Page 20 of Moon Destiny
I sat up. Blood bloomed across the fabric covering his shoulder. “You were hit!”
“It’s nothing,” he muttered. But his face was pale, his features pinched. “I’ll be all right.”
“I can’t believe someone shot at us.” It was sinking in, and now my insides trembled. “Should we call the police?”
“No. They were rogues. Fucking cowards,” he muttered. “No self-respecting shifter uses a human weapon.”
“Maybe you should start.”
He grunted.
“Do you have a phone?” I darted a look around the seats. “I can call Hugh.”
“I already called him,” he gritted out. “Mental bond.”
I chewed my lip. Alex had said something similar just before the attack at the Gorge.
“What can I do?” I asked Dylan. “Do you need me to drive?”
He tossed me a weak smile. “I’m okay. A bullet won’t kill me, but it hurts like a bitch.”
I bit my tongue before I could say something dumb like well at least it wasn’t silver. That was a myth, anyway, according to Hugh’s book. The stuff about werewolves shifting on a full moon was true, though. So I guess I had that to look forward to.
We tore around a corner and Hugh’s house came into view. I’d seen it when we left, of course, but I was struck anew by its size and beauty. It was built like a ski lodge, with a stunning combination of stone and windows. But what held my attention right now were the men spilling from it. Five of them ran down the front steps, each male more muscular and hard-eyed than the last. Two ripped their shirts over their heads as they sprinted like superheroes toward the forest. The others circled the SUV as Dylan lurched to a stop and slumped forward.
My door popped open, and I swallowed a yelp as a bearded, redheaded giant pulled me from the car and into his arms.
“I’m okay!” I twisted, struggling to get a look over his shoulder as he jogged up the front steps and into the spacious foyer. “It’s Dylan who’s hurt. Put me down!”
“No’ happenin,” he said in a thick brogue. “Anything goes awry with you, lass, and Hugh’ll have my bollocks.”
As I was trying to translate, Hugh’s voice boomed around us. “Where is she? Where is Brooke?”
The giant swung around. Hugh burst through the front door, his green eyes wide with something that looked like fear.
No, I mentally amended. Terror.
He was upon us in seconds, plucking me from the giant’s arms and setting me on my feet. He gripped my arms and looked me up and down, his pulse pounding in his throat. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
He didn’t seem to hear. His fingers bit into my arms as he continued searching me for injuries. “You’re not bleeding anywhere—”
“I’m okay.” On impulse, I grabbed his jaw in both hands in a bid to hold him still. Bright green eyes met mine. Instantly, all the shouting and chaos around us faded.
“You’re not hurt,” he said, almost like he was reassuring himself.
“I’m not hurt.”
Gradually, his expression shifted from fear to relief. “Thank Christ,” he rasped. “I can’t lose you.”
We stared at each other. Somewhere in my mind, I knew his words were far too familiar for our relationship. But it didn’t seem to matter. His stubbled cheeks were hot under my palms. The heat flowed down my arms and into the rest of my body, making every nerve ending hyperaware.
I can’t lose him either.
The thought sailed through my brain like an arrow, stunning me into dropping my hands from his face.
The spell broke, and I was suddenly aware of our surroundings. The redheaded giant stared at us, his ruddy brows drawn tightly together. Behind him, the other two men carried a bloodied Dylan inside. They caught sight of me and Hugh and stopped, their eyes widening.
