Love Is in the Air (13 page)

Damn it! She wasn’t going to be fast enough—or smart enough—to save Tyr. With the ever-expanding pool of blood at Tyr’s head, the beast might not even have to finish him.

Blood.

Knife.

Letting instinct take over, she pulled the blade from the pack and nicked her wrist. It wasn’t as expert a wound as Tyr’s, but blood welled none the same.

Sal peered through the brambles. The beast hesitated, sniffing again.

Good. She’d gotten his attention. Ever so carefully, she let a single drop of blood fall to the ground.

A low growl.

Backing the way she came, Sal allowed another plump drop to land on the loam. She could no longer see the beast, but his glow did not diminish.

He must be following the trail, leaving Tyr. At least that’s what she had to believe as she hurried her pace, letting only an occasional drop saturate the mossy ground. She didn’t want to leave too good a trail.

Even so, the fog seemed ignited with fire, pulsing with the beast’s breath. He was gaining ground, and gaining it quickly.

Shit. Sal’d forgotten the mother plover had a plan to ditch her predator.
She
could just fly away.

If Sal didn’t figure out how to escape the beast, and figure it out fast, Tyr wouldn’t be the only one to die tonight.

CHAPTER 38

Crouched tight, Sal willed her lungs to hold in the air. The beast stalked forward, nose to the ground. It was sure to find her. Her plan, her lame plan, wasn’t going to work. Not with the air a thousand shades of crimson. The beast was close enough that the musky odor of fur and sweat filled her nose. There wasn’t a part of her world that wasn’t filled by him.

The beast’s walk transformed into a confident trot as the blood drops came closer and closer together. With the rich scent of the blood that had whetted Tyr’s blade in his nostrils, his trot quickened into a lope. Muscles rippled under his taut skin as the beast made its final charge forward.

Splashing right into Stow Lake.

A startled growl escaped the beast’s lips as he jumped out of the water, shaking his paws like a cat that fell in the sink. It might have been cute, except for the five-inch claws that extended from those soaked paws.

Sal pressed against the Band-Aid covering her wrist wound. She didn’t want any lingering scent from the nick to lead the beast to the far side of the boathouse where she was hidden.

Her gamble had paid off. The false trail into the water had given the beast pause. He vented his frustration by pacing along the shoreline. Sal backed away carefully and made for the tree line.

Phase one of the grand plan had worked, but now she had to find Tyr and get him up and out of the valley before the beast decided to come back for his main course. The concerned doctor within the panicked woman knew that the greatest danger to Tyr wasn’t necessarily the beast.

He could be dying six different ways from the injuries he had already sustained: sub-epidural hematoma, shock, brain swelling.

And her water, matches, and knife weren’t going to cut it. She needed a CAT scan. As she doubled back on her trail, the going was much faster. The path had been trampled enough that her tennis shoes had some purchase. Winded, with calves screaming, she was up the hill and down the ridge within minutes. Angling to the left, Sal pushed through the brush to the small ravine.

She stumbled to a halt. The small, grassy depression was empty.

Where was Tyr?

CHAPTER 39

Had she gotten lost? Panting, she swung from side to side. It looked like the right clearing, but how many of these little meadows were there?

Then Sal heard a groan. Pain mixed with determination.

“Tyr!” Her voice still didn’t work, but it felt good to yell. It gave her something to do besides panic.

There was no response, so she followed the sound deeper into the woods. Sal would have passed right by Tyr if he hadn’t startled and swung around, his knife at the ready.

Tyr appeared as feral as the beast. Blood matted his thick brown hair to the side of his face, his normally blue eyes blood-streaked and wild.

“It’s me,” she coaxed, knowing he couldn’t hear her, but hoping it could calm him anyway.

Finally his eyes focused, and, hand trembling, Tyr lowered the weapon.

She rushed to his side, but he brusquely shoved her away.

“Enough of you.”

The words sapped whatever strength he had left. Tyr sagged against the tree, barely able to hold up his own weight.

A frustrated roar echoed in the distance.

Sal felt panic rise, but Tyr gritted his teeth. “Let him come.”

