by Tina Gower
Becker’s face turns a reddish purple from lack of air as he struggles with the unseen enemy. Unseen to me. Becker can see him. If I don’t get to him he’ll die.
I claw at the door, but it’s locked. Running my hands along the door, I’ve forgotten where the unlock buttons are placed. And what will I do when I get it open? Fight an invisible foe? Offer myself up as a prize? Maybe my presence will be enough of a distraction to get him off Becker, so Becker can recover and capture the guy.
I dig through my purse for the topaz, turning it over as the contents tumble out between my legs. I sift through them. It’s not there. My laptop bag? I grasp the strap behind the seat and fish it forward, but it bangs and catches on the console.
“Come on!” I tug and tug again with no success. Then I twist in my seat and crawl half to the backseat. I should have listened to Ali and found a way to keep it near me, wear it as jewelry. Something.
My window explodes. Glass shards shoot through the interior. A huge brick thunks into Becker’s seat. I blink and press my hand to my chest. My heart is furiously banging against my ribs. If I hadn’t moved that would have been aimed right for my head.
I maneuver myself to see Becker. He’s on top this time. Or it appears he is. He’s punching the air below him, but he loses his balance.
Motivated back into motion, I dip down into my laptop case to grab the topaz. The backs of my calves burn. Glancing behind me I see I’ve got hundreds of tiny cuts. My panty hose are shredded.
Out of the corner of my eye a pale arm with dark hair comes through the broken window and grabs my leg. I scream.
Kicking at the hovering appendage, I stretch my torso to lengthen my arm, reaching deeper into the bag. The corners of the stone brush against my fingertips. I scoot my body against the seat to nab it.
Yanked to the front of the car, he pulls me toward him through the window. I drop the topaz rock, and my leg slices on the jagged exposed glass. I gulp in a breath and hold it against the pain. My body is tugged again as he tries to drag me out the window and I go along with the motion, pushing my leg as far into the direction he’s pulling me as I can manage, shoving him off balance. Then I jerk free. His fingers slip on my blood.
I go for the topaz again, diving into the backseat. It’s just outside of my grasp.
This time the arm reaches in and the shade’s head becomes visible as he crawls through the window after me. No freckles or dusting of dirty blond hair like Becker described of the man before. This guy is pale, but has contrasting dark eyes and hair. This could be another shade, another set to worry about. He bares his teeth and reveals silver caps.
My last attempt for the topaz causes it to roll farther from my range.
He lunges for me and I use my feet to kick him off, pressing him against the sharp edges of the broken window. Becker had said women hold most of their power below the waist. No, dirty minds. He meant fighting power.
Unable to get the topaz, I turn to fight off my opponent. The stick of my heel hits him right in the throat. The guy makes a gurgle gag sound. I go for that same spot, but he dodges and my shoe gets knocked off.
He manages to get most of his body through the window and falls on me. He pushes my legs into the center console, pinning my designer shoe weapons against the seat where I can’t wiggle free. He smashes my body down against the console too. My cheek is pressed against the edge of the backseat. The topaz leans against the opposite door. I make one last attempt, reaching my arm at an impossible angle.
His fingers tangle in my hair. He grips. Jerks me up.
I sweep my hand in the direction of the topaz. Feel the contact. I swing it around and smash it into his face.
He drops me instantly, seizing and twitching. There’s a distant sizzle, then the scent of flesh burning on a grill. The man covers his face, screaming. I crawl through the back and spot a pair of handcuffs under Becker’s seat. I grab them, cuffing the guy to the steering wheel. He shivers and moans, holding a shaking hand over the welts and melted skin.
I unlock the back door and trip out of the car, limping along the middle of the highway. At first I can’t see Becker among the heaps of trash and twisted metal of the crash, until I see a large figure twitch, smashed against the ground at the turned over bumper of the truck. The head comes up, black plastic sack covering its face. A familiar hand rips through the plastic.
