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“Bad decision, my guy,” the human said.
On the contrary, Blade thought.
There was a communicator mounted on theguard’s shoulder, and it required a patience Blade had in abundance to wait until the hand on his sternum went for the Velcro-mounted unit—
Just as a shout traveled over from the porte cochere, Blade slapped both his palms on either side of the gun’s muzzle and rerouted its business end off to the side. Then he pulled a trade-place, overpowering the human and pinning him facedown to the browned lawn.
Blade didn’t hesitate. He jerked the man’s head back and twisted.
The crack was loud enough to carry, and the Adonis instantly went limp.
A quick glance back to the porte cochere, and Blade became infuriated. The wolven was starting to run—and not for reentry into the safety of that house. No, the female was coming at him, even though she didn’t know how many of whatever it was were out in the darkness.
He allowed himself a brief moment for a mental snapshot: She was beautiful in motion, her arms and legs pumping, her mouth open as she yelled in anger, her body a powerful, athletic coordination kicked into gear by a keen, assertive mind.
Alas, he would have to depart.
And dematerialize he did.
But not before, in the darkness… he blew her a kiss.
When Lydia reached the guard, she stopped so short that she tripped over her feet and landed on her hands and knees—which gave her an up-close-and-personal that was horrifying: The man was facedown and limp in the scratchy grass, his head turned away at a bad angle.
Very bad.
“Help!” she called out again.
Where was security when you needed them?
“Sir,” she said as she gently patted his shoulder, “it’s okay. You’re going to be okay?”
As if that was a question she expected him to answer or something.
Crab-walking around him, she—“Oh… God.”
Lydia let herself fall back onto her seat. The man’s eyes were open and unfocused, staring straight out of the sockets, as if he were transfixed by a view. Likewise, his lips were parted, but he wasn’t breathing—
Suddenly, two guard dogs flashed by her, silent canine missiles, and then a pair of guards arrived, their heavy footfalls seeming to crash into her. Without preamble, she was picked up by two heavy hands and moved over as if she were as inanimate as the dead man.
“I saw something out here,” she babbled to noone in particular. “It was him, moving fast. The blond hair caught my eye. All of a sudden, he seemed to capture something—but then there was some kind of tussle and I heard this crack and I came running and—”
“Get her inside—”
“I’ll take her in—give me a sec.”
At the familiar voice, Lydia looked up. Gus had run out of the house, and as he dropped down and took hold of the guard’s wrist, he seemed tense and professional.
Glancing up, he shook his head; then he focused on her. “Come on, Lydia. Come with me.”
Things became a blur at that point. Then again, every time she blinked, she saw the guard’s face, so handsome, so static. When her awareness properly checked in again, she was sitting at the breakfast table, in the alcove off C.P.’s industrial kitchen, the light fixture that hung from the ceiling glowing softly. The scent of coffee drifted over to her, and so did a volley of conversation that was hushed and urgent.
Clearing her throat, she said, “Where is Daniel—”
“I’m right here.” There was the scrape of a chair, and then he was by her side, his hand on her back. “Are you okay?”
She didn’t know what she said to him. She hoped it was reassuring.
Gus was the one who brought the coffee. Twomugs—one for her, one for Daniel. Then the doctor disappeared and came back with a Coke for himself.