His words were full of confidence. Too bad he could barely hold up his knife. They needed to get out of here—like
now
. But where? In the gray world of the fog, it was hard to get her bearings. Sal turned in what she hoped was due north. North toward Fulton Avenue. To her car. And if not her car, toward traffic. Where there was traffic, there was help.

She urged him forward, but Tyr sneered as he wiped the black blood from his knife, preparing for battle anew. His instincts weren’t grounded in reality, though. From the pallor of his skin, Sal knew he would never survive. The beast would swat him down like a fly.

How to convince Tyr of that, without a voice? Sal pointed to her neck, then pantomimed. A look passed over his face, but was so quickly replaced by his usual annoyance, that Sal couldn’t determine the origin.

“Place your palm to your throat.”

Doing as he asked, she tried hard not to fidget. Gaze harsh and unyielding, his touch was surprisingly gentle as he settled his hand over hers. “We must speak the command together.”

Upon his nod, they both uttered, “Speak.”

A mighty roar shook the tree branches so hard that leaves rained down upon them like rain. She needed to find another way to convince him.

“We need to get you another weapon. A bigger weapon,” she croaked, as she adjusted to generating a voice again.

Tyr’s wrist flicked the knife with practiced ease. “This shall serve.”

“Really?” Her mind raced. She couldn’t just bullshit him. Where could they find a weapon and help? Where in Golden Gate Park could—

“The museum,” Sal exclaimed. Against his objection, she tugged him to the east. “They’ve got swords and shields and chain mail!”

The fog had taken on a scarlet cast. “Do you want to beat him, or not?” Not waiting for his answer, Sal yanked Tyr from his rooted stance. Only this time, he didn’t balk.

An angry, hungry bellow chased upon their heels.

CHAPTER 40

They burst from the tree line and hit a paved road. JFK Drive. Sal hadn’t gotten them lost. With the air around them a fiery red, she had thought they could pick up the pace, but Tyr lagged. Was he considering trying to stand and fight?

When Sal glanced over, she realized that his left arm was tucked tight against his body, and with very step, he winced. Her doctor instinct was correct. Tyr was far more injured than he would admit. At this speed, she worried that they wouldn’t make it to the museum before the beast caught up with them.

Where in the hell was Park security? She might have lured Tyr to the museum with a promise of swords and shields, but she was more interested in the cameras and guns.

A trio of lights up ahead. Finally!

If they had to get arrested breaking into the de Young Museum of Fine Arts to achieve safety, so be it. Without hesitating, Sal guided Tyr past the seashell-shaped amphitheater, cutting through the groove of eucalyptus.

Damn it! Didn’t anybody see them? Weren’t there exterior cameras?

With the air’s growing ruddiness increasing by the second, they hit the walkway to the copper-lined museum at a dead run. She ignored the lines of palm trees and the pond with a murmuring fountain in its center. Those decorations wouldn’t help them against the beast.

They would reach the huge glass entryway within seconds. The guards couldn’t miss two people pounding on their front door, but Tyr grabbed her arm.

“Did you not hear that?”

What could she hear above her own panting?

They were so close to those gleaming front doors, but Tyr diverted them to the right. Following the smooth metal wall, they headed toward the back of the museum. If she could trust her memory, as her head swam from exertion, the loading dock wasn’t far.

As they rounded the corner, the museum’s four-story tower thrust up through the fog. Not even the bright floodlights could illuminate the top floor. Avoiding the matching copper benches, they skidded around the corner.

A flood of light greeted them.

Not only did they find the loading docks, but an early morning shipment must have arrived, because a huge truck was backed up to the loading ramp.

An entire array of security lights glared down on the area.

For the first time since seeing Tyr go down, Sal felt the thrill of hope.

Guns, and lots more of them, were only steps away.

Tyr gripped her arm and tried pulling her back. What was he doing?

Had he sensed she wasn’t exactly truthful about the weapons?

Then she saw it.

The blood again. Everywhere. The bodies. The dead eyes.

The entire loading crew had been slaughtered. And the security guards? Mauled. Their weapons were scattered across the concrete dock. The beast must have approached from the other side.

And must be equally near, as the air turned crimson.

