The British werewolf closed on the shooters so fast Harley could barely keep up with him. Under his long overcoat, his body twisted and spasmed in a partial shift she’d never even attempt, his claws and fangs extending even as he continued to fire his weapon. Even though he got hit multiple times, he still kept running toward them.
Within seconds, they were both in the middle of a group of bad guys. The large automatic pistol they’d gotten off the dead guy earlier locked back on an empty magazine. She flipped the pistol backward to hold it by the barrel, ready to swing it like a club.
“Go after them,” the British werewolf said, ripping out a man’s throat with claws that had to be an inch and a half long. “Save as many of the captives as you can.”
She didn’t want to leave him to fight on his own, but she also couldn’t let the traffickers get away with the prisoners. Dropping the borrowed handgun she pulled her 9mm out and ran as fast as she could, praying she didn’t get a bullet in the back for her trouble.
When she got to the archway at the end of the room, Harley slowed as she realized it opened into a tunnel. It was dark in both directions, but she headed up the ramp, sure that’s where the fresh air was coming from. Dead Eyes’s stench seemed stronger in that direction, too.
Harley raced up the incline to the end of the tunnel and cautiously stepped out into an underground parking garage where she saw two vans disappearing up a ramp and a third starting its engine even as a man in a ragged leather jacket carried an unconscious woman toward the open back doors. Harley sprinted toward it, wishing for once that she could shift enough to run as fast as any other werewolf. But she’d never been able to do that, which meant she probably wouldn’t be able to catch the man before he made it to the back of the van with his captive.
Sliding to a stop, Harley lifted her weapon, hoping she’d hit the guy and not the woman. She squeezed the trigger slow and steady, just like Jake had taught her, and hit the bad guy in the leg. He went down, the girl tumbling from his arms.
Harley hurried toward the downed man and van still idling. If she reached it, she might be able to save a few more prisoners. But then a young guy with long black hair hopped out of the back of the van and came at her, a knife in his hand.
She barely had enough time to mutter a curse before he suddenly disappeared into thin air. Half a heartbeat later, the guy popped back into existence right in front of her, thrusting the blade into her chest at the same time he rammed into her with the impact of a Mack truck. Her 9mm went flying before she could even think about pulling the trigger.
Hitting the concrete floor so hard she bounced and slid five feet, she fought off the urge to lie there and wait for the pain to subside. She had to find her weapon.
She rolled onto her side and saw her gun a few feet away. Unfortunately, the guy with the long hair was heading straight for her with that damn knife again. She lunged for her weapon, coming up with it and spinning around to fire all in one smooth move. But the man disappeared before the bullet reached him and it ricocheted into the darkness as the slide of her weapon locked back on an empty magazine.
Oh crap.
The man popped back into view by her hip, the blade coming at her throat. She threw a hand up to block the knife only to see the man jerk sideways as the sound of gunfire filled the parking garage. A split second later, he disappeared again, reappearing beside the guy she’d shot in the leg and the still unconscious girl. He moved to pick her up, but the other guy shoved him away.
“Leave her,” he said. “We don’t have time. We have to get out of here.”
The guy with the long hair hesitated but then helped his partner in crime up and got him into the van, which immediately sped away. Groaning, Harley started to get to her feet as she heard footsteps coming in her direction. She turned to see Caleb, Jake, and the British werewolf running toward her. Jes, Misty, and Forrest were right behind them, along with two men and a woman she didn’t recognize.
Jake reached her side first, concern in his dark eyes. “You okay?”
Harley nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine. Check on the girl.”
Giving her a nod, Jake hurried over to the unconscious woman, Jes joining him.
Caleb frowned at the knife wound, the top of which was visible above the V-neck of Harley’s dress. It had stopped bleeding and was already starting to close up. “You should have called for backup sooner.”
She nodded. “I know. Go see if Jake and Jes need help.”
As he strode off, albeit reluctantly, the British werewolf sauntered over, mouth curving.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re bloody awful at this werewolf thing.”
“Yeah, I’m aware of that.” She held out her hand with a smile. “I’m Harley Grant by the way. Any chance you’re the one who kept that guy from stabbing me again?”
His handshake was firm, his warm skin sending a little tingle through her. “Sawyer Bishop. And yes, although I can’t take too much credit since I didn’t get here in time to stop him from doing it the first time.”
“That’s okay,” Harley said, realizing she was probably grinning like an idiot and had absolutely no idea why. Sure, he was cute, but seriously? “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”
Chapter 2
“Are we going to talk about what happened last night?”
Sawyer wondered when someone on his MI6 team was going to bring that up. The question seemed to bounce off the walls in the silent hotel conference room, and he turned away from the window he’d been gazing out for the past twenty minutes to look at his teammate, Elliott Lloyd. Between the breathtaking view from the tenth floor and thoughts of the beautiful female werewolf he’d run into at the club, he was a little distracted at the moment. It was all he could do to think about anything else since setting eyes on her.
“What’s to talk about?” he asked, trying to sound casual even though he was tense as hell. “We went up against a crew of human traffickers and got our arses handed to us.”
Stocky, with blond hair, the team’s medic/equipment specialist eyed Sawyer like he was crazy. His other two teammates, Rory Higgins and Erin Nichols, were doing the same. Afraid they’d see the nervousness on his face he was trying desperately to hide, he turned back to the window, forcing himself to concentrate on the scenery.
Sawyer had been to France more than a dozen times during his years in MI6, but he’d usually been rushing to get somewhere else—or getting shot at. On those occasions when he’d been fortunate enough to spend more than a few hours here, it was always in some safe house in the middle of nowhere. He’d never stayed at a hotel as nice as this one, that was for sure.
Straight across the Seine, the Eiffel Tower threw shadows in the late-morning sun, with the Arc de Triomphe a little to the north and the big glass pyramid of the Louvre a mile to the east. He couldn’t see it from where he was standing, but the Bastille district and the club they’d been at last night was somewhere in that direction, too. He couldn’t help wondering if he’d get a chance to see any of this beautiful city someday, or whether this was the best he could ever hope for.