Broken Dawn

by Duvall, Dianne

  The man stared up at him with wide blue eyes, his irises shrinking as his pupils dilated.

  The blinds on Kayla’s sliding glass doors rattled as she peered out. She must have heard something. The bullets piercing her roof? The man’s grunt of pain?

  Nick looked toward the back patio to ensure she couldn’t see them.

  Dizziness struck. The backyard tilted sideways.

  Shaking his head drunkenly, he used his hold on the man beneath him to brace himself.

  Maybe that bullet had done more than nick his carotid artery. Maybe the nick was more of a gash.

  Inside, Kayla padded toward the back door.

  Nick leaned down over the last attacker and hissed, “Tell me who sent you.” As soon as he did, Nick would partake of the man’s blood and try to regain enough strength to get home and call for help.

  The man tensed, then shoved a hand up, burying a tactical knife to the hilt in Nick’s belly.

  Pain pierced him. Shit! He was really off his game tonight. Why the hell had he let himself get distracted?

  Nick dropped his knife and slammed a fist into the man’s temple. The bastard went limp.

  Nick damn near did, too. Unconsciousness beckoned, but he fought it furiously. His breath emerged in jagged puffs as he sat back on his heels and glanced down at the blade buried in his belly.

  This was going to hurt.

  Clasping the hilt of the knife, he gritted his teeth and yanked it out. Only hundreds of years of sustaining similar wounds kept him silent.

  Hand shaking, he dropped the tactical knife to the grass.

  Agony shot through his middle and just about everywhere else. Now that the battle had ended, he could feel every single wound, beginning with the one in his gut that felt like someone was trying to yank his entrails out through his belly button.

  The lock on Kayla’s back door turned. The inner wooden door opened, then the outer screen door.

  Nick started to topple over and hastily braced a hand on the grass to keep from collapsing on his damn attacker like a lover who had just climaxed. He glanced down. Ah hell. When the bastard had stabbed him, Nick had inadvertently shoved the blade of his dagger into the man’s neck and done some serious damage. Blood poured out onto the grass in thick pulses that slowed even as he watched.

  Grabbing the man’s wrist, Nick brought it to his lips and sank his fangs in to try to siphon what little blood was left in his veins.

  There wasn’t nearly enough.

  Kayla’s scent reached him on the breeze as she stepped outside, so fresh amid the odors of blood and death that filled his nostrils.

  Dropping the man’s arm, he fought to remain conscious.

  “Nick?” she called softly, hope brightening her voice.

  How he wished he could answer her. But he couldn’t let her see him like this.

  “Oh shit,” she whispered. “Is that blood?”

  Damn it. He was leaking so much of the crimson liquid that he must have bled on the patio when he’d stopped this prick from seeking refuge in her home.

  She gasped. “It is.”

  He heard her back toward the door. If he didn’t do something, she might go inside and call 911, which would kick off a shit storm when police arrived and found the bodies.

  Or go to his house to tell him about the blood and find his home full of holes and dead bodies, which would kick off a similar shit storm.

  Or go back inside, lock her door, and wait to see what he thought about it when he joined her. Which he wouldn’t be doing, because at the rate he was going, he wasn’t even going to make it back over the damn fence before passing out. So he could very well end up roasting in the sun when it rose.

  He tried to think, but drowsiness tugged at him and muddled his thoughts.

  Her back door opened, forcing his hand.

  Time’s up. He had to act now.

  Hopefully the little bit of blood this bastard had provided would be enough to get him through what came next.

  Chapter Nine

  Kayla’s heart pounded in her ears as she reached back and opened the door. Her gaze returned to the small spattering of blood on the patio, then darted around the yard, trying desperately to see into the shadows. What had left it?

  Houston was called the Bayou City for a reason. It was riddled with bayous. And rodents tended to use some of those bayous like thoroughfares. So mice did occasionally make their way through the neighborhood, providing stray cats with temporary toys they could torment, then kill. But this much blood?

