Wicked Ride

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Her fire continued, snuffing his out, but his convulsions increased in pace and strength.

  Finally, she ran out of air. Leaning back, she sucked in oxygen and tried to make more fire. Nothing. She tried again. No fire.

  Bernie lay out cold, his body shuddering, the smell of burned skin cascading around them.

  The door burst open and paramedics ran inside.

  Lex slipped to the side and put Bernie’s head on her lap, tears streaking down her face. Her vision hazed. “One here and one behind the bar.” She watched as they set an IV in place and then helped them load him onto a stretcher.

  Bernie and Masterson, whose color had faded to a light blue, were both loaded into an ambulance. She and Bundt, who was covered in blood, stood in the rain for a sliver of a second, watching the ambulance careen away.

  “I’ll drive,” Bundt said, turning and running for his car.

  Lex nodded and followed, wiping tears off her face, her knees weak. What if she’d hurt Bernie? What if her fire hadn’t been enough to save him? What if Masterson didn’t awaken? They had to be all right.

  She shook her head and holstered her weapon, leaping into the passenger seat of Bundt’s truck. Her throat hurt like claws had ripped down it.

  Patrol officers screeched to a stop, lights swirling, jumping out to take statements.

  A witch had attacked Bernie right in front of her, and he’d tried to hurt her. She’d head to the hospital and pray her partner lived then go have a talk with the entire Dunne family.

  It was time they told her everything.

  Chapter 23

  Kell’s wet boots squeaked on the polished tiles, but he paid no heed while all but running through the hallway to the emergency waiting room. His heart thundered in his chest. If Alexandra had been harmed, he’d know . . . right? As her mate, he would feel her pain, deep in his gut.

  But they’d only been mated a short time, and they hadn’t fully connected. So maybe he wouldn’t feel anything.

  Darkness and fury coursed through him, and it took every ounce of control he had to hold back the flames . . . to keep the fire at bay and not start throwing plasma balls in an effort to shove out some of the fear and pain.

  He turned the corner, and the second he saw her, he halted. The world slowed, and the frantic beating of his heart mellowed.

  She was all right.

  Alexandra huddled next to a middle-aged woman on a set of chairs, her arm around the slender shoulders of the crying woman. Fresh bruises marred Alexandra’s too pale face, and one near her temple had already turned an angry purple. Blood covered the front of her shirt.

  But she was unharmed.

  He growled low. His mate. In danger.

  Never fucking again.

  Cops milled around, some sitting, some pacing. The level of tension, of fury, clogged the oxygen, even though the sensations came from humans.

  He needed to touch her and reassure himself that she was all right. But as a suspect in a current case, he’d only cause a scene by walking through the ocean of cops.

  As if she sensed him, she stilled and then slowly turned her head. Despair filled her pretty eyes, and the lost look had him stepping toward her automatically. He’d do anything to erase that expression.

  She whispered something to the woman and stood, heading his way. To avoid being seen, he turned and backtracked into the rainy night, making for his truck, sensing her on his heels.

  Reaching the black Chevy, he opened the passenger-side door, and she climbed inside without a word.

  He tuned in his senses for a threat, found none besides the raging storm, and crossed the truck to climb inside. The second his ass hit the seat, he reached for her, lifting and settling her on his lap.

  She struggled, shaking and moving, finally shoving him hard in the chest.

  He kept his hold relentless, letting her fight it out, feeling the stubbornness in her when she stopped moving and perched tightly coiled on his lap.

  “Alexandra,” he whispered.

  The first sob shook her entire body. She bit it back, her muscles somehow tensing further.

  “It’s all right,” he said, gently rubbing from her neck to her tailbone.

  Another sob emerged, full of hurt.

  His heart shattered in two, and a deadly frustration exploded inside him, along with a vow to disembowel whoever had hurt her. He clasped her neck, unwilling to wait any longer, and pulled her head into his chest.

  With a huge intake of breath, she broke.

