by Bethany Shaw
The man wheezed and grunted in pain, finally releasing her from his clutches. Free at last, she spun and sprayed, causing him to falter and fall backwards. Her own eyes stung and watered from the back spray, but she didn’t stop till the canister was empty.
Lark flung the empty can at her attacker, and sprinted away. The exit at the back of the building was closest. Adrenaline pumping and heart hammering in her chest, she surged towards her freedom.
She was so close, only a few more feet to go. The bathroom door flew open, colliding with her. Pain exploded in her right shoulder and ricocheted down her whole side from the impact. Thrown off balance, she stumbled, tripped and fell onto one of the cool metal prep tables. Her left hip burned from the collision.
The brown haired man came out of the bathroom. They’d been hiding in there, she realized, but how had they gotten in?
Desperate for a weapon, her eyes landed on the cake knife. Lark grasped for the knife as a hand latched around her waist. She reached the plastic handle at the same time fingers wound tightly in her hair, and wrenched her backwards. The knife twirled sliding closer to her. Desperation filled her, her hand outstretched reaching for it.
“Fighting will only make it hurt more,” the brown haired man hissed in her ear, pulling her upright.
He released her hair and spun her around so she was pressed between the table and him. He took a step back while looking around the corner, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out zip ties.
They’re going to kidnap me! Lark’s mouth went dry. Terror gnawed at her, threatening to make her vomit. It was better to die fighting, than to be kidnapped and die after they did who-knows-what to her.
Lark forced a ragged breath in, she needed to focus. Senses steeled, she twisted, lunging for the knife and grasped it. Her attacker sprung toward her. Knife held firmly, she jammed it roughly into him. Not really caring where she hit, as long as she hit some part of the body. The knife imbedded deep into his flesh. His brown eyes widened in shock as she pulled the knife free and he grunted in pain.
Blood spurted out of the wound, warm liquid drenched her hand as he stumbled away.
“You little bitch,” he bellowed. He lurched forward. Swinging, his hand connected with her bottom lip.
The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. Her vision clouded and she blinked, forcing her eyes to stay open. You cannot pass out. Renewed strength found, Lark stood up and launched toward the other man. The knife still clutched tightly in her hand. She swung her arm, slashing the blade across his shoulder.
Her assailant jumped back. She hesitated for a moment, realizing he now blocked her closest exit. She could try to go through him or go all the way back around and risk the other guy, wherever he was.
Deciding the injured man in front of her was the best option, she steeled herself to run toward him. Before she could, a hand yanked her hair. Lark was spun around and thrust toward the corner of the table. A loud shriek escaped her lips, and she fell face first unable to stop her momentum. Her forehead hit the edge of the table. Pain seared through her head as her vision went white, and then darkness swallowed her whole.
Chapter 8
Devon pulled up to the back of the bakery, thankful to see Lark’s SUV there. He made it in record time, but it was still past eight. Releasing a relieved breath, he shut off the ignition.
Hurrying to get inside, he jumped out of the car and hustled to the door. He assumed at ten after the front door would be locked, but he didn’t want to risk missing her. Hopefully, Lark would answer the back. If nothing else, she couldn’t leave without him knowing.
A muffled scream of terror ripped through the night air. Devon’s heart thumped painfully in his chest. The sound had come from inside the bakery. Lark!
Swallowing the lump in his throat he noticed the broken door handle and the partially open door.
“The bitch stabbed me,” a man’s voice hissed.
“Let me see,” another voice growled, sounding more annoyed than concerned.
Devon’s ears rung. He recognized that voice. What are they doing here? Jaw set, he fought to contain his rage.
Adrenaline pumping, Devon slipped inside. He edged down the hall with his back against the wall, his footsteps silent against the tile floor. His heart clenched and face turned deadly when Lark came into view.
She laid motionless on the floor, face covered by blonde curls. His eyes flew to her back and he waited with bated breath, sighing when he saw the gentle rise and fall of it. Lark was unconscious, but alive.
“Damn it, I think I’m going to need stitches,” the injured man grumbled.
