloody rag around his hand, people with no visible injury staring dully into space. Stephen was nowhere in sight.
Screams, the sound of breaking glass; metal clanked to the floor. A nurse ran out of the far hallway. "Get more security, now!" A nurse behind the admittance desk punched buttons on the phone.
Call it a hunch but I was betting I knew where Stephen and Zane were. I flashed my ID at the nurse. "I'm with the Regional Preternatural Investigation Team. Can I help?"
The nurse clutched my arm. "You're a cop?"
"I'm with the police, yes." Prevarication at its best. As a civilian attached to a police squad you learn how to do that.
"Thank God." She started to pull me towards the noise.
I pulled my arm free and took out my gun. Safety off, pointed at the ceiling, ready to go. With normal ammo I wouldn't have pointed at the ceiling, not with a hospital full of patients above me, but Glazer Safety Rounds aren't called safety rounds for nothing.
The back area was like every emergency area I'd ever been in. Curtains hung from metal tracks so you could make lots and lots of little individual examining rooms. A handful of curtains were closed, but patients were sitting up, staring through the curtains, watching the show. A wall divided the room down the middle to the corridor, so there wasn't much to see.
A man wearing green surgical scrubs went flying through the air from around that wall. He smacked into the opposite wall, slid down it heavily, and lay very still.
The nurse with me ran towards him, and I let her go. What lay beyond, what was tossing doctors around like toys, wasn't a job for a healer. It was a job for me. Two more figures in surgical scrubs lay on the floor, one male, one female. The woman was awake, eyes wide. Her wrist was at a 45 degree angle, broken. She saw my ID clipped to my jacket. "He's a shifter. Be careful."
