Out of the Shadows (8 page)

Lark flung the empty can at her
attacker, and sprinted away. The exit at the back of the building was closest. Adrenaline
pumping and heart hammering in her chest, she surged towards her freedom.

She was so close, only a few more
feet to go. The bathroom door flew open, colliding with her. Pain exploded in
her right shoulder and ricocheted down her whole side from the impact. Thrown
off balance, she stumbled, tripped and fell onto one of the cool metal prep
tables. Her left hip burned from the collision.

The brown haired man came out of
the bathroom. They’d been hiding in there, she realized, but how had they
gotten in?

Desperate for a weapon, her eyes
landed on the cake knife. Lark grasped for the knife as a hand latched around
her waist. She reached the plastic handle at the same time fingers wound
tightly in her hair, and wrenched her backwards. The knife twirled sliding
closer to her. Desperation filled her, her hand outstretched reaching for it.

“Fighting will only make it hurt
more,” the brown haired man hissed in her ear, pulling her upright.

He released her hair and spun her around
so she was pressed between the table and him. He took a step back while looking
around the corner, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out zip ties.

They’re going to kidnap me!
Lark’s
mouth went dry. Terror gnawed at her, threatening to make her vomit. It was
better to die fighting, than to be kidnapped and die after they did
who-knows-what to her.

Lark forced a ragged breath in,
she needed to focus. Senses steeled, she twisted, lunging for the knife and
grasped it. Her attacker sprung toward her. Knife held firmly, she jammed it
roughly into him. Not really caring where she hit, as long as she hit some part
of the body. The knife imbedded deep into his flesh. His brown eyes widened in
shock as she pulled the knife free and he grunted in pain.

Blood spurted out of the wound,
warm liquid drenched her hand as he stumbled away.

“You little bitch,” he bellowed. He
lurched forward. Swinging, his hand connected with her bottom lip.

The coppery taste of blood filled
her mouth. Her vision clouded and she blinked, forcing her eyes to stay open.
You
cannot pass out.
Renewed strength found, Lark stood up and launched toward
the other man. The knife still clutched tightly in her hand. She swung her arm,
slashing the blade across his shoulder.

Her assailant jumped back. She
hesitated for a moment, realizing he now blocked her closest exit. She could
try to go through him or go all the way back around and risk the other guy,
wherever he was.

Deciding the injured man in front of her was the best option,
she steeled herself to run toward him. Before she could, a hand yanked her hair.
Lark was spun around and thrust toward the corner of the table. A loud shriek
escaped her lips, and she fell face first unable to stop her momentum. Her
forehead hit the edge of the table. Pain seared through her head as her vision
went white, and then darkness swallowed her whole.

Devon pulled up to the back of the
bakery, thankful to see Lark’s SUV there. He made it in record time, but it was
still past eight. Releasing a relieved breath, he shut off the ignition.

Hurrying to get inside, he jumped out of the car and hustled
to the door. He assumed at ten after the front door would be locked, but he
didn’t want to risk missing her. Hopefully, Lark would answer the back. If
nothing else, she couldn’t leave without him knowing.

A muffled scream of terror ripped
through the night air. Devon’s heart thumped painfully in his chest. The sound
had come from inside the bakery.
Lark!

Swallowing the lump in his throat he noticed the broken door
handle and the partially open door.

“The bitch stabbed me,” a man’s voice hissed.

“Let me see,” another voice growled, sounding more annoyed
than concerned.

Devon’s ears rung. He recognized that voice.
What are
they doing here?
Jaw set, he fought to contain his rage.

Adrenaline pumping, Devon slipped inside. He edged down the
hall with his back against the wall, his footsteps silent against the tile
floor. His heart clenched and face turned deadly when Lark came into view.

She laid motionless on the floor, face covered by blonde
curls. His eyes flew to her back and he waited with bated breath, sighing when
he saw the gentle rise and fall of it. Lark was unconscious, but alive.

“Damn it, I think I’m going to need stitches,” the injured
man grumbled.

Devon continued to stalk forward. Fists clenched tightly,
the element of surprise on his side. At the moment he only heard two different
voices, but there could be more. He inhaled deeply. The rich smell of the
metallic copper blood invaded his nostrils. Red flared behind his eyes.

The hallway came to an end. A puddle of blood pooled under
Lark’s face, blonde strands of hair soaked it up. She’d obviously hit her head.
He wouldn’t know how bad it was till he got a better look. Closing his eyes, he
hoped that she was okay – he needed her to be okay.

He weighed his options, if he moved around the corner he
would give himself away. The limited view was an issue but for the moment it
would have to do. Devon knew not to underestimate Dirk, Emmett’s most trusted
and lethal lackey.

Focusing on Lark, he double checked that she was still
alright for the moment. His stomach knotted at seeing her still form. Devon
swallowed, grinding his teeth as rage curdled inside him.
Focus.

