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She crawled to the opening but couldn’t make herself grab her things and go. She couldn’t leave Devlin.
He’s a werewolf. He’s no different from Pietro.
Except he was. He’d tried to warn her, to protect her. Failing that, he’d come to save her. In the entirety of her life, he was the singular person who’d ever come when she’d needed him.
Swearing under her breath, she grabbed the broken pieces of wood, holding one in each hand, jagged edges pointed out. If she got an opening, she’d help.
It soon became clear he didn’t need her assistance. The white wolf had the other one pinned to the floor, powerful jaws wrapped around his neck. The smaller wolf clawed and gouged, but the bigger one did not relent.
Pietro shifted back to a man. She blinked, unable to believe what she’d just witnessed. She’d seen it with her own eyes, yet her brain wanted to deny the facts.
“Killing me won’t stop it. There are others,” he rasped out.
She took a step toward them. What did he mean by that?
Blood gurgled in his throat. “The mage…”
“Devlin, stop!”
One final gasp and then silence. She made a small sound of distress. The white wolf whipped his head toward her. She didn’t dare move. Hardly dared to breathe. After staring at her for a long second, he trotted to the opening and out. She began to shake. Forcing her hands to open, she dropped her makeshift weapons, flinching when they clattered against the floor. Her knees buckled. She lunged to one side, leaning against the wall.
I’m alone with a dead body.
Oh, hell no. Like a drunk after an all-night binge, she stumbled to the opening, needing to feel the fresh air on her face, see the streetlights. Self-preservation kicked in, giving her enough presence of mind to grab her things. Nothing of hers could be found with the body. She had enough trouble without becoming embroiled in a police investigation.
Devlin had enlarged the exit so she didn’t need to toss her belongings out first but could fit herself and them through by ducking down. Big and human, and thankfully clothed, he was waiting for her. Without a word, he took her bags. “How badly are you hurt?”
The deep tenor of his voice, the concern in it, threatened her tenuous composure. She shook her head, afraid if she spoke she’d burst into tears. Traffic rolled down the road. A horn blew in the distance. It all seemed so foreign. She swallowed several times. “The—” She cleared her throat and tried again. “The body?”
“Don’t worry about it. Come on.” He held out his hand.
She stood at a crossroads. In her heart, she knew if she walked away, he’d let her go, and she’d never see him again. If she took his hand, life as she knew it would never be the same.
Screw it, life as she knew it would already never be the same. Her reality had been shaken to the core and turned upside down. Nothing was certain or steady. Nothing but Devlin.
She took his hand.
Chapter Eight
The scent of blood worried him.
There was a long gash on her arm. If the wolf had caught her, it had been a graze by a single claw or it would be much worse. He had no idea if she had other injuries or how bad they might be. He had to get her somewhere safe before he could tend to her. “Do you have a sweater or shirt?” The bastard rogue had ripped the one she was wearing.
“What?” She frowned, not seeming to follow his words. She was in shock. No surprise there. He’d expected her to run screaming. She’d been attacked, had watched him kill in a violent and brutal manner.
Devlin hadn’t meant to execute the rogue without interrogating him. Any information—including a possible name—had died with him, which sucked considering his dying words had confirmed a mage’s involvement.
He’d never lost control like that before. Never. Something inside him had snapped when faced with the scent of Zoe’s spilled blood and sweat, the sound of her scream. His wolf had been almost rabid, craving blood, wanting justice.
He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing it. Without asking for permission, he rifled through her bags until he found a sweatshirt. It was bright purple—not exactly inconspicuous—but would have to do. He pulled it over her head and eased her arms into it. That she let him was an indication of how traumatized she was. Normally, she’d have told him off for going through her things and taken the sweatshirt from him.
“Stay here. Do not move from this spot.” While he didn’t sense another wolf in the area, it was foolish to assume there wasn’t one.
Leaving her leaning against the building, he ducked inside. Ignoring the body, he went straight to a pile of clothes in the corner and rifled through the pockets. Nothing. No phone, no wallet, not even a scrap of paper. Whoever he was, he was smart enough to leave all of that at home. In the bottom of one of the boots was a key, likely to wherever he was staying. Devlin slipped it in his pocket, even though the likelihood of him finding the place was practically nil. Better he have it than whoever stumbled across the clothes.
Rejoining Zoe, who was exactly where he’d left her, he shoved the straps of her bags over his shoulders and took her hand. Her skin was cold, her face pale as snow.
His free arm around her, he guided her down the sidewalk. They’d walked two blocks, with him carrying most of her weight, before he finally saw a cab. He raised his hand to wave it down, but it kept going. The driver wasn’t going to stop. He stepped into the road. Brakes squealed. The vehicle came to a screeching halt a scant inch from him. “Are you crazy?” the cabbie yelled.