Becker gasps in air, eyes lit up like a furnace, swinging at the assailant behind him. Another plastic sack floats above his head. I rush forward, hands and knees on the mounds of trash until I’m a few feet from him and the shade becomes more visible.
Except it’s not one but three men on Becker. All lying on top of him to keep him down. Without thinking, I go for the one at his head and shoulders, pressing the topaz right into the center of his neck.
He swats me off like a fly, tackling me to the ground. The other two jump in to hold me down.
“No!” the man grunts. “The cop!”
But as he says it, “the cop” launches onto the two of them, smashing their skulls together. They bop like puppets on a string, their arms and legs go limp, and they slink to the ground.
Becker drops the two and swings his arm over the guy on me. He hugs the man into his chest, snarling. The guy evades him and nearly breaks free. Becker bites the man’s neck where I burned him. The man jolts as if electrocuted. Becker twists and there’s a snap. The man becomes a lump next to his other parts.
Becker breathes through his teeth. On shaking feet he wobbles to me and falls on his knees a foot from me. I crawl to meet him. He clutches my arms, patting down my body until he reaches my leg.
“You’re bleeding.” He holds the wound closed. “Fucking gods, we’re lying on a pile of trash. This is an infection nightmare.” He shrugs out of his coat for the second time today and quickly wraps it around my calf, using the sleeves to tie it shut.
I notice the coat is already stained with blood. I look up. There’s a jagged cut down his forearm. His waist is bleeding too. “Becker, you’re hurt.”
I lean forward to help him, but he bats me away, taking my head between his hands. “I’m a little dizzy.” His eyes, glowing the brightest I’ve ever seen them, are glossy and unfocused.
“You’ve probably lost a lot of blood.”
His forehead meets mine a little harder than I think he intended. “I need to touch you. I’ll feel better if I touch you.” He swallows, curling into me, pulling me closer to him.
“Becker we’ve got to call for help. You’re bleeding.”
But my words are lost somewhere in the void, because that intense look has returned and he’s more animal than human. His fingers drag into my hair. His lips run along the side of my neck. “He touched you. He had his hands on you.”
“Becker…” It starts out a plea for him to see reason, but ends more like I’m begging.
His lips brush against mine. His tongue flicks along the lower lip. It’s a quick taste, but the zing of pleasure shoots along every nerve ending in my body. Any protest I had dies right there. He pulls back like he’s going to stop, but instead his eyes meet mine. There’s a second. Just one where I expect him to ask permission. I expected a question in his gaze. Maybe he expected me to tell him no.
Except that’s not what’s in his expression. Not at all. There’s no question, no permission. Only possession.
His mouth is on mine again. This time with no hesitations. I kiss him back and tilt my head. He runs his fingers down the side of my neck, dragging his hand down my back and pressing us closer together. There’s a very small voice whispering to stop, but it doesn’t deter me. It only serves as a thrill to disobey.
I’m in so much trouble with this guy. I can’t say no.
He pulls back again. His lips moving down my neck, dangerously close to my chest. He looks up at me. “Kate?” He’s sweaty, feverish. Hungry. He grips me like he’s falling and I’m going to hold him up. “Kate. It’s spinning.” He pants, placing another kiss on my sho
ulder.
His eyes flutter.
I catch him right before his head thumps on the metal frame of the truck and lay him down gently.
Trash. We were making out on a pile of trash. I heave in a breath. Not calm, yet calm from the heat of the moment.
“Becker.” I feel for his pulse, still very strong. Good. “Becker.”
I feel along his arm. The cut is deep but not too bad. The one on his side is shallow. I check my phone. On the top of his trash heap, I have one bar. I send Lipski a text to send someone to us ASAP.
Becker stirs, placing a hand on me, trying to get up.
“Take it easy.” I cradle his head in my lap.
He pushes himself against me for leverage. “I’m fine. I’m okay.” His eyes are wide and he drags in gulps of air like a drunk woken up from sleeping it off.