  Her cries were the most pained sounds he’d ever heard, including time he’d spent in battles and true war. She shuddered against him, her small hand curled into his T-shirt, the sobs coming from so deep within her, he feared she’d pass out.

  The angry thunder and lightning outside the quiet truck was no match for the storm going on inside. He held her tight, rubbing her back, murmuring soft promises ranging from avenging her pain to buying her a villa in France.

  She unleashed it all, finally winding down with a soft series of sniffs.

  When she’d settled and her pain no longer made it difficult for him to breathe, he kissed the top of her head. “What happened, baby?”

  Between hiccups, she told him of both detectives being harmed.

  “Darts?” he asked, his mind calculating the danger. Hell. The drug had been bad enough when junkies shot themselves up. The bastards had figured out how to weaponize Apollo. It could be used against witches—which surely had been the plan from the beginning. Forget the human army who could fight like witches.

  “Yes,” she whispered, her voice so raw it made his throat hurt. “Bernie is in a coma right now, and his liver is shutting down. I tried to save him, but I didn’t know how.”

  It was a miracle she’d already been able to create fire. Only her heightened senses in that crisis had made it possible, and even so, she shouldn’t have been able to create fire in her mouth without burning herself severely.

  She lifted her head, her eyes like a meadow after a rainstorm. “Will Bernie be all right?”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart.” Kell would give anything to be able to say something else, but he truly hadn’t figured out the drug yet. “The fact that Bernie is still breathing is an incredibly good sign. You gave him that chance. You did.”

  Her eyes filled again. “I should’ve warned him.”

  “About what? Darts?” Kell rubbed her neck in circular motions, needing to touch her. To make sure she still breathed. “We didn’t know.”

  “About witches.” She shook her head. “I owed him the truth.”

  “How would that have helped?” Kell asked.

  She pushed away and wiped off her cheeks. “I don’t know.” Sighing, she glanced at the rain splattering off the concrete. “Masterson is already up and flirting with the nurses. The bullet went right through his shoulder, and he’ll be fine.”

  Kell frowned. “So Masterson was shot by Spike with regular bullets, and Bernie was shot with darts containing Apollo.”

  “Yeah.” She shoved hair back from her face. “We think Masterson interrupted a drug deal. After he was shot, the witch came in, so maybe the witch was looking for Spike for whatever reason, maybe to do business. Or maybe the witch knew Spike was snitching, and he needed to stop him. Bundt was casing the rear of the bar and heard the shots. Spike ran out the back while Bundt was trying to keep Masterson from bleeding out.” Her voice cracked on the end.

  Kell tried to hug her closer and shield her from any more hurt. His tough warrior.

  “Maybe the witch you fought with is the manufacturer?” Kell inhaled the scent of his woman. “I need a complete description of him.”

  “Bright fire, brown hair. Dark eyes, I think. About six-five, two hundred pounds, and really strong.” She pushed away from Kell and scooted across the seat. “I need to go back in and sit with Bernie’s wife.”

  Kell rubbed his chin, fighting every instinct in his body to pull her close again and keep her away from blood and
death. “I’ll make some calls and see if I can get a line on that witch. When you’re ready to go home, I’ll be here.” He’d keep out of sight of the cops, just so she wouldn’t have to explain.

  She shook her head. “I may be a while.”

  He grasped her chin. “That doesn’t matter. I’ll wait right here until you’re ready to go.”

  She frowned. “Whoever the witch was, he liked hurting Bernie, and he liked fighting with me. He’s a bastard, and I’m going to take him down.”

  Kellach didn’t answer.

  She slid from the car, and he watched her run through the rain, keeping her in sight until she disappeared into the blazing hospital lights.

  Then, and only then, did he allow his fury to roar. Fire lit along his arms, and he welcomed the burn. Alexandra wouldn’t get a chance to take out the witch because he would find him first and rip his fucking head from his body.

