“Oh my God. He shot you.” She pushed back to run shaking fingers over his chest, expecting . . . hell, she didn’t know what to expect. This wasn’t some TV show with a team of doctors snapping orders and equipment beeping away. This was an isolated gas station in the dead of night, in the middle of fucking nowhere. Who even knew where the closest trauma center was? “We have to get you in the car, drive to a hospital—”
“No.” Dragan’s voice scraped like a serrated blade from his throat, but his grip on her arms was strong. “No”—He hesitated on the next word before continuing. —“medical care. I will heal.”
“Heal? Are you out of your mind? You were . . . shot.” The last word faded away as she got her first good look at his chest. Yes, it was covered in blood, soaking into the ragged strips of a t-shirt that barely clung to his arms and sides, but. . . . There should have been holes in his chest. She stood to lean over and check his back. And even bigger holes from at least some of the bullets exiting his body.
There were holes, but they were neat beneath the blood, with the raw, pink flesh of a healing wound. She straightened from her examination, and had to grip his shoulder to keep from falling as her foot slipped on. . . . She gasped. A bullet. No, five bullets! All scattered on the ground around him. She looked up and met his gaze, seeing something there she hadn’t expected. Fear. Not fear of the three vampires he’d just fought, but something more personal. He was afraid of her reaction. To his wings, to whatever magic it was that had kept him alive after suffering wounds that would have killed any other man.
It hurt her heart to see that look in his eyes. Kneeling in front of him once more, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on, feeling his arms circle her waist to hold her against him.
“I don’t care how you do it,” she whispered against his ear. “I’m just glad you’re alive.”
His arms tightened, as his head dropped to her shoulder. They stayed that way until she heard sirens in the distance. She’d expected it. After all, the station manager had witnessed the whole thing. She just wished they could have avoided what was to come. The questions and suspicious stares, statements and reports, sitting in a county office somewhere, trying to explain . . . wait. What was there to explain? No bodies—the vampires had all dusted, which was a freak show she’d deal with later. For now, however, her boyfriend had defended her from attack, and the bad guys had gotten away. Case closed.
“The police are coming. The authorities,” she said quickly and jumped to her feet. Running to the open cargo hatch, she dug in the bag for the clothes she’d bought for Dragan at the outlet mall they’d passed, and pulled out a hoodie emblazoned with the name, Cayuhoga Falls. “Put this on. The blood,” she explained, when he gave her a questioning look.
They were both standing when the lone police car pulled into the station, lights flashing, the siren winding down with a mournful howl as they came to a halt. The vehicle doors opened at the same time on both sides, and two officers stepped out. Both were big men, with broad shoulders straining the cloth of their uniform shirts. One appeared to be in his thirties, but the other was older—in his forties maybe, with salt threaded through the pepper in his thick hair.
Dragan straightened to his full height next to her, muscles clenching in readiness. “Vampires,” he whispered so softly that she’d never have heard it if his lips hadn’t been pressed against her ear. She tried not to react, sliding under his arm, pretending to be more shaken than she was. Which was saying something. Because all of this—the vampires, the blood, the dust? It was fucked in so many ways to Sunday that she didn’t think she’d ever experience its equal.
Dragan responded by dropping his arm over her shoulders and tugging her close, while she stared at the newcomers, trying to figure out how he’d known that these two were also vampires. She watched them closely, eyeing every move, inhaling deeply enough to breathe in their scent as they came closer.
“What were those things?” she asked Dragan in a stage whisper, letting her voice shake, so the vampires would hear not just the words, but the emotion.
“Don’t worry, Mae,” he murmured. “They’re gone.”
But she noticed his eyes never left the two new vampires, and their eyes never left him.
“Can we leave?” she asked fretfully, then turned to the two officers. “Can we leave?” she repeated, still pretending to be a lot dumber than she was. Everyone knew you couldn’t simply walk away from a crime scene, even if there were no bodies. “Do we have to go to your station or something? Can’t you just look at the security cameras here?” She only asked that last, because she’d checked when they first arrived to be sure there weren’t any. Not because she’d expected vampires to attack, but because Sotiris, or his people, were probably still looking for them. She couldn’t forget that for a moment, because if she did, he’d find them.
“No cameras,” the younger cop said. “Never have been.”
“Oh,” she said in a small voice. “Babe?” she asked Dragan, not wanting to say his name. “What happens now?”
“Nothing,” Dragan purred, still staring at the older-appearing vampire. “These good . . . men don’t want a record of what happened here.”
The gray-haired cop shifted his gaze from Dragan to Maeve. “You were attacked?”
“Yes, sir,” she insisted. “I was finishing with the gas, while he used the restroom. Those three . . . ” She hesitated, not knowing whether to admit she knew they’d been vampires. “They came out of nowhere. I don’t know what they wanted. They never said, just grabbed me and—” She buried her face against Dragan’s side and shivered dramatically, as if overcome with emotion. And she was, more than a little. She’d been physically attacked. For the first time in her life, she understood how vulnerable she was. Despite the personal defense classes she’d dutifully taken in every school she’d ever attended, she’d never truly believed she’d be the one attacked.
Dragan’s hand cupped the back of her head, and she felt the touch of his lips on her hair. “It’s okay, Mae. Why don’t you wait in the car? It’s getting cold. I’ll handle this.”
She looked up at him, wanting to be sure he’d meant what he’d said. When he gave her a quick nod, she patted his chest, then turned to the officers, hugging herself. “Is that okay? If I go wait in the car?”
The older one touched the brim of his uniform hat, with a nod. “Yes, ma’am. I’m sure your boyfriend here”—His eyes were hooded when they slid to Dragan. —“can answer any questions we have. You go get warmed up. There’s coffee inside the station if you want.”