45
Trina lowered her great-grandmother’s rifle with a surprisingly steady exhale. Without the scope, the front lawn of the manor house was dotted with shapeless black blurs, all of them still.
She’d pulled her gun on her share of suspects in her time as a beat cop, and then a detective. But before today, she’d never killed a man.
Now, she had more than half-a-dozen under her belt.
She didn’t know how she felt about that, so she resolved to consider it later, when there was time to weigh and measure her own morality.
For now, a group of ragtag escapees limped into the forest, and she shinnied down the tree to greet them.
When she landed on the leaf litter below, Deshawn said, “That was some damn impressive shooting.” He’d watched the whole thing through high-tech binoculars, on the radio with his team inside.
“Thanks.” She slung the Mosin-Nagant back of her shoulder where it weighed against her spine more than it ought to.
Rustling announced an arrival. The first to step through the screen of shrubs were the tall blond with his arm supporting the little redheaded girl, both of them flanked by archers in green hoods. Deshawn’s people.
The next popping and snapping of branches had Trina standing up on her toes, breath catching.
Lanny.
And then Alexei.
And Nikita…carrying Sasha. A big, limp white wolf that he cradled like a baby to his chest.
Trina swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. “Is he…?” She didn’t dare say it.
Lanny came to her; he looked whole, not limping, not favoring either side. He had a scratch on his forehead, but it was already healing. He pulled her into a short, hard hug, the sweat on his skin gluing them together, his breath hot against her scalp as he sighed.
“He’s alive,” he said. Then, quieter: “Nik’s pretty fucked up in the head about it, though.”
She stepped back, hands still clasped around Lanny’s thick biceps, and looked at her great-grandfather. He was utterly expressionless…in a spooky way, his gaze trained on the wolf, the best friend, that he carried.
She nodded. “We need to get somewhere safe.”
“Where’s Jamie?”
“He texted me. He’s coming.”
The sharp snap of a twig behind her heralded his arrival; everyone turned toward him, hands reaching for weapons, and he emerged from the underbrush with hands raised, empty palms flashing white in the gloom of the forest. “It’s just me.” His gaze came to Trina. “I think I got what we need.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
She turned back to Deshawn…standing between her, and her people, and his people. He extended a hand. “You guys need a lift? We got a bird.”
She accepted his shake. “No, thanks. We’re good.”
He nodded, and produced a small black business card from one of his pockets. “Here, that’s us. If you ever need a friend.”
“Thank you,” she said, and meant it.
She didn’t take a deep breath until the manor was far, far behind them.
~*~
Sasha shifted back to his human form on the long walk back to the rental cabin, but he didn’t wake.
Nikita laid him out on the rental cabin’s bed and dragged over a chair to sit beside him and wait. And wait.