Devon continued to stalk forward. Fists clenched tightly, the element of surprise on his side. At the moment he only heard two different voices, but there could be more. He inhaled deeply. The rich smell of the metallic copper blood invaded his nostrils. Red flared behind his eyes.
The hallway came to an end. A puddle of blood pooled under Lark’s face, blonde strands of hair soaked it up. She’d obviously hit her head. He wouldn’t know how bad it was till he got a better look. Closing his eyes, he hoped that she was okay – he needed her to be okay.
He weighed his options, if he moved around the corner he would give himself away. The limited view was an issue but for the moment it would have to do. Devon knew not to underestimate Dirk, Emmett’s most trusted and lethal lackey.
Focusing on Lark, he double checked that she was still alright for the moment. His stomach knotted at seeing her still form. Devon swallowed, grinding his teeth as rage curdled inside him. Focus.
A set of long legs stuck out by the cases, but he couldn’t see their owner. He didn’t see blood, but the salty coppery scent permeated the air.
“Here,” Dirk said, coming into Devon’s view. He stooped down with a wad of paper towels in his hands.
Devon peered around the corner placing a voice to the face of the injured man. Michael sat slumped on the floor, on the verge of passing out at any moment. Dirk stood back up and walked toward Lark.
With a fierce snarl, Devon attacked, tackling Dirk to the ground. Dirk’s ice blue eyes widened as they crashed to the floor. Not giving him a chance to react, Devon pummeled Dirk in the face repeatedly until his knuckles ached, leaving Dirk’s face a bloody mess.
“I was hoping I’d get the honor of ending your life.” Dirk barked, blood seeping between his teeth. With a roll he threw Devon off of him.
Devon hit the wall and quickly jumped to his feet. Dirk had several inches on him, which was no easy feat since he was close to six feet himself.
“Not going to happen,” Devon remarked, curling his lip. He locked in his fighting stance, ready to strike at Dirk’s first movement.
Dirk wiped a smear of blood from his nose as he glared at Devon. “Did you really think you could out run Emmett?”
“Do you really think Emmett gives a shit about you?”
“I’m going to enjoy killing you. Then I’ll drag your body back for Emmett to see.” Dirk lunged at him.
Ducking out of the way, Devon grabbed Dirk’s arm, and shoved him down into his knee. As Dirk stumbled back, Devon followed up with a hard right hook to the jaw.
Dirk swung again and Devon jumped to the right. With a quick twist of his body Devon punched Dirk in the face, his nose crunching beneath his knuckles. Gripping Dirk’s neck, he twisted a sickening crack sliced through the air. He released Dirk and watched him fall lifelessly to the floor with a deafening thud.
Devon took a step back; a swirl of emotions filled him as he stared at the man he’d just killed. He’d only killed once before, but it had been self defense. It didn’t stop the guilt from creeping into him though.
A gurgling sound drew his attention away from the body. He turned in time to see Michael’s unconscious form slide down the wall to the floor. Devon didn’t know much about Michael. He always gave the impression he followed out of fear rather than loyalty.
Crouching down, he surveyed the other wolf, touching his
pulse point. A thrum met his fingers. Zip ties poked out of his pocket. Devon grabbed the ties and bound Michael’s unconscious hands around the solid metal of the bakery case leg.
Satisfied there was no immediate danger, his attention shifted to Lark. Her breathing remained even. Devon stabilized her body, carefully rolling her over.
Blood coated the collar of her shirt and smeared across her cheek. Her bottom lip was split and a tiny trail of red dribbled down her chin. Lowering his gaze, he examined the rest of her. A splatter of blood covered her hand but it didn’t smell like it belonged to her.
Teeth gritted, he carefully moved her matted hair from her forehead.
“No,” Lark yelped, fear flooding her voice. A warm hand wrapped tightly around his wrist and pushed him away.
Devon flicked his gaze to Lark’s. Her blue eyes blinked furiously, panic over ran her normally calm face. Quickly he removed his hands while she struggled to sit up.