  No way. She didn’t even think a particularly vicious catfight could produce this much.

  So what the hell had?

  Kayla didn’t know and sure as hell wasn’t going to stand out there pondering it. She backed up to the open doorway. Nick worked in security. She would call him and ask him what he thought it was.

  A rustling noise disturbed the night. Jumping, she looked toward the far side of the house.

  A small dark figure crept around the corner.

  She relaxed a tiny bit. It was the little black stray cat that sometimes crept through her yard and Nick’s. It shied away from most people and wouldn’t have ventured into the yard if strangers lurked in it.

  The little feline’s fur glistened as it stepped into the light.

  Kayla frowned.

  It moved slowly, as if every step required enormous effort. And it limped.

  Her gaze shot from the cat to the blood on the pavement and back.

  “Oh no,” she murmured, stepping out onto the patio once more. She crouched down as it cautiously approached. “Hey, little guy,” she crooned. “You okay?”

  Wow. Most of the poor cat’s fur was saturated. Its normally smooth, panther-like gait was now stiff and jerky as if the only way it could remain upright was by locking its joints.

  Had it been hit by a car? Or had someone hurt it?

  She wouldn’t be at all surprised if it were the latter. The elderly lady next door once found a possum in her backyard that—according to the animal control officer who came out to help her with it—had been beaten with a baseball bat. And some boys at Becca’s high school had gotten in trouble last year for repeatedly kicking a stray dog they’d cornered.

  What the fuck was wrong with people?

  Kayla held a hand out to the cat. “Come here. It’s okay,” she coaxed in as soothing a voice as she could muster.

  The cat stopped when it reached her and almost seemed to sigh wearily as it rubbed its face into her palm.

  “Poor thing. I know you don’t like people, but will you let me help you?”

  Raising its head, it looked toward the fence on Nick’s side.

  “Nick’s not home, little guy.”

  It headed for the fence anyway. Bunching its back legs, it leapt up but failed to catch the top of the fence. It tried again, unsuccessfully, then faltered.

  Kayla bit her lip. “You aren’t going to make it over that, kitty. And I’m afraid you’ll hurt yourself more if you keep trying.” She rose. “Here. Come inside. Let me take care of you.” Opening the back door, she stepped inside. “Come on,” she crooned, holding the door open.

  The cat staggered to one side, hesitated, then made its slow, painful way into her laundry room.

  Kayla closed the screen door behind it. Grabbing a towel from the laundry sorter cart, she stepped around the cat and entered the kitchen. Folding the thick cotton in half to make a soft bed, she laid it on the floor and patted it.

  “Come lie down while I grab my phone and figure out where the nearest 24-hour vet is.” Though she cringed inside at what such a vet would charge, she was too big a softie to just let the cat suffer.

  The cat made its stiff way forward and curled up on the towel.

  Kayla headed into the living room to fetch her phone. She’d call Nick first. If he was home, maybe he’d go with her to the vet or animal hospital or whatever.

  Her phone lay where she’d left it on the coffee table next to the remote. She g
rabbed the remote and turned off the TV, then picked up her phone and speed-dialed Nick.

  No answer. While she listened to a robotic voice ask her to leave a voice mail, she turned and strode toward the kitchen. “Nick. Hi. It’s Kayla. You know that little black cat that passes through our…?”

  Her words faltered as she reached the kitchen. Her heart stopped. The hand holding the phone fell limply to her side as her heart gradually resumed beating, banging the hell out of her rib cage.

  A large, naked man lay on the floor of her kitchen where the cat had just been. Curled up on his side, he faced away from her. Blood coated a strong muscled back dotted with multiple bullet holes. Some were small entrance wounds. Others were larger, jagged exit wounds. More blood poured from a deep gash on his neck. His short, black hair was rumpled. And though she couldn’t see his face… she knew. She just knew. Even before she sidled around him in a slow half circle and saw his face. She knew who it was.

