Storm's Heart (Elder Races #2)(16)

“What, you prefer abuse?” he growled. “That can be arranged. Just keep pushing at me, faerie.”

“Pushing you.” She snorted a laugh. “Don’t tempt me. You haven’t even seen me get started.”

He cocked a sleek, sardonic eyebrow at her. “I’m actually afraid you might be right about that.”

She grabbed the sweatpants from his hand and began to dry herself off. The material was thick and absorbent. She would have shrugged and slipped them on except she thought the twist of movement needed to pull them over her hips would hurt too much. Instead, she dug one of the T-shirts out of the bag.

Tiago’s hands came over hers.

“I know you’re hurting,” he said, dropping his bad-tempered attitude for the moment. He had a powerful battlefield voice, deep and rich and penetrating, but now it was throttled down to just a dark murmur that was so gentle it shook her soul. “Let me help you.”

He was right; she was hurting, and she was still trembling like a leaf. She bit her lips and nodded. He eased the shirt on, guiding the arm on her injured side. She managed to say, “Thank you.”

“Where were you going, anyway?” he asked.

“I want pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream.” She sniffed as she spread the sweatpants over her lap for the warmth.

“You left to get breakfast.” The flatness of his voice and the cynical expression on his harsh features said he didn’t believe her.

She rolled her eyes. She told him, “I left to get away from you.”

“You must still be drunk if you thought you could give me the slip,” he snapped. “You didn’t have a chance in hell.”

Well, no. She opened her eyes very wide. “I got your car and your gun when you weren’t looking, didn’t I?”

He clearly didn’t like what he heard, if his scowl was any indication. His glare could peel paint. What the hell was the matter with her? She was needling a pissed-off thunderbird, for God’s sake.

She groped for some sanity and told him, “Look, running back to New York is not an option. I don’t have the energy to keep arguing with you about it. Will you just buy me some breakfast at IHOP and then take me back to the Regent?”

His attention shifted away from her as she spoke. His gaze narrowed on the car that had just passed them. The car’s brake lights came on, shining bright red in the rainy night.

“What did you do with the Glock?” he asked. His face, voice, body remained calm.

Her stomach gave a sickened lurch. She dug into a shopping bag and put the gun into his outstretched hand. The car that had captured Tiago’s attention reversed with a sharp squeal of tires.

Tiago was already exiting the SUV. He moved so fast he was a blur. He said to her telepathically, Lock the doors and get down on the floor. NOW, Tricks.

“Dr. Death” wasn’t just a nickname she had made up on the spot. It was what the other Wyr sentinels called Tiago behind his back. He was a killing machine quick to anger and fueled by immense Power.

She had years of experience working with the Wyr sentinels whenever the threat level warranted she should have a detail of bodyguards. She knew when to fight, when to run away and when to get out of the way.

She wasn’t a very old faerie and she wasn’t all that Powerful. The low-level Power she did have was barely enough to cross over to an Other land or to achieve telepathy, which anyone, Elder Race or human, could do if they had a spark of magic. She also had a delicate sprinkle of charisma that gave her an edge sometimes in negotiations and knotty social gatherings, but it was worth squat in a combat situation. She had a small, light build, and now she was wounded. Her self-defense abilities were all artifice and had very little to do with natural aptitude.

She owed everything she knew to years of determined, patient training by the sentinels. Sure, she could kick ass, but she generally preferred for someone’s back to be turned when she did so. Using poison on her stilettos was just another way to level a very uneven playing field. This was not a time for her to fight. This was a time for her to do as she was told and keep out of the way.

She locked the doors and pulled herself into a compact package on the passenger’s seat floor, arms over her head. Her knife wound gave a throb so vicious it seemed to shoot to her spine. She could feel a gush of warmth against her chilled skin as it started bleeding again. It was the least of her worries at the moment.

She hated this part, hated it when someone she cared about put his life on the line for her. No matter how many times she went through it, it never got easier.

“Be okay,” she whispered to Tiago. “Be safe.”

That was when the shooting started.

FOUR

The sound of gunshots passed quickly. What she heard next was incomprehensible and just as frightening. There was a sudden explosion of glass shattering, a shout of rage and then a high scream of pain.

After what seemed like forever but was just a few moments, Niniane couldn’t take it any longer. She broke a cardinal rule and disobeyed her bodyguard. She shifted and eased up on one knee until she could peer out the rain-smeared window.

The SUV and the other car’s headlights, along with the streetlamps, caused the surrounding area to be unevenly lit and filled with deep shadows. Still, Tiago’s aggressive black-clad form was unmistakable as he slammed one boot down on the head of a supine figure. The figure convulsed then lay still.