“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re safe. Take it easy, you hit your head.” As gentle as possible, he placed his hands on her shoulders to keep her from sitting up too quickly.
Wild blue eyes locked on his, her efforts to sit stopped. “What, what happened?”
“You don’t remember?” Devon asked concerned. How hard had she hit her head? Did she have a concussion?
Her brows scrunched together. “They attacked me. Where did they go?” Lark’s arm gripped the table leg as she tried to get up again.
“It’s okay, they’re taken care of,” Devon kept his tone even, eyes locked with hers. Her pupils appeared normal. “Are you alright?” He wanted to touch her face, but wasn’t sure how well the action would be received.
Lark sucked in a deep breath. Tears pooled in her eyes, and her bottom lip trembled. Devon ground his teeth; he hated seeing her like this. Her hand went to her head gingerly patting the large knot forming. She pulled back and looked at her crimson hand. It began to shake violently.
Devon clasped her bloodied hand to regain her attention. The last thing he needed was for her to freak out. “It’s not that bad. A few stitches at most. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Lark blinked, as a tear rolled from her eye and disappeared in her hair. “I don’t think so.”
Devon squeezed her hand, her warm, slender fingers wrapped around his. “It’s okay. I’ll get you something to wipe that off. Trust me. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
Devon stood up, searching for a rag, towels, anything to put on her forehead. The sink was only a few feet away. He briskly walked toward it, pulling out several paper towels from the dispenser, wetting them slightly, before he knelt and pressed them to her forehead.
She closed her eyes and opened them again, hand coming up to rest on top of his, it still shook, but her breathing seemed less erratic. “It’s mostly my head, are you sure it’s not bad?”
“Head injuries bleed a lot, Lark. It’s not that bad, five stitches at most. Do you remember what day it is?” Devon asked. She would likely have a concussion, but he wanted to assess how bad off she was.
“It’s Saturday, and you’re late,” she replied with a frown, after a long moment.
“Glad to see you’re okay.” It was an attempt at lightening the mood. Judging by the scowl, she’d perceived it as something else.
Lark quirked her brow at him and pushed away, grimacing as she sat up. Her other hand flew to her head. Worried she may pass out, Devon gripped her shoulders and pushed her back so she was leaning against the table leg.
“Oh my god,” she panicked, her chest heaved and eyes widened.
Devon didn’t need to look to know what she saw. He tucked a hand under her chin, and turned her gaze back to him. “It’s okay,” he said quietly.
“Are they, did I…I stabbed him, oh my god.” Lark’s breath sped up, sending tears sliding down her face.
“He’s unconscious and tied up. I took care of the other guy.” They needed to get out of here before more of Emmett’s men showed up, or she had a breakdown. “Can you stand? We should go.”
“But you killed the other man?” Her voice squeaked, several octaves higher than normal.
“He tried to kill you, Lark. If I didn’t kill him, he would have killed both of us.”
Lark closed her eyes and took a shaky breath in. “Let's go.” She opened her eyes, a look of determination on her face.
They stood up together. Lark’s body trembled beneath his hand. She wrapped her warm hand tightly around his forearm, the other holding the towels to her head. His free hand wound around her waist pulling her close, supporting her with his body. She wobbled slightly, but found her footing.
Devon led her out back, opened the passenger door of the truck and helped Lark inside, buckling her in. “Lean back and relax, we’ll get you taken care of as soon as we get to the ranch.”
“You’re sure it’s really not that bad?” Lark leaned her head back onto the headrest and blotted at the giant bloodied knot with the towel.
“You’ll be fine. Keep the pressure on it, it will help stop the blood flow,” Devon assured her, closing the truck door. He pulled his cell phone out and dialed Rick’s number.
“Everything okay, Devon?” Rick greeted.
“I need a cleanup crew sent to the bakery ASAP-”
“What happened? Is Lark okay, were you hurt?” Rick yelled into the phone.
“She’s shaken up, but she’ll be fine. Probably has a concussion, and needs stitches. It was two of Emmett’s men, I took care of them. One is dead the other is in restraints.”
