Skin Deep (24 page)

Logan gazed at Kailin. He knew from her expression she was in shock, that she was processing the inexplicable thing that had just happened.

He'd been so focused on get Brand incapacitated he hadn't registered that blood was still streaming from Kailin's neck. He raced to her, un-lynching the chains and setting her slowly to the ground. She gave him a tiny smile before she slipped into unconsciousness.

***

I regained consciousness, to find myself being tended to by a paramedic, not too far from Brand. Once unconscious he'd returned to his normal human form as Sully. Heat coursed through my veins as I vibrated with anger. He'd led us on, entertained our questions and all the while he'd been behind the whole thing.

I shivered at the memory that I’d so recently thought of Sully as slightly charming and even attractive. Ugh. Now it was all I could do to prevent myself from kicking him in the unmentionables. I needed to know what he'd done with Lily. Hoped to Ailuros he'd left her in one piece.

But right now. I was exhausted, aching all over and feeling overwhelmed.

After the paramedic
left, a group of Omega agents arrived and after a few minutes with Logan, began processing Brand/Sully. Good thing I wasn't required to interrogate the bastard. I knew I'd be tempted to kill his ass.

At last Logan approached and for the moment we were alone I didn't plan to wait any longer to ask my questions.

"So are you going to tell me what that was all about?"

For a moment he was silent and I thought he was going to try and avoid the topic altogether, but then he said, "I'm a Fire Mage. I used my power to incapacitate Brand."

"Oh." I couldn't manage anything more than the one syllable. Logan had Fire power? "I guess that explains the exploding tire episode?"

Logan chuckled. "Yes, exactly."

"So are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just a colossal headache, but that’s usual when I have to concentrate really hard."

"What was so different this time?"

"You were just a couple of inches away from Brand. I didn't want to incinerate you by accident."

If Logan was trying to make me feel better, he'd succeeded at the exact opposite. I was officially freaked out.

***

Anjelo's absence was an almost physical loss for me. I hadn't realized how much I'd come to rely on him. Not that he was in any way the knight charging in to help me out. Rather he'd be the idiot hanging onto the horse's tail as it galloped off into the night.

Calls to Iain and Storm came up empty. I had no clue where he was. Why didn't he at least text me to keep me in the loop?

Dear Ailuros, please keep him safe.

I sent up the prayer but something told me I'd need more help than prayers.

***

Despite the craziness of the last few days I wanted to make time for my patients. Especially now, since Clancy was no longer around to keep her eye on them. My work with the recovering addicts was usually slow, gaining progress week to week. But they were as committed as I was. Pitching up week after week in spite of the emotional roller-coaster ride that came with both the chemical withdrawal and their extraction from the drug community.

I understood a little. Removed from their support network they felt abandoned in spite of it having been their own choice to leave. I admired their strength very much, strength few people would have under such circumstances. Because of their commitment I fe
lt like a heel for letting them down.

I'd finished updating my paperwork a couple of hours ago, cross referenced the notes of the substitute counselor Heide would’ve arranged, got some filing and reports in order, and spent some time checking my ammunition and stock of vials. I made a mental note to ring Tara - the new gas vials were jamming intermittently. So
far, it'd only happened during my practice, but I couldn't risk it on the field.

It could wait a while though.

It was late when I walked out of the building. I'd lost track of time. For once in the last week, I had nowhere in particular to be. Now, walking to the curb to cross the street, life filtered to me. Music blared from a stereo across the street. The rev of a souped-up car engine a couple of blocks away. An alley cat screeched its discontent with her suitor.

But here
on my street, it was quiet. An ominous quiet. A black pickup sat across the road, and I hesitated. I knew many of the people in this area, knew faces and cars well enough to know this vehicle didn't belong. I paused at the edge of the curb. Hesitated.

My ears peaked somewhere nearby a scratchy, harsh crackling shattered the undercurrent of silence. Sounds only Walkers could pick up. Now I heard the blurred squeaks of a walkie-talkie. Movement within the cab of the pickup heightened my suspicion.

Around the block, I heard the revving of a motorcycle engine, not sure of the cc but something fast at any rate. In spite of the darkness, the motorbike and its rider were clearly visible as they turned onto the road and sped toward me. At the opposite corner, a couple of kids turned to stare at the shiny, roaring machine.

I found his audacity unbelievable. Did he think I'd would stand there, a couple hundred
pounds of metal bearing down on me, and wait for the impact? I did the only thing I could think of. Watching him carefully as he got closer, I waited for the last second, and then took a quick step sideways and shot my arm out in front of him, stiff as a pillar pulling deep on my Panther strength.

The streetlights threw two bright orbs onto the slick surface of his black helmet, lighting his eyes behind the visor for precious seconds.

The shocked surprise on his face was comical. He hit my hand full speed. The motorcycle continued on without him, skidding and ending its travels in a screeching spin.

The rider was much worse for wear. The force of the impact with my iron-hand sent him plummeting to the ground, drawn by the impetus of the bike. He landed flat on his back just feet away. He lay there, gasping and spluttering, holding his chest, while his helmet rolled across the ground coming to a halt over a drain. The impact with my arm knocked the stuffing out of him. All I needed was to shake it a little to loosen it up again.

The low hum of the motorbike wheel spun slower and slower.

Pickup-Guy jumped from the vehicle and sprinted across the street, not bothering to close his door. During the mayhem he'd gunned the engine, ready to take off once they'd finished me. He should know better than to leave a car idling in this neighborhood. It wasn't likely the vehicle would still be there when I finished playing with my two new friends.

