Pain pierced him. Shit! He was really off his game tonight. Why the hell had he let himself get distracted?
Nick dropped his knife and slammed a fist into the man’s temple. The bastard went limp.
Nick damn near did, too. Unconsciousness beckoned, but he fought it furiously. His breath emerged in jagged puffs as he sat back on his heels and glanced down at the blade buried in his belly.
This was going to hurt.
Clasping the hilt of the knife, he gritted his teeth and yanked it out. Only hundreds of years of sustaining similar wounds kept him silent.
Hand shaking, he dropped the tactical knife to the grass.
Agony shot through his middle and just about everywhere else. Now that the battle had ended, he could feel every single wound, beginning with the one in his gut that felt like someone was trying to yank his entrails out through his belly button.
The lock on Kayla’s back door turned. The inner wooden door opened, then the outer screen door.
Nick started to topple over and hastily braced a hand on the grass to keep from collapsing on his damn attacker like a lover who had just climaxed. He glanced down. Ah hell. When the bastard had stabbed him, Nick had inadvertently shoved the blade of his dagger into the man’s neck and done some serious damage. Blood poured out onto the grass in thick pulses that slowed even as he watched.
Grabbing the man’s wrist, Nick brought it to his lips and sank his fangs in to try to siphon what little blood was left in his veins.
There wasn’t nearly enough.
Kayla’s scent reached him on the breeze as she stepped outside, so fresh amid the odors of blood and death that filled his nostrils.
Dropping the man’s arm, he fought to remain conscious.
“Nick?” she called softly, hope brightening her voice.
How he wished he could answer her. But he couldn’t let her see him like this.
“Oh shit,” she whispered. “Is that blood?”
Damn it. He was leaking so much of the crimson liquid that he must have bled on the patio when he’d stopped this prick from seeking refuge in her home.
She gasped. “It is.”
He heard her back toward the door. If he didn’t do something, she might go inside and call 911, which would kick off a shit storm when police arrived and found the bodies.
Or go to his house to tell him about the blood and find his home full of holes and dead bodies, which would kick off a similar shit storm.
Or go back inside, lock her door, and wait to see what he thought about it when he joined her. Which he wouldn’t be doing, because at the rate he was going, he wasn’t even going to make it back over the damn fence before passing out. So he could very well end up roasting in the sun when it rose.
He tried to think, but drowsiness tugged at him and muddled his thoughts.
Her back door opened, forcing his hand.
Time’s up. He had to act now.
Hopefully the little bit of blood this bastard had provided would be enough to get him through what came next.
Chapter Nine
Kayla’s heart pounded in her ears as she reached back and opened the door. Her gaze returned to the small spattering of blood on the patio, then darted around the yard, trying desperately to see into the shadows. What had left it?
Houston was called the Bayou City for a reason. It was riddled with bayous. And rodents tended to use some of those bayous like thoroughfares. So mice did occasionally make their way through the neighborhood, providing stray cats with temporary toys they could torment, then kill. But this much blood?
No way. She didn’t even think a particularly vicious catfight could produce this much.
So what the hell had?
Kayla didn’t know and sure as hell wasn’t going to stand out there pondering it. She backed up to the open doorway. Nick worked in security. She would call him and ask him what he thought it was.
A rustling noise disturbed the night. Jumping, she looked toward the far side of the house.
A small dark figure crept around the corner.
She relaxed a tiny bit. It was the little black stray cat that sometimes crept through her yard and Nick’s. It shied away from most people and wouldn’t have ventured into the yard if strangers lurked in it.
The little feline’s fur glistened as it stepped into the light.
Kayla frowned.
It moved slowly, as if every step required enormous effort. And it limped.
Her gaze shot from the cat to the blood on the pavement and back.
“Oh no,” she murmured, stepping out onto the patio once more. She crouched down as it cautiously approached. “Hey, little guy,” she crooned. “You okay?”
Wow. Most of the poor cat’s fur was saturated. Its normally smooth, panther-like gait was now stiff and jerky as if the only way it could remain upright was by locking its joints.
Had it been hit by a car? Or had someone hurt it?
She wouldn’t be at all surprised if it were the latter. The elderly lady next door once found a possum in her backyard that—according to the animal control officer who came out to help her with it—had been beaten with a baseball bat. And some boys at Becca’s high school had gotten in trouble last year for repeatedly kicking a stray dog they’d cornered.
What the fuck was wrong with people?
Kayla held a hand out to the cat. “Come here. It’s okay,” she coaxed in as soothing a voice as she could muster.
The cat stopped when it reached her and almost seemed to sigh wearily as it rubbed its face into her palm.
“Poor thing. I know you don’t like people, but will you let me help you?”
Raising its head, it looked toward the fence on Nick’s side.
“Nick’s not home, little guy.”
It headed for the fence anyway. Bunching its back legs, it leapt up but failed to catch the top of the fence. It tried again, unsuccessfully, then faltered.
Kayla bit her lip. “You aren’t going to make it over that, kitty. And I’m afraid you’ll hurt yourself more if you keep trying.” She rose. “Here. Come inside. Let me take care of you.” Opening the back door, she stepped inside. “Come on,” she crooned, holding the door open.
The cat staggered to one side, hesitated, then made its slow, painful way into her laundry room.
Kayla closed the screen door behind it. Grabbing a towel from the laundry sorter cart, she stepped around the cat and entered the kitchen. Folding the thick cotton in half to make a soft bed, she laid it on the floor and patted it.
“Come lie down while I grab my phone and figure out where the nearest 24-hour vet is.” Though she cringed inside at what such a vet would charge, she was too big a softie to just let the cat suffer.
The cat made its stiff way forward and curled up on the towel.
Kayla headed into the living room to fetch her phone. She’d call Nick first. If he was home, maybe he’d go with her to the vet or animal hospital or whatever.
Her phone lay where she’d left it on the coffee table next to the remote. She grabbed the remote and turned off the TV, then picked up her phone and speed-dialed Nick.
No answer. While she listened to a robotic voice ask her to leave a voice mail, she turned and strode toward the kitchen. “Nick. Hi. It’s Kayla. You know that little black cat that passes through our…?”
Her words faltered as she reached the kitchen. Her heart stopped. The hand holding the phone fell limply to her side as her heart gradually resumed beating, banging the hell out of her rib cage.