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His partner took off for the forest.
Bryant stepped protectively in front of me, hands raised in cautious surrender.
“You have me, Arcan, so just let her go,” he said. “She’s not were-kind, just human. You don’t want to shoot and kill another human, do you?”
“Not the way I hear it, wolf,” the man said, clicking back the gun’s hammer. “Some say she’s one of you. Others say she’s a witch. By the looks of her, I’d say both are right. There is a good way to find out though. By taking her clothes off and proving it. Go on, girl. Let’s see what ya got.”
The scraggly, gap-toothed man(didn’t Arcans believe in personal hygiene?)dryly sniffed as he gave me a suggestive up-down.
Big, big mistake.
Bryant growled, his eyes glowing blue, then purple, then red, his canines extending. I felt the vibrations of his body, and he was hair-thin from shifting and taking out the Arcan who was smiling smugly and raising his gun to Bryant’s chest.
“No! Stop!” I yelled at Bryant.
Just as the shot went off.
And Bryant went down.
With a screaming yell, I linebacker barreled into the Arcan, knocking him to the ground.
We wrestled.
Another shot blasted.
And I dropped the gun onto the lifeless Arcan corpse at my feet.
Good riddance to bad rubbish.
The grunting moan snapped my attention back around to Bryant clutching his gut, my own heart dropping when seeing the gray-red ooze from his fingers.
“No, no, no, no!”
I squatted down and tried to press my palms hard to his wounds, cursing the Arcans for all I was worth, whether aloud or in my mind, I didn’t know, didn’t care.
“We need to get you back to the cabin,” I rushed out. “There’s still some herbs left—”
“Callista, no,” he huffed, gripping his wound hard.
“Or I could run back and get them and bring them back!”
“It’ll be too...late,” he said, sweat already beading on his face.
“I’m not letting you die, Michael James Bryant! You hear me? I won’t!”
“Love, please, listen.” He swallowed hard and jutted his chin to his shirt and pouch still on the ground. “Get...the letter.”
“Bryant!”
“Do it. Please.”
Giving in, I reached over and grabbed the leather pouch, then pulled out the sealed letter, which he then shoved into my pocket.
“Find...Robbie. Tell him...”
“No, I am not leaving you!” I cried, pressing my hands to his sweating face. “I’m not!”
“You have to,” he said with quiet resignation. “Only you...can stop...Wilkens.” He shook his head. “No other...choice.”