Tyr got them backpedaling, but a low, deep snarl stopped them in their tracks. Stopped them because the sound was near. Sal followed Tyr’s gaze upward to find the beast crouched atop the truck. His tail swished back as he let out a nasty hiss. The beast’s fangs gleamed under the floodlights.

Even without any warrior skills, Sal knew that the beast had the better vantage point. There would be no running. At least not without being pounced upon. Tyr had his knife, and she knew he would die to protect her.

She just didn’t think she’d last long after that.

Damn it. There were so many guns, but none close enough to grab. The nearest was on the far side of a huge crate. The beast shifted his weight, clearly relishing this moment before he attacked.

Tyr must have sensed it as well, for he lifted his short knife in defiance. It wouldn’t be enough. Nothing would be enough against the beast. Then the beast, ever so subtly, shifted his stare to Tyr as his muscles drew taut.

Just as Tyr had been distracted in the glade to allow the beast to attack, Sal used this opportunity. Without thought, Sal threw herself forward, scrambling past the crate, aiming for the fallen gun.

The weapon was nearly in a finger’s reach when a huge paw slammed down on the weapon. At the last second, Sal pulled up short, falling to her knees, barely avoiding crashing into the beast. Eyes fluttering, she didn’t want to look up. She didn’t want to see the beast this up close and personal. She didn’t want to see its fangs as they bit down upon her.

For there was no escape. The gun was in the beast’s grip, and the crate was squarely between the beast and her rescuer.

As the beast’s hot, fetid breath beat down upon her, Sal squeezed her eyes shut. Then somewhere deep within her medulla, a primitive response welled. A fury that matched Tyr’s coursed through her veins. She wouldn’t succumb. Not like the rest. Not even like Maria.

“Move!” Sal heard Tyr command. Even though she wanted nothing more than to be far, far away from the beast, her body fought against Tyr’s edict. Not because his word was a command, but because it was the wrong one.

“Fire!” Sal yelled.

To everyone’s surprise, most of all hers, the gun under the beast’s foot actually fired. The beast let out an uncommonly high-pitched yelp as the bullet cut through his flesh. Startled, the beast raised his paw, exposing the weapon.

Not trusting the command to work again, Sal lunged, grabbing the gun. She fired. Thrown backward by the recoil, a howl was the only way that she knew she’d hit the beast. Sal fired again and again, but those thick muscles launched the beast atop the delivery truck and over the other side. Still she fired until the gun clicked empty. Slick with the beast’s blood, the weapon slipped from her grip and clanged against the pavement.

“Move!” Tyr commanded again. And Sal wanted to move, but she just stood there shaking, her breath coming in shivers. Sal had seen med students looking like this during their first trauma. Hell, she had yelled at med students looking like this during their first trauma. No matter how her logical mind tried to get her to move, her body refused, as the beast’s black blood wet her hands.

“The door!” Tyr yelled. “Make haste!”

Down the dock she saw a crack of light. As if it were the beacon of salvation, Sal found her feet moving. Trying not to look at the eviscerated bodies littering the dock, Sal followed Tyr. Luckily, the thick door had been propped open. She breathed a sigh of relief until she realized that it was a corpse, in particular his shoe, that had kept the door from closing.

Raked across the back, the man clearly had been trying to escape the beast. Just as they were.

Could they really hope to fare any better?

CHAPTER 41

Stepping over the dead man, they slipped into the museum. Tyr slammed the door shut as a loud
boom
shook the door. The force was so great that the metal warped under the beast’s attack. It held, but barely.

Tyr broke one vial, then another against the metal. “Hold!”

The next attack from the beast only rattled the door rather than destroying it. But it still really, really rattled that door.

It took another breath for Tyr to make the decision. He pulled his knife, and without hesitation sliced his wrist.

“No!” she yelled as arterial blood spurted.

Oblivious to the danger of such loss, Tyr pushed the wound against the crack between the door and the frame. Before her eyes, the blood gelled in the gap, sealing it closed. The next attack only shook the door a little.

They were by no means safe, but death seemed a few heartbeats further away. Until she looked down. Another three bodies.

Sal looked to Tyr for reassurance, but he pointed to the dead. “Look to what your meddling caused, witch.”