“Thank god. Bring her here, I’ll call Preston and let Sarah know. She’s really okay?”
“We’ll be there shortly.”
“Be safe, Devon.”
Devon hung up, and climbed into the truck. Lark sat with her eyes closed, breathing even. He touched her arm. Now that they were out of danger, he could no longer ignore the electric charge that shot through his fingers at the mere touch of her heated flesh. “Hey, don’t fall asleep.”
Lark’s eyes popped open. “I was just resting my eyes,” she murmured, gaze lowered to his hand on her arm.
“Right,” Devon chuckled, pulling away and starting the car. “Seriously though, you need to stay awake. You may have a concussion.”
“I suppose you would know, huh?”
“Actually yes, but I’m speaking more from a professional stand point.”
“There is no way you’re a doctor,” Lark frowned, turning to stare at him.
“Paramedic.”
“Really?”
“Is that so hard to believe?” Devon pulled onto the freeway, eyes glued on the rearview mirror.
Devon felt her watching him, and glanced at her from the side. She sighed and looked away seeming more relaxed. The talking helped, and he needed to make sure she stayed coherent.
“At first it was a way to take care of myself after my mishaps, but it became much more than that. I enjoyed it. The rush of saving someone’s life, it’s a feeling you can’t possibly imagine.”
“Will you pursue that line of work here?” Lark asked.
“Not at the moment, maybe once all this settles down.”
“Right.” Lark rolled her eyes with a sigh.
“My first priority is taking care of my family and pack. In case you didn’t notice, my stepfather is a little upset about us leaving.”
“Is that who those guys were, from his pack?” Lark asked quietly, her voice thick with unshed tears.
“Yes, I don’t know why he came after you. We usually try not to involve humans as our existence is supposed to be a secret.” Anguish filled him again at Emmett lashing out at Lark. “You’re safe, I, I mean we, won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“Thank you.” Lark turned back to him.
Devon shifted his eyes to her. “You’re welcome.”
***
Lark felt a sense of déjà vu as she lay on the icy metal exam table. Only the roles were reversed. This time, she was the patient and Devon was tendin
g to her.
“This is going to sting,” Devon said, holding a cotton ball in his hand.
Lark closed her eyes tightly and bit her lip, flinching as heat seared the injured flesh. She’d have to remember not to do that until the swelling went down. Her lip was puffy and felt ten times its normal size.
A cool burning sensation cleared her senses as she gripped the edges of the table. Lark inhaled sharply to keep from crying out. Tears pricked her eyes and she fought the urge to pull away.
“It doesn’t look too bad, I’m going to put a few stitches in it though.” Devon’s hand rested on her shoulder. “You okay?”
“I can handle other people’s blood, but my own makes me squeamish. I’m that girl that passes out when she gives blood.”
“You’re not going to pass out or throw up on me, are you?” There was a concerned, but joking edge to his voice.
“No.” At least Lark really hoped not, if that happened she would die of embarrassment.
“I’m going to give you a shot to help with the stitches.”
Even though her eyes were closed tightly, the overhead light was bright, and Lark could partially see his movements through eyelids. A part of her wondered how close he was to her face. It shouldn’t matter, but it did. The thought of his lips so close to hers made her squirm. A part of her wondered how his full lips would feel pressed against hers.
She squeezed the metal sides of the cot harder, her whole body clenched as she felt the pinch of the needle.
“You can breathe now,” Devon said after a long moment.
Lark let out a whoosh of air, her body still wired. She hated this. She couldn’t determine what was worse. Devon playing doctor, or being alone in the room with him. While on the one side it was nice nobody else got to see her be a wimp, why did it have to be him?
She tried to ignore the warmth of his callused fingers when they gently stroked her skin. This was work for him. He was simply putting her back together, while she was getting turned on.
“Let me know if it hurts.” Devon’s gentle fingers brushed against her forehead.
Lark stiffened again her body ridged. She felt a gentle tug and pull, but no pain. Slowly she released the death grip she had on the edges of the bed.