  He lifted his phone to his ear and snapped out orders to Adam and Daire, including the description of the witch.

  Then he called every contact he had in the witch species before moving on to vampires, shifters, and demons. He hit them all. If anyone had a line on a witch matching Alexandra’s very vague description, he’d have it by morning.

  Slowly, through the rain, dawn began to arrive.

  Alexandra staggered out of the hospital, her eyes widening upon seeing the truck. Walking as if she’d aged overnight, she skirted mud puddles, allowing the rain to pummel her short hair.

  Upon reaching the truck, she opened the door and groaned while jumping inside. “Bernie is out of the coma, and the doctors are cautiously optimistic.”

  “And Masterson?” Kell asked, igniting the engine.

  “He’s fine.” Alexandra rubbed her nose. “He doesn’t have any family. None at all. Not even a girlfriend to call.” She sounded so bewildered and lonely that Kell reached out and covered her free hand with his.

  “I don’t have a line on the witch yet, but I will. I promise.” It wasn’t the time to discuss her moving to Ireland as his mate and being safe, but that time was nearing. “Any news on the human shooter?”

  She shook her head. “Patrol officers are still interviewing witnesses, but it was so dark in there, so far, nobody has been helpful. There’s a hotline. Spike is a mid-level dealer, so we should have him in custody soon. Hopefully if we get him in the box, we can make him explain why he shot Donny. We also need to convince him to roll on the witch. I want that bastard.”

  So did Kell. He drove through nearly empty streets while dawn tried to break through the storm.

  Alexandra leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. “I’m not feeling very warm toward witches right now, Kellach.”

  “If you hadn’t mated a witch, you wouldn’t have been able to save your partner,” he countered without any heat. And if she hadn’t mated him, he’d be facing a future he hadn’t realized was lonely and bleak until right that moment.

  “That’s true,” she mumbled.

  That was his woman. Even pissed off and exhausted, she was fair. Always fair. He rubbed his thumb along the back of her hand as he drove across town to his flat. She deserved a luxury shower and bed, and she sure as hell wouldn’t get that at her crappy apartment. Maybe if he just moved all her clothes over, she wouldn’t protest too much. Her days of living in squalor were over, whether she liked it or not.

  He drove into the underground garage and cut the engine before stretching out and turning his senses into those of a predator. No threatening sounds or smells nearby.

  Quiet pounded as he went around, opened her door, and gathered his mate into his arms. For once, she didn’t protest, and snuggled right in to his chest.

  His instant grin warmed him throughout. The woman was exhausted.

  He carried her up the stairs to his penthouse, opening the door and taking her immediately to the master bath to set her on her feet. “Are you hungry?”

  “No.” She leaned against him, her eyes still closed.

  He twisted the shower on to warm and removed her clothing, surprised when she didn’t even make a token protest. The night had not only exhausted her physically but emotionally, it seemed.

  Taking off his clothes, he steered her into the steam and under the water.

  She groaned, one hand flattening on the stone tiles, her head lowering as the water beat down.

  Slowly, showing her she could be cherished, he washed and rinsed her hair before turning to her body.

  He flared alive in need but kept his touch gentle and reassuring. When he’d rinsed away the soap, he turned off the water and stepped out into the room. Tucking her in a towel, he dried her hair with another towel and grabbed her a worn T-shirt to wear.

  She mumbled something, her hands slicking along his bare chest.

  Desire heated through him, deep and beyond the moment. He dragged on some boxers and herded her into his sprawling bed, tucking them both in.

  She rolled toward him, and her hand whispered along his unshaven jaw. The gentle touch moved past his skin and between muscles, wrapping around his heart. “Kellach,” she whispered.

  The tone licked down his spine to caress his balls. “Go to sleep, little warrior. We can talk later today.”

  She blinked and scooted closer, vulnerability and need darkening her eyes. “Don’t want to talk. Want to feel.”