A set of long legs stuck out by the
cases, but he couldn’t see their owner. He didn’t see blood, but the salty
coppery scent permeated the air.

“Here,” Dirk said, coming into Devon’s view. He stooped down
with a wad of paper towels in his hands.

Devon peered around the corner placing a voice to the face
of the injured man. Michael sat slumped on the floor, on the verge of passing
out at any moment. Dirk stood back up and walked toward Lark.

With a fierce snarl, Devon attacked, tackling Dirk to the
ground. Dirk’s ice blue eyes widened as they crashed to the floor. Not giving
him a chance to react, Devon pummeled Dirk in the face repeatedly until his
knuckles ached, leaving Dirk’s face a bloody mess.

“I was hoping I’d get the honor of ending your life.” Dirk
barked, blood seeping between his teeth. With a roll he threw Devon off of him.

Devon hit the wall and quickly jumped to his feet. Dirk had
several inches on him, which was no easy feat since he was close to six feet
himself.

“Not going to happen,” Devon remarked, curling his lip. He
locked in his fighting stance, ready to strike at Dirk’s first movement.

Dirk wiped a smear of blood from his nose as he glared at
Devon. “Did you really think you could out run Emmett?”

“Do you really think Emmett gives a shit about you?”

“I’m going to enjoy killing you. Then I’ll drag your body
back for Emmett to see.” Dirk lunged at him.

Ducking out of the way, Devon grabbed Dirk’s arm, and shoved
him down into his knee. As Dirk stumbled back, Devon followed up with a hard right
hook to the jaw.

Dirk swung again and Devon jumped to the right. With a quick
twist of his body Devon punched Dirk in the face, his nose crunching beneath
his knuckles. Gripping Dirk’s neck, he twisted a sickening crack sliced through
the air. He released Dirk and watched him fall lifelessly to the floor with a
deafening thud.

Devon took a step back; a swirl of emotions filled him as he
stared at the man he’d just killed. He’d only killed once before, but it had
been self defense. It didn’t stop the guilt from creeping into him though.

A gurgling sound drew his attention away from the body. He
turned in time to see Michael’s unconscious form slide down the wall to the
floor. Devon didn’t know much about Michael. He always gave the impression he
followed out of fear rather than loyalty.

Crouching down, he surveyed the
other wolf, touching his pulse point. A thrum met his fingers. Zip ties poked
out of his pocket. Devon grabbed the ties and bound Michael’s unconscious hands
around the solid metal of the bakery case leg.

Satisfied there was no immediate
danger, his attention shifted to Lark. Her breathing remained even. Devon
stabilized her body, carefully rolling her over.

Blood coated the collar of her
shirt and smeared across her cheek. Her bottom lip was split and a tiny trail
of red dribbled down her chin. Lowering his gaze, he examined the rest of her. A
splatter of blood covered her hand but it didn’t smell like it belonged to her.

Teeth gritted, he carefully moved
her matted hair from her forehead.

“No,” Lark yelped, fear flooding
her voice. A warm hand wrapped tightly around his wrist and pushed him away.

Devon flicked his gaze to Lark’s. Her
blue eyes blinked furiously, panic over ran her normally calm face. Quickly he
removed his hands while she struggled to sit up.

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’re safe. Take
it easy, you hit your head.” As gentle as possible, he placed his hands on her
shoulders to keep her from sitting up too quickly.

Wild blue eyes locked on his, her
efforts to sit stopped. “What, what happened?”

“You don’t remember?” Devon asked
concerned.
How hard had she hit her head? Did she have a concussion?

Her brows scrunched together. “They
attacked me. Where did they go?” Lark’s arm gripped the table leg as she tried
to get up again.

“It’s okay, they’re taken care of,”
Devon kept his tone even, eyes locked with hers. Her pupils appeared normal. “Are
you alright?” He wanted to touch her face, but wasn’t sure how well the action
would be received.

Lark sucked in a deep breath. Tears
pooled in her eyes, and her bottom lip trembled. Devon ground his teeth; he
hated seeing her like this. Her hand went to her head gingerly patting the
large knot forming. She pulled back and looked at her crimson hand. It began to
shake violently.

Devon clasped her bloodied hand to
regain her attention. The last thing he needed was for her to freak out. “It’s
not that bad. A few stitches at most. Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Lark blinked, as a tear rolled from
her eye and disappeared in her hair. “I don’t think so.”

Devon squeezed her hand, her warm,
slender fingers wrapped around his. “It’s okay. I’ll get you something to wipe
that off. Trust me. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Devon stood up, searching for a
rag, towels, anything to put on her forehead. The sink was only a few feet away.
He briskly walked toward it, pulling out several paper towels from the
dispenser, wetting them slightly, before he knelt and pressed them to her
forehead.

