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He sat up and then stood, ignoring the remaining tingles that left him swaying in place. The front door stood open, but the boys were not in sight. Was he too late? Had another of Sheila’s sacrifices already been made?
Damn the bitch. She’d said she would send someone to flush Ochoa out. Get him to quit playing house and finish the job. But her real reason for sending them was to get both boys killed. The boys had no chance against an experienced killer like Ochoa. Usually, he was able to follow Sheila’s logic even if he saw it all as evil and fought against it every chance he could.
Setting up Hugo to die made sense in her twisted way. The boy was cocky, and his parents rebelled against her will, inciting the others to do so as well. But Cord had done nothing. Cord obeyed all her commands when given directly. His only concession to showing his true loyalties was to avoid her and her human husband as much as possible.
So that left the boy’s death as another way of crushing his father’s spirit.
Of crushing my spirit.
As if killing his mate and his parents hadn’t done the job properly. Cord was all he had left. Damn Sheila and all her cruelties.
Jose moved cautiously toward the open door. Perhaps they would only do a quick check and then would flee without the killer noticing them. The crash of bodies shattered his hope. The boys had been caught.
He darted through the door to see Cord down with a wolf who must be Ochoa tearing at his arm. As Jose leapt forward, Ochoa turned on the second boy, taking him down in a vicious assault.
He blocked out the horrible sounds. Hugo was lost under the fury of the killer. But Cord was still alive and perhaps could be saved. He grabbed his son, and more than half dragged him from the house.
Chapter Fifteen
The light flashed on. “Oh my God.”
Zeven looked up to see his mate staring at him in horror. He still stood over the young and very dead man. There was little left to identify the knife wielder from the gun toter. But he was sure the less dominant one had fled. The door was open, and the acrid smell of fear and piss trailed in that direction.
“Is that you, Zeven?” She’d placed her back at the doorframe beside the light switch and held one of his guns in a shaking hand.
The taste of blood was bitter when filled with guilt. Not that he was bothered by the killing. It was unavoidable. But he hated that Harley was exposed to the harshness of his life.
“It’s me.”He shifted forms and stumbled forward. Shit, how many times had he been stabbed?
She dropped the gun and ran to him. Her arms came around his waist, oblivious to the blood being smeared over her pale cream-colored bathrobe. Her hands ran over his skin, and she homed in on the wounds on his back like a professional.Like the doctor she is.
“Zeven, we’ve got to get you to the hospital. Should I call an ambulance or drive you myself?”
“Neither.” He panted a little through the pain. They were deep wounds, but his wolf’s magic was already starting to do its thing.
“We can’t wait. Let me get your clothes. You hold pressure on this wound.”
“Harley, it’s okay.” He caught her hand where she had a kitchen towel pressed before she could run off. “Don’t panic. I heal fast.”
She shifted the towel to look at the wound again. “It looks bad. Are you sure that you can heal something like this?” Her voice was steady but worried.
“Yeah, I’ll heal.” He moved across the room to the chair, perching on the edge to keep the worst of the gore from the fabric.
“Let me wrap it up anyhow to save your body some work.” She ran back the hall and returned with a small bag. “Tell me what happened while I patch you up.”
He didn’t really want to tell her any of it. He sighed. She was too stubborn by far. “Two young punks broke in, probably to confirm your demise. One of them escaped.”
“How did you get stabbed?”
“By being stupid,” he growled. “It shouldn’t have happened. It won’t happen again.”
She finished taping him up. “What was your plan again? Where will we be running to from here?” Her gaze kept darting back to the bloody mess on the far side of the room.
“I don’t run.” He caught her hand and pulled her out of the room, snagging up the gun she’d dropped on the way. “While we have some time, you need to pack more. You can make sure you have everything you need or want. If things go to hell, you may not be able to come back to this house once we do leave.”
Harley tugged her hand out of his and went back into the living room, skirting the couch to pick up her bag which had been forgotten near the door. She ignored her pounding heart and forced her eyes to avoid the bloody mess on the opposite side of the room.
How could Zeven be so gentle and also so terrifyingly violent? Had there been a choice? Could the death have been avoided? From his wounds, she had to believe not. But what about the next ones who came for her? Would they be more experienced, more dangerous?
