Gaslight (Crossbreed #4)(15)

Wyatt jerked his chin at me. “You’ve got an arrow in your leg.”

I reached down and yanked it out from the back, blood spraying onto the snow. “Not anymore.”

He winced and struggled to avert his eyes. “Don’t ever ask me why you’re single. So… who’s the ninja dancing with Niko?”

I limped toward them. “Let’s go make our introductions.”

Wyatt snagged the back of my sweatshirt. “Hold your horses, Joan of Arc. That’s a big sword, and you have a little neck. Are you that anxious to say hello to the spook on my left?” Wyatt glared at thin air. “Put a sock in it, Genghis Khan. Don’t you have a light to go to?”

I grabbed Claude’s arms and gave him a hard shake. “Are you in there? I need you to snap out of it. Where are the other goons? Are they still on the roof?”

Claude’s extraordinary eyes changed colors, the gold fighting against the onyx until the ring of darkness vanished. Nostrils flaring, he drew in a deep breath. “I killed one. On the roof.”

Which meant the guy I threw off the roof was either still alive or had gone into the light. Probably the former since a Mage could survive a fall that high. Cyrus only had four men that I knew about.

Now three.

A flutter of spotted patterns rippled across Claude’s skin like a mirage. “Gem,” he rasped. In a burst of supernatural speed, he sprinted toward the main entrance in search of his partner.

Meanwhile, mine had pulled a disappearing act.

“Wyatt, ask your friend where his buddies are.”

Wyatt barked out a laugh and put his arm around my shoulders. “That’s not gonna happen, buttercup. What am I going to do, threaten to kill him? He’s already dead. Plus he’s kind of a dick, so I’d rather not talk to him.”

I limped toward the opposite building and groaned when I lifted my leg to ascend the fire escape.

“And where do you think you’re going?” I heard Christian ask.

I looked over my shoulder. Blood stained his lips, and he had a few more holes in his shirt to match the rip in his sleeve. “What happened?”

“I tried to drain the little bugger after I snapped his arm, but he was too fast. Looks like they don’t want us to interfere with the show.”

“So I gathered.” I lowered myself down to the ground.

In the middle of the alley, between a shower of light coming from the security lamps, Niko and Cyrus were in a clinch. Cyrus seemed to be doing all the talking, but there was too much distance between us to hear.

“What’s he saying?” I asked Christian.

“Feck if I know.”

I glared up at him. “I thought you could hear a gnat committing suicide in a windstorm?”

He folded his arms. “Aye, but a linguist I’m not.”

An engine revved as a car sped toward them from the other end of the alley, the high beams blinding me. It screeched to a halt just inches before hitting Niko and Cyrus, and the door swung open. One of the men dragged their unconscious friend into the car. Seconds later, Cyrus somersaulted over the hood and got in. The black sedan accelerated. Before I could punch the glass, Christian shoved me out of the way and jumped onto the hood. The car made a sudden sharp turn, propelling him off.

Christian rose to his feet, a side mirror in hand. It crumpled within his iron grip, and the broken pieces littered the ground.

Wyatt helped me up with a swift jerk of his arm. “I better go find Shep. Last I saw, he was picking a fight with a cheeseburger, so he won’t be our designated driver tonight. Viktor wants us home pronto. And you might want to tie that off or something,” he said, gesturing toward the hole in my leg. “It’s my week to mop, and bloodstains on the stone floors are a pain in the boogie to clean up.”

Wyatt always had a colorful way of phrasing things. I was certain he meant booty, but I let it go.

Christian shoved Wyatt toward the club. “Don’t worry, Cinderella. I’ll lick up the blood. Bring everyone outside, including Gem. Her date’s officially over, and if that gobshite has any complaints, send him out here. I could use a cocktail.”

“Will you shut up?” Wyatt snapped as he strode off.

But he wasn’t talking to Christian.

“I’m never going to get used him talking to thin air,” I murmured.

Christian put his arm around my waist and hoisted me off my feet. “You all right?”

I held on to his shoulders, grateful the pressure was off my leg from standing. My gaze never dragged away from Niko, who had cleaned off his blades and placed them back in their scabbards. His body sank from exhaustion, his shoulders slumped and gait slow. As he drew nearer, I sensed something was wrong.

Long strands of ebony hair were askew, his cheeks flushed. When he finally made it to us, he wiped the sweat from his brow and closed his eyes. There were rips in his clothes and spatters of blood on his hands.

“Are you hurt?” I asked.

“I’ll live.”

“Shep’s drunk,” I whispered to Christian. “He can’t sew up Niko’s wounds.”

“Shall I carry him instead?”

“Put me down.”

I grimaced when my feet touched the ground, the nerve endings in my leg excruciatingly painful. The arrow hadn’t severed a major artery, or I would have bled out already, but it was bleeding all the same.