He runs his hand along my leg, coming into contact with his blood-soaked jacket. “You’re hurt. Gods, Kate.” He’s startled into action.
He doesn’t remember five minutes ago. He doesn’t remember the kiss.
I take it as a sign. An opportunity.
I push his hands away in vain. “No, Becker. Most of that’s your blood.”
He glares at me, a little cross-eyed. “My blood?”
“You just passed out. You’re going to be a little confused.”
“What happened? I remember the shades. They had me pinned down when the other got away and threw the brick into the window.” He talks faster, getting worked up in the retelling.
I put my hand to his cheek. “Shhh. We got them all. The fourth one is cuffed to the wheel in your car.”
His eyelids lower, as he gazes into my eyes. His eyes no longer glow. His skin is slightly pallid. He blushes. “Did we…?”
I open my mouth, unsure what I’ll say, but I’m saved by the flashing red and blue lights.
Chapter 19
They patch Becker and me up in the back of the ambulance. Becker orders them to attend to me first. I attempt to explain Becker’s injuries are worse than mine, but Becker growls and towers over the tech until he changes directions and works on me instead.
Within a few minutes of the police backup arriving, the place is swarming with officers. Lipski questions my shade, now removed from Becker’s vehicle and cuffed to the grill inside the back of the cop car. Two medical techs attend to the burns on his face. The coroner inspects the three bodies.
“Any loss of consciousness, Officer?” the medical tech asks Becker.
He looks at me, pinning me with a look to keep quiet. “No.”
The tech nods and goes around the corner to grab something else. Becker leans into my ear and whispers, “If you tell anyone I passed out like a sissy, I’ll fucking kill you.”
I shove him away. He keeps his serious face until I nod in agreement. Then he crosses his arms, returning to his cranky self and barking orders at the tech working on me.
“She was all over that garbage. Make sure you use a lot of disinfectant.”
“We’re just wrapping the cut. She’ll have to ride with us to the clinic to get stitches—”
“No.” He cuts the guy off. “I’ll take her to the hospital.”
“Don’t you think the hospital is a little overkill?” I glare at him. “And your car is a wreck. There’s glass all over inside.”
He huffs.
“Ian, we need you over here,” one of the officers calls, waving him to the trash pile where someone is taking photos.
Becker looks to me for permission and I nod him on. “Go. I’m okay.”
He winces as he stands from the back of the ambulance, pressing a hand to his side. His first two steps are a limp until he steadies himself and walks gingerly.
Lipski shows up by my side as if it was some coordinated effort. Becker leaves, Lipski appears. The coincidence is not lost on me.
“So it looks like the shade situation is under control. We’re pretty sure we got the last of the cell, but you’ll need to be cautious for the next few weeks. Get yourself some topaz jewelry or something.”
Lipski leans against the ambulance, kicking one foot over the other. “Solving two cases in one day. Great job, Hale. This is going to look good on your record.”
“I didn’t really solve the first case. And I sort of stumbled into this one.”
“You caught the bad guy. It counts. So what if it’s going to take some creative manipulation to get the real culprit for the first.”
“Creative manipulation…” I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“Yeah, Becker contacted those oracle friends of yours. One of them’s in Finance. There is nothing that Nita Ricen can hide from now. Next mistake she decides to make. Boom. Goner. We’ll have her in the system in less than a month. We’re taking bets.”
“What?” I grip the edge of the ambulance, inspecting him for a hint of a joke, but there isn’t one. Instead I watch Becker.
Lipski notices my confusion. “Oh. You didn’t know.” He pushes himself off the side of the vehicle and moseys to sit next to me. As far from me as he can sit. I eye the space he leaves. Lipski tips his head toward Becker, his voice going gravely, so Becker can’t listen in. “If he looks over here and sees us arm and arm, he’ll rip me to pieces. You do not mess with a werewolf’s mate.” There’s a long pause. “Or his pack.”
