“I’ve gotta go,” Jenkins said, rushing past her towards the ambulance.
“Don’t think either one of you are skipping out on these reports, Jenkins!” Foster called out behind him.
“Rhaena.” Jenkins huffed, jogging up to the open doors of the ambulance as they patched Wren up on the stretcher. Rhaena let go of her hand and slid down to the floor to meet him, taking a seat. “We uh … need to go to the house.”
Her brows furrowed. “Huh?”
“Foster thinks Cap might um …”
“Oh shit.” Her eyes lit up in realization, and she turned back towards Wren. “Will you be alright?”
“I’m fine. Go.” Wren waved a hand toward them, shooing them off. They hopped into Rhaena’s truck, and were following the coroner out of the long, private driveway before either of them spoke again.
“I can’t get Athan or Sarah. I’ve tried a thousand times. You would think they’d wanna know that we found Wren, at least.” Rhaena tossed her phone into her cup holder in frustration.
“You know better than that, babe. Nobody wants to know she’s safe more than Sarah does, I’m sure.”
Her eyes boggled, and she snapped her face toward him, jerking the car to a stop. “Wait—that could only mean … we’ve gotta go find them. Now.”
“Rhaena, stop.” Jenkins held his hand out. “Just because they’re not answering, doesn’t mean they’re in trouble. They might have them off, or tucked away so they don’t get caught up in something they can’t get out of. Have a little faith in your partner. Right now, our captain is out there injured, and he needs us. Athan isn’t gonna let anything happen to that girl, and you know that.”
She eased back in her seat. “You’re right,” she whispered, nodding and staring forward. “You’re right …” She pulled out and made a left towards her building, and he took her hand, squeezing it. There was a long stretch of silence, and she finally looked over at him as they came to a stop light in town. “Thank you, Brandon.”
“For?”
“For having my six.” She smiled softly, gripping his fingers. “I love you.”
His chest ached every time she said it. If anything had happened to her tonight, he’d never have forgiven himself. It made the pill of taking that life tonight, a tad bit easier to swallow. “I love you too, Rhaena Northwood. I hope you don’t have any plans to try to leave me anytime soon. We’re blood bound now.”
Her face scrunched and she half-grinned. “Oh? And how do you figure that?”
“I’ve cleaned itandspilled it for you. I don’t reckon it gets much deeper than that. You’re fuckin’ stuck with me …Gloves.” He grinned right back, pulling her knuckles to his mouth and kissing them.
“You better not be trying to propose to me like this. I’ll make a training dummy out of your ass.”
“Not today.” He lingered on her hand and stared at her. “You should press the gas. You’re pissing people off.” A horn honked behind them, and Rhaena’s face jerked forward.
“Shit,” she cursed, stomping the pedal.
Every inch of Malcolm Foley shook, from his sweaty bald head to his bare toes, as he crouched against a cabinet door in Northwood’s apartment and held a large black trash bag around himself. He’d found his way to a sketchy gas station after he returned to his human form and limped around the shadows until he’d found an abandoned janitor’s cart sitting outside the back door. He pulled off one of the industrial bags and ripped it open to cover a larger amount of his skin. He hadn’t been able to find anything to staunch the bleeding of his leg, but by the time he’d made it to her apartment, he was able to dig out the slug that remained in it. He plugged the wound with a balled-up paper towel.
Not willing to bloody up her apartment any further, Foley sat on the tile, careful to try and bleed more on the trash bag than her floor. He had lost too much blood. He could feel his consciousness slipping by the minute. Just as he was about to give in, the door opened, and Northwood burst through it, Jenkins rushing in behind her.
“Cap!” she panicked, rushing to his side. “Oh my God … Brandon, take these.” She held up her keys, singling one out and Jenkins took it. “Go to Athan’s. Look in the bottom left drawer of his fridge and get me a pint of that blood. Hurry!”
“No—” Foley grunted, grabbing Rhaena’s wrist. “I don’t want any of his—”
“It’s just O-neg. Same thing you’d get at a hospital, sir. Please … lemme help you.” He held her eyes for a moment and dropped his hand weakly at his side. His breathing was labored, and Rhaena looked down at his leg. “May I?” she asked politely. He clenched his jaw around the pain as he carefully lifted the pressure off of his wound. It bled freely when he did, and Rhaena covered it with her palm. “Sir, you need to get to a hospital. I’ve only stitched someone up once, and I don’t—”
“No,” Foley huffed, resting the back of his head against the cabinet. “No hospitals, Gloves. I’m sorry—this … this is the only … place I could think to go.”
Rhaena quieted for a moment. “Why didn’t you ever say anything? All this time, you’ve—you’ve known what I was?”
He kept his head back and slowly lolled it from side to side. “I didn’t …” Jenkins returned with a bag of blood and crouched next to Rhaena, whose brows knitted together. “I felt some kind of connection to you … something strong. It wasn’t romantic, Northwood. I’ve never had family. It … felt like family.” He noticed her eyes going misty. “I … had this strong need … like I wanted to protect you. I never susp—suspected that we were alike until … Foster.”
“She told you?”
“She implied it.” He groaned and looked down at his leg. “I put the pieces together myself. I think I was certain about … everything … when she threatened to blow your cover in that room. Then I came here, and …”