His anger reeked, fueled by the stink of his sweat and fear. He spared a brief, disbelieving glance at the biker dude who lay sprawled on the ground, eyes out of focus, as if the very stars spun around his head.

"Fine. You want to play, so let's play." I flicked hair out of my face, and curled my finger at him in a cheeky 'Come on' gesture. It paid off a tad, as a frown of concern slipped across his face at my confidence.

What he didn't know was I wasn't all that prepared to be so cocky. The only weapon on me was a tiny curved blade in my boot. Although it was deadly sharp and had a vicious point, I needed to be close to use it. Dangerously close.

He circled me, like a bull, giving me a wide berth, eyes on me. Those eyes flickered every few seconds in his partner’s direction. Was he wondering how long I would take to turn him into a similar pretzel?

I bent forward, flicking my fingers at him, beckoning him with both hands. And smiled.

He lunged.

I spun around, landed a solid punch to his ribs, and heard the soft crunch as two of his ribs caved in under the force of the blow.

Adrenalin masked his pain and he appeared only winded. For now.

He came barreling at me again. I stepped swiftly aside and kicked his feet from under him. I almost felt sorry for him, until he grabbed my leg as I stepped away. Losing my balance, I fell. At the last second, I spun around and landed on both forearms, my eyes still fixed firmly on my opponent.

I was tiring of playing with him. No real challenge with these two lunk-heads.

We both rose, staring each other down. I closed the distance, avoiding a right jab and then a left. Landed a blow to his windpipe leaving him gagging, spread-eagled on the pavement, feet away from his partner.

Biker-dude was back on his feet. Anger emanated from him as his gaze slid from me to the winded man on the ground.

"What's wrong? Can't take a beating from a girl?" I smiled.

He closed the distance and threw a punch. It landed short. Amateur.

Frustrated, he jammed his hand into his pocket and my heart sank as I stared straight into the black barrel of a S&W. I was fast, and strong, but not when facing a weapon powerful enough to blast my brains all over the sidewalk. I gritted my teeth and took my chances.

A super-fast swipe with my left hand, an equally quick duck to the left in case the weapon fired, and the gun went spinning off to the edge of the curb, firing twice as it spun. It was a miracle none of us were struck.

As he watched his weapon skitter away, he bent and reached for his boot, grabbing the blade strapped to his ankle. I almost laughed out loud, but squashed the urge, knowing I'd be the only one to appreciate the irony. My little blade was warm against my ankle. She'd taste blood before long.

He ran at me swiping the knife in short arcs. It was harder to get close to him this time, protected as he was by the deadly teeth of the serrated blade. He lunged with his unarmed hand and I raised my arm to deflect the blow. Too late I knew it was a mistake, as the blade bit deeply into my forearm. Blood gushed from the wound.

Now I was mad. I'd lost far too much blood in the last week to put up with this crap any longer. I reached with both hands for his arm, pulled hard to get him moving toward me, then smashed up onto his forearm, while my left hand hit down hard on his forearm. The air was filled with the sickening crunch of splitting bone. The action also worked to plunge the blade deep into his thigh. He collapsed to the ground not sure which would need his attention, the knife in his thigh or the hand now dangling useless from his shoulder.

The blood was the distraction. My attention changed, focusing on mauling the biker, ignoring my Panthers need as my claws lengthened just so. Need to slice a vein open and spill his life-blood right here, filled me. I was taken aback by the viciousness of my thought. My Panther pushed and surged from inside, frustrated and hungry. I missed Pickup-Guy as he rose and advanced on me, his knife raised, ready to spill my blood.

When I felt the cold steel penetrate my flesh it was too late. Too late to protect myself and too late for him to get away alive. The wound in my back pulled the Panther out, bent on revenge. Out here in the open, I had to control how far I changed, and managed to rein it in so only my claws and teeth transformed.

It was all I needed. I turned on him, forcing his hand against the hilt of the blade still buried deep in my back. My hands swept around and in one fluid swipe I lashed his throat with deadly sharp claws
.

He stopped dead. Touched his throat as the ruby seeped through the slashes in his flesh. I knew before his knees touched the ground he would be dead in the next few minutes. Knew before he fell face down on the sidewalk it was a mistake to kill him this way. Too distinctive.

My claws retracted as regret surged stronger, overpowering my Panther's need. A quick scan of the street confirmed it still remained deserted, but I knew someone would’ve heard the gunshots. Would’ve rung the police, even if they were afraid to check for themselves.

I grabbed the dying man, lifted his bulk into my arms and in a few strides tossed him in the back of the pickup. It was amazing the vehicle was still there. I approached Biker-dude who'd come around in time to see the last deadly blow I'd dealt to his partner. He had tears in his eyes.

I would’ve felt sorry for him, except the gash in my arm still bled and the knife in my back was killing me. I grabbed him by the scruff and hauled him to the cab of the truck, tossing him into the driver's seat, broken arm and all.

He sat there, looking at me.

"What are you waiting for? Go."

Back at the blood-soiled scene, I picked up my backpack and the gun they left behind. The need to stamp my foot in frustration was so strong. Again, my blood was spilled all over a crime scene. Well, at least this time I had someone on the inside who'd cover for me.

At least I hoped he would.

I hobbled across the street, gasping for breath. The road and the sidewalk spun a little and I leaned against the nearest streetlight and closed my eyes for a few moments. I fished my phone out of my pocket and dialed.

"Hey Kai," Logan answered.

"Logan? I really need your help and this time it's super urgent," I said, gasping a little with the pain shooting up and down my back. "I need you now."

"Where are you?" Logan asked, his tone gravelly with worry. "Are you okay?"