I’m about to correct him. Deny it. But Lipski keeps going. “Considering you guys work so well together, HR will likely turn their heads to the little issue until it stops working for both of you and for them. So just do yourselves a favor and don’t cause unnecessary drama if you can.”
His words create a pressure I’m not ready to take on. I don’t want to remain under HR’s thumb. I don’t want Becker to depend on me. He needs a new pack. He needs to move on from us.
“What if I don’t want this? What if I never wanted this?”
Lipski looks surprised by my reaction. Why should he be? He saw the match results. He’s got to know that continuing teasing Becker this way is unhealthy.
“Come on, Hank. This isn’t good for him. We both know it.”
Lipski shakes his head. “Hale, you don’t get to decide what’s good or not good for him. He’s got to do that on his own. He’s stubborn.”
“So am I.” Lipski still doesn’t look convinced, so I add the part I don’t want to admit. The part that’s the hardest to say out loud. “Hank, I distract him. Look at him—he can’t function if I’m in the picture. He’s too obsessed with my well being to do his job the way he’s supposed to do it. I called to him when he was inspecting the scene and he turned away from the danger. Let his guard down. That weakness left a hole for the shades to ambush him. I make him weaker.”
Becker finishes what he’s doing and walks back over to us, head low.
“Careful, Hale,” Lipski murmurs. “Or he’ll give you exactly what you want.”
Becker slides his hands in his pockets. His gauze-covered forearm facing out. His gaze follows from his partner to me “We should go get your stitches.”
“I called Ali. She’ll help me. You should go and rest. Better yet, you should get checked out yourself.” I almost offer for Ali to take him too, but then I remember. We should put up better boundaries.
He narrows his eyes. “I promised you dinner,” he says, his voice reasonable, but there’s an undercurrent of demand. He heard what I said to Lipski. He means to talk me out of it.
“Ali will feed me.”
He’s about to protest, his eyes go hard and he presses his lips together. Lipski clears his throat and Becker glares at him, but something in the silent language between them tells him something.
Becker shrugs. “Okay.” But he doesn’t look happy about it.
“And don’t worry. I’ll lock up all my doors.” And I catch his expression, making sure I’ve got his attention. “And windows. Ali will come over again. Nobody will be getting in tonight.”
He tips back on his heels. Yeah, this means no late night snuggles. If he need
s pack he’ll have to come over and watch a movie with me.
He glares, but looks to Lipski again for some sort of confirmation. When they’ve communicated whatever it is, Becker looks back at me. “Call me if you need anything.”
I smile, this I can do genuine, but my insides ache. I’m tempted to call it off. Get on my knees and beg him to come over and finish what we started with that kiss.
He itches his cheek where the stubble is showing. Werewolves grow hair twice as fast as a normal human, so he gets a twelve o’clock and a five o’clock shadow. Or at least that’s the excuse Becker used when he left a shaving kit under my sink.
He steals a look at me. Confused, worried, concerned. Nowhere does he seem ashamed or desperate or hungry. He doesn’t remember that kiss. If he did he’d be much more insistent to follow me back to talk about it. He’d not let me go as easily.
Lipski takes this opportunity to slowly slink away.
Becker doesn’t take the space Lipski vacated; instead he keeps his distance.
“Becker, we should take a step back. Until we’re both completely sure.”
“I’m completely su—”
“I’m not.” I cut him off. If he finishes that sentence, I’ll never have the guts to keep him at arms length. “I’m not sure at all.”
He waits for me to continue.
“We’ll figure out a way to get you what you need, but without crossing any lines I’m not ready to cross. We can’t let personal feelings get in the way of our safety.”
I pause for his confirmation. He knows his obsession will grow the more involved we get. I’m doing this for him.
He blinks, nodding. “I get it.”
There’s no animosity or anger in his words. This is how I know I’ve made the right choice for both of us. We can continue this in a civil fashion.
