Warrior Fae Trapped (Warrior Fae #1)(49)

Struggling to climb up the side of the car, she heard panting. A massive black wolf sprinted into the middle of the driveway. It did a visual sweep before its nose went to the ground. Another giant wolf emerged behind Devon, breathing raggedly. Two more to the right, followed by a snow-white wolf she’d never seen before.

Must be Yasmine.

They were missing one, though.

Then she saw it, trotting down from the house, blood all over its muzzle. In fact, they all had blood on them, splattered or sprayed, evidence of their exploits.

And the police were on their way.

“We gotta get outta here!” Charity said as Devon approached. “At least me and the cars do.” She lowered her voice in case any partygoers were close enough to hear. “If they know someone died here tonight, they’ll want to question the owners of all these cars.”

He raised his head and stared at her, standing in exactly the place her new BFF had casually chatted about sexual slavery.

One quick bark and deep green magic swirled around him, fur rolling and boiling until a naked man crouched on the ground. He stood, and his gaze shot to a new dent in his SUV. He noticed the gun in her hand, and finally the knife that had been thrown to the side.

“What the hell happened?” Devon asked, striding toward her.

“I ran out of freaking bullets, that’s what happened! Why didn’t you load the whole magazine? I could’ve had him!” She leaned heavily against the SUV. “Did you get the one in the house?”

Devon’s eyebrows lowered dramatically. “We got the younger one.”

“Okay, well, great, can we go now?” she said, strangely uncomfortable in that unwavering stare.

“Yeah, we need to head out. The cops are close,” Rod said as he started doling out clothes.

“Should we leave someone behind to deal with the other vamp?” Dillon asked before he put on his shirt.

Devon’s eyes bored into Charity. “We could never handle him. It’s an elder.” He paused, and with the way Devon was looking at her, the small hairs rose along Charity’s arms. “It’s Vlad.”

“It was Vlad?” Andy asked, incredulous.

“Who’s Vlad?” Charity said as Rod swore.

“Not someone you want interested in you,” Devon said. “Come on, we need to go.”

“Why would Vlad be interested in Charity?” Macy asked, hurrying into her clothes.

Devon, still staring at Charity, shook his head slowly, but he didn’t respond. Charity’s heart kicked up a notch. Whoever this Vlad was, it was clear he was really bad news. It was also clear that he had an unhealthy interest in her. Them not knowing why made it ten times scarier.

The whine of the sirens increased in volume, echoing through the trees.

“We gotta go, man,” Rod said, jingling his keys.

With one last fierce look, Devon started for the driver’s side of his SUV. “Charity, with me.”

Yasmine’s perfect features twisted with confusion for a moment before she turned to Andy. “Ride?”

Andy shrugged, jogging to his car.

Charity sagged against the hood. Even the short distance to her door seemed like an impossible feat.

“Magic is really tiring, it turns out,” she muttered, trying to shoulder her resolve and get moving. The sirens weren’t far off now. At the top of the driveway, people were running or staggering for their cars or the trees. Everyone wanted out of there before the cops showed up. “Or maybe I’m bad at it.”

“I’ll get her,” Rod said, hurriedly donning a shirt and starting over.

Devon froze as he got into his seat, Rod clearly cutting through his whirling thoughts. He stared at Charity over the hood for a beat before a look of confusion crossed his face. Anger came next.

He stepped away from his car and threw out a hand, catching Rod in the chest. “I got her. Load up.”

“You sure?” Rod gave him a confused look. “I’m right here—”

“I got her, I said.” Devon’s angry gaze pinned Charity to the SUV.

She didn’t care who helped; she just wanted to sit down.

A moment later, muscles bunched and extended, faster than thought. Suddenly she was in Devon’s arms, hugged tightly against his chest. It wasn’t a romantic hold—he bumped and jostled her to the passenger door, angry about something and clearly unsure how to express it. Once there, he crushed her to him with one hand as he yanked the door open with the other. Then he heaved her in with an inelegant push.

Like she was a skeleton on Halloween, her limbs fell in a tangle across the seat. A hand pushed her butt so she was completely in before slamming the door.

“What the hell is your problem?” she yelled at him as he came around the driver’s side. “I didn’t mess this night up for you, Devon. I didn’t do anything wrong. Why are you being such a dick?”

His eyes flashed to her, boiling with anger. But right under that, it seemed like he was uncertain about something. Uncomfortable, maybe.

And guess what? So was she. She was tired, drained, and terrified. She didn’t deserve this treatment. So when he slammed his own door, jabbed the push-button ignition, and finally stomped on the gas, every movement leaking rage, she couldn’t help but feel a small trickle of vindictiveness.

“You don’t like being a gentleman? Too in love with your image as a bad boy?” she badgered, not sure why.