  “Nick!” Dropping to her knees before him, she touched his jaw. “Nick?” She patted his cheek. “Honey? Talk to me.” More bullet holes riddled his bare chest and stomach. He’d been shot so many times! And his muscled abdomen bore a nasty stab wound.

  Her vision wavered as moisture welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Gripping his shoulder, she eased him onto his back. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, please, please.” Either a bullet or a knife had carved a path across one side of his neck.

  Kayla jumped up and dove for the laundry room. Yanking open the dryer, she pawed through clean white garments until she found a towel, then raced back to the kitchen. Skidding to her knees, she pressed the towel to Nick’s neck and applied pressure even as she held the shaking fingers of her other hand just beneath his nose.

  Breath brushed them.

  A sob escaped her. He was alive.

  She grabbed her phone and started to dial 911 but hesitated before pressing the last 1.

  Nick said immortals didn’t want anyone to know about them. But if she didn’t call 911, whom could she call? She didn’t know what doctors had worked on her at the hospital after her accident, so she couldn’t call them. She didn’t know Seth’s number either.

  Did she have Oliver’s?

  “Hang on, baby,” she murmured, keeping pressure on Nick’s neck. “Hang on, Nick. You’re going to be okay.” Please let him be okay. He’d said nothing could kill him short of decapitation, right? “Please, please, please,” she whispered again as she scrolled through her contacts. And there it was, listed as Oliver Nextdoor because she hadn’t been able to remember his last name when he’d given it to her.

  She pressed the Call icon, then urged the damn phone to ring faster on the other end.

  “Hello?” a male voice answered cautiously.

  “Oliver! It’s Kayla Dorman from next door. Nick is hurt. Badly. And I don’t know what to do. Can I call 911? Is there someone else I should—?”

  “Hold on, hold on,” Oliver said, sounding more alert. “Tell me what happened.”

  The words tumbled forth so quickly they practically ran together. “I heard a noise and went outside, thinking it was Nick coming over after work and there was blood on the patio and that little black cat that roams the neighborhood came around the corner of the house and was hurt, so I coaxed it inside and put it on a towel in the kitchen and grabbed my phone from the living room, and when I turned around, Nick was lying naked on the floor where the cat had just been and he’s been shot so many times and I think his carotid artery was damaged because there’s a lot of blood and—”

  “Okay,” he said. “Okay, Kayla. First things first. Are you safe? Where are the men who shot him?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see anyone when I was outside. I just saw the cat.”

  “Okay. I want you to put the phone down right now and grab a weapon. Do you own a gun?”

  “Yes.”

  “Put your phone on speaker and go get the gun. Now. I’m going to grab my spare phone to make some calls so I won’t have to put you on hold.”

  “I need to keep putting pressure on Nick’s neck.”

  “I understand he’s hurt. But I need you to trust me, Kayla, and do what I say. Go get the gun.”

  Since the phone was already on speaker, she set it on the floor beside Nick and ran upstairs to her bedroom. Yanking the top drawer of her bedside table open, she palmed the 9mm she kept there, then grabbed the box of bullets beside it and stuffed it in a pants pocket. Seconds ticked off in her head, seeming more like minutes as she ran back down the stairs so quickly she nearly tripped and fell on her face.

  She slowed as she approached the kitchen. Flicking the safety off with her thumb, she raised the weapon and aimed it at the entrance to the laundry room, supporting her right hand with her left the way her dad had taught her to at the shooting range.

  Fear returned with a vengeance. She’d been so focused on Nick’s wounds that she had totally blanked on his attackers. They could still be out there. They could be creeping in her back door right now. They could be armed and ready to shoot him again.

  Well, fuck that.

  She kept her weapon trained on the laundry room doorway as she headed back to Nick’s side.

  Oliver’s voice carried over the line. “Seth is in the middle of something and can’t do it. David is healing someone in Brazil. And Zach can be fucking terrifying to anyone who doesn’t know him. Will you go with him so he won’t scare her? She lives next door to us on the west side.”