She closed her eyes and opened them
again, hand coming up to rest on top of his, it still shook, but her breathing
seemed less erratic. “It’s mostly my head, are you sure it’s not bad?”

“Head injuries bleed a lot, Lark. It’s
not that bad, five stitches at most. Do you remember what day it is?” Devon
asked. She would likely have a concussion, but he wanted to assess how bad off
she was.

“It’s Saturday, and you’re late,”
she replied with a frown, after a long moment.

“Glad to see you’re okay.” It was
an attempt at lightening the mood. Judging by the scowl, she’d perceived it as
something else.

Lark quirked her brow at him and
pushed away, grimacing as she sat up. Her other hand flew to her head. Worried
she may pass out, Devon gripped her shoulders and pushed her back so she was
leaning against the table leg.

“Oh my god,” she panicked, her
chest heaved and eyes widened.

Devon didn’t need to look to know
what she saw. He tucked a hand under her chin, and turned her gaze back to him.
“It’s okay,” he said quietly.

“Are they, did I…I stabbed him, oh
my god.” Lark’s breath sped up, sending tears sliding down her face.

“He’s unconscious and tied up. I
took care of the other guy.” They needed to get out of here before more of
Emmett’s men showed up, or she had a breakdown. “Can you stand? We should go.”

“But you killed the other man?” Her
voice squeaked, several octaves higher than normal.

“He tried to kill you, Lark. If I
didn’t kill him, he would have killed both of us.”

Lark closed her eyes and took a
shaky breath in. “Let's go.” She opened her eyes, a look of determination on her
face.

They stood up together. Lark’s body
trembled beneath his hand. She wrapped her warm hand tightly around his
forearm, the other holding the towels to her head. His free hand wound around
her waist pulling her close, supporting her with his body. She wobbled
slightly, but found her footing.

Devon led her out back, opened the
passenger door of the truck and helped Lark inside, buckling her in. “Lean back
and relax, we’ll get you taken care of as soon as we get to the ranch.”

“You’re sure it’s really not that
bad?” Lark leaned her head back onto the headrest and blotted at the giant
bloodied knot with the towel.

“You’ll be fine. Keep the pressure
on it, it will help stop the blood flow,” Devon assured her, closing the truck
door. He pulled his cell phone out and dialed Rick’s number.

“Everything okay, Devon?” Rick
greeted.

“I need a cleanup crew sent to the
bakery ASAP-”

“What happened? Is Lark okay, were
you hurt?” Rick yelled into the phone.

“She’s shaken up, but she’ll be
fine. Probably has a concussion, and needs stitches. It was two of Emmett’s
men, I took care of them. One is dead the other is in restraints.”

“Thank god. Bring her here, I’ll
call Preston and let Sarah know. She’s really okay?”

“We’ll be there shortly.”

“Be safe, Devon.”

Devon hung up, and climbed into the
truck. Lark sat with her eyes closed, breathing even. He touched her arm. Now
that they were out of danger, he could no longer ignore the electric charge
that shot through his fingers at the mere touch of her heated flesh. “Hey, don’t
fall asleep.”

Lark’s eyes popped open. “I was
just resting my eyes,” she murmured, gaze lowered to his hand on her arm.

“Right,” Devon chuckled, pulling
away and starting the car. “Seriously though, you need to stay awake. You may
have a concussion.”

“I suppose you would know, huh?”

“Actually yes, but I’m speaking
more from a professional stand point.”

“There is no way you’re a doctor,”
Lark frowned, turning to stare at him.

“Paramedic.”

“Really?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Devon
pulled onto the freeway, eyes glued on the rearview mirror.

Devon felt her watching him, and
glanced at her from the side. She sighed and looked away seeming more relaxed. The
talking helped, and he needed to make sure she stayed coherent.

“At first it was a way to take care
of myself after my mishaps, but it became much more than that. I enjoyed it. The
rush of saving someone’s life, it’s a feeling you can’t possibly imagine.”

“Will you pursue that line of work
here?” Lark asked.

“Not at the moment, maybe once all
this settles down.”

“Right.” Lark rolled her eyes with
a sigh.

“My first priority is taking care
of my family and pack. In case you didn’t notice, my stepfather is a little
upset about us leaving.”

“Is that who those guys were, from
his pack?” Lark asked quietly, her voice thick with unshed tears.

“Yes, I don’t know why he came
after you. We usually try not to involve humans as our existence is supposed to
be a secret.” Anguish filled him again at Emmett lashing out at Lark. “You’re
safe, I, I mean we, won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Thank you.” Lark turned back to
him.

Devon shifted his eyes to her. “You’re
welcome.”

***

Lark felt a sense of déjà vu as she
lay on the icy metal exam table. Only the roles were reversed. This time, she
was the patient and Devon was tending to her.