  His mouth lifted. That, he could give to her. He rolled her over onto her back and kissed her, keeping his touch gentle, and his movements lazy. Showing her again that she meant something to him, that the moment was about her.

  She caressed his shoulders, her movements slow.

  He kissed along her neck to her breasts, where he suckled. She gasped, arching against him, her heated core caressing his cock.

  “Now, Kell,” she murmured.

  He had no problem helping her get lost in passion to forget the pain of the day, but he was taking his time and ensuring she was ready. He played with her breasts, reverently kissing them, taking their lovemaking slow.

  His fingers tapped down over her undulating abdominal muscles to reach her clit.

  She gasped and rolled her hips.

  He moved lower and fingered her slit. Wet and ready. At the feeling, his balls drew up tight.

  “Now,” she said again.

  He couldn’t resist such a plea. Maneuvering above her, holding himself with his arm to keep from crushing her, he slowly shoved inside her. He had to move in and out several times to get her body to accept him, finally burying himself balls deep.

  The sensation of her internal walls gripping him nearly stole his control. He breathed out evenly to keep from pounding into her.

  She moaned and wrapped both arms around his shoulders. “Take me away. Please.”

  He kissed her, taking her deep, showing her with his body what he couldn’t give in words yet. Slowly, sensually, he moved in and out, enjoying each little catch of her breath and the internal rippling of her muscles pulsing around his shaft.

  Her nails dug into his shoulders, and the little bite of pain almost sent him over.

  Clasping her hips, he pulled her up every time he shoved into her, moving her with his rhythm. She allowed him full control, her thighs tensing against his hips, her soft cries filling his heart.

  He increased his rhythm, the sound of flesh against flesh competing with the headboard hitting the wall.

  She held tighter, her body stiffening.

  Angling just a little, he brushed over her clit, and she detonated. She cried out his name, waves battering through her and against him, her core tightening around him with a strength that had him thrusting hard and holding her in place. His balls swelled, electricity danced down his spine, and he came hard.

  Finally, she went limp beneath him, her arms sliding away.

  Turning to his side, he dragged her close and wrapped himself around her. “Go to sleep, baby. I’ll keep you safe.”

  Her breathing evened out, and seconds later, she fell asleep. He allowe
d himself the luxury of holding her for nearly an hour, making sure she was far into dreamland.

  Keeping the covers wrapped snuggly around her, he slid from the bed and stood, surveying her.

  In peace, in sleep, her face lost the cop look. The bruises on her fair skin were an insult. Her hands on the blanket were small, delicate, and she barely made a shape under the heavy bedclothes.

  Determination straightened his spine as he vowed the bruises would be returned ten-fold. She was his, and it was his duty to keep her safe. Whether she liked it or not. It was time to go hunting for the witch who’d dared to hurt her.

  When Kell found him . . . and he would . . . there would be no mercy.

  Chapter 24

  Lex awoke slowly, stretching in luxurious sheets, aches springing to life along her entire body. She sat up, her head muddled, her face aching. Memories zipped through her mind, and she glanced around Kellach’s bedroom.

  Her phone had been placed near the bed, and she instantly called the hospital for an update. The on duty nurse informed her that Bernie had improved slightly and that Masterson was about to be discharged.

  She clicked off the call and ran a hand through her short hair.

  The previous night, she’d meant to dig into Kell and get the full truth about the witches, and instead, she’d cried all over him and then pretty much begged him for sex.

  God. She was such a girly wimp all of a sudden. Enough. Swinging her legs from the bed, she took inventory of each bruise, nick, and pain. That bastard witch who’d dared harm Bernie was going to pay and pay good.

  She eyed a set of clothing on a dresser. Designer jeans, green cashmere sweater, incredibly shiny brown boots that made her sigh. All with tags on.

  Her head jerked up. Kellach Dunne did not get to buy her clothes. Dressed only in the threadbare T-shirt, she marched out of the room to give him a piece of her mind. A quick stomp around the penthouse revealed a note left in the kitchen.