  “Forget Zach,” a man with a British accent replied. “I’ll get Roland to do it.”

  “Roland Warbrook?” Oliver asked, disbelief entering his voice. “How is he less scary than Zach?”

  “He’s mellowed since he married.”

  “Bullshit. And he isn’t even a teleporter.”

  “Don’t worry about that. We’ll get there.”

  Kayla peered toward the back patio. The main door remained open, but the screen door was closed.

  She saw no shady figures standing on the other side of it. She gave the kitchen a quick scan to make sure no one had entered while she’d been retrieving her weapon, then focused again on the door.

  “Kayla?” Oliver called.

  “I’m here. Should I lock the back door?”

  “No. I’ve got some guys coming to you. They’ll be there shortly.”

  Kneeling, she kept the 9mm in her right hand and resumed applying pressure to Nick’s neck with her left. Her throat thickened. He looked so pale and lay so still.

  “Nick,” she whispered.

  “Is he coming around?” Oliver asked hopefully.

  “No.” Though she wanted to keep her eyes on Nick and count each barely noticeable rise and fall of his chest to ensure he still lived, Kayla darted frequent glances at the back door.

  Footsteps swished through grass. Thuds sounded as boots hit pavement.

  The fear swirling inside her intensified as she aimed her 9mm at the door.

  Two dark figures appeared outside it.

  Gasping, she released her hold on Nick and leaned her body across his to shield him as much as possible as she adjusted her aim, sighting the first man’s chest down the barrel.

  He raised his hands. “Kayla Dorman?”

  Until she knew for sure whether he was friend or foe, she wouldn’t answer that.

  “Oliver sent us to check on Nick.” He sounded like the man with the British accent to whom Oliver had been speaking. With slow movements, he opened the screen door. “I’m Marcus Grayden, and this is Roland Warbrook. We’re here to help you.”

  Oliver spoke from the phone. “Are Marcus and Roland there?”

  Marcus answered as he stepped inside. “We’re here, Oliver. Please ask her to lower her weapon.”

  “It’s okay, Kayla,” Oliver said. “They’re friends. Let them help Nick.”

  Managing a jerky nod, she lowered her weapon but didn’t relinquish it.

  Marcus approached with caution. He was dressed all i
n black the way Nick and Eliana often were. Black T-shirt. Black cargo pants. Long black coat. Big black boots. He was about the same height as Nick with equally broad shoulders. His hair was longer though. And she absently noted he was handsome.

  The man behind him was similarly garbed but had shorter hair. Expression grim, he bore an air of menace as he studied Kayla with guarded eyes.

  Marcus kept his hands visible as he entered the kitchen. He motioned to Nick. “Will you let us see to him?”

  Kayla glanced back, only then realizing she still shielded much of him. “Oh. Yes.” She straightened and moved a little to one side, unwilling to stray too far from him. Needing to touch him as well, she kept a hand on his shoulder.

  Both men swore when they saw the extent of his injuries.

  Marcus knelt beside her. “He was like this when you found him?”

  “No. He was a cat when I found him.”

  Marcus exchanged a quick look with Roland as the latter knelt on Nick’s other side.

  Oliver swore on the phone. “Okay. Kayla? There’s an explanation for that.”

  She swallowed. “The explanation being that Nick can shape-shift. That’s the gift he was born with, isn’t it?”

  “Yyyyyyeah. He was going to tell you. He just…”

  “Was looking for a way to do it that wouldn’t freak me out,” she finished for him.

  Marcus winced. “I’d say he failed on that front.”

  Nodding, Roland peeled the towel away from Nick’s neck.

  Kayla felt only a modicum of relief when she noted the bleeding had stopped.

  Roland rested a hand on the gash in Nick’s neck, settled the other on his chest, then met her gaze. “I need you to release him for a moment.”

  She didn’t want to. She needed the contact. It might very well be all that was keeping her from falling apart.

  “Please,” Marcus tossed in.

  If Oliver trusted these men to take care of Nick, she should do whatever they asked.