“Why?” I choke out.
Patrick grins at me, the sadistic bastard taking joy in my suffering as usual. “Why else? Money.”
A high-pitch ringing starts up in my ears, and the whole alley fades in and out of focus. I blink rapidly, trying to make the world make sense again. He killed both of my parents. For money. For a few extra fucking bucks.
A scream builds in my throat, but I force it back down. Saint, however, lets out a wordless shout, finally meeting the man who took his parents and his mate from him. I turn around and throw myself at him, partially to comfort him and partially to stop him from charging at Patrick.
Being a mage, Saint’s the most physically vulnerable of all of us. If Patrick shoots him in the head, the heart, or any majorartery, he’s dead. For shifters, it takes major trauma to the head or the heart that’s beyond our healing capacities to kill us. It’ll take a few head or heart shots to take us down, but shifters are much more killable than, say, vampires or fae. I refuse to let Patrick take another person from me.
“Saint! Stop. Please.” My plea breaks through the haze of pain clouding his judgement. Saint glances down at me, and his face crumples. An ocean of sorrow crosses Saint’s storm-gray eyes for a moment before his expression completely shuts down. He robotically lifts his head to glare at Patrick. I swallow uneasily at the change in Saint, but I have to relegate that to the box of problems for once we get out of this.
I turn back around to face Patrick, feeling a strange mixture of pure rage burning through my bones and devastation weighing down my body. As soon as I’m facing forward again, Malachi snags my wrist and pulls me back into his side, like he’s worried I’ll disappear if he isn’t holding me.
“As touching as this scene is, I am on a deadline,” Patrick drawls sarcastically. He cocks his handgun and aims it at Malachi again. His finger moves to the trigger as he watches us. “Hand her over. You have five seconds before I start shooting. I can guarantee I’ll take at least two of you down with me. I have faster reflexes than the Knights, so choose wisely, Wyldhart. You know she isn’t worth it. Five, four, three, two.”
My heart feels like it’s in my throat, and it’s hard to hear anything past my pulse roaring in my ears. He might be bluffing about being able to take two of my mates out with him, but I’m not willing to take that chance.
Before Patrick can say “one,” I stomp on Malachi’s instep, taking him by surprise. He grunts and loosens his hold on my wrist, which is all I need to break free. I dart over to Patrick before he can stop me.
When I reach Patrick, he roughly grabs my hair, wrenching my neck back, and spins me around to face my mates. He digs the cold barrel of the gun into my head hard enough to hurt. Involuntary tears spring to my eyes at the pain searing my scalp, but I refuse to let them fall.
Malachi lunges after me, but it’s too late. “Briar!” he screams as Xander and Bastian hold him back. He thrashes in their hold, trying to get to me.
“Uh-uh. I wouldn’t if I were you. One twitch, and you’ll be picking up pieces of her skull all over this alley. The Knights want her alive but killing her is still an option.” I can hear Patrick’s smug smile as he gloats over his victory. Malachi stills at the threat, not moving a single muscle as he stares at Patrick with fury lining his face.
I briefly close my eyes, trying to think of a way out of this, but I can’t come up with anything that keeps both my mates and me safe. Even my wolf isn’t much help in this scenario, and my unreliable magic is more of a hazard than an advantage right now.
I will sacrifice myself over and over again if it keeps them out of harm’s way, so going with Patrick is the only play I can think of. Maybe once the Wyldharts and Saint are safe, I can fight Patrick. Until then, I just have to go along with it.
Opening my eyes, my gaze finds Malachi. “I’m sorry,” I mouth to him. I know he’ll feel like this is his fault, but it’s not. It’s no one’s fault other than Patrick’s. And the Knights, obviously. Because those twat waffles won’t leave me alone.
“Don’t you fucking dare, Briar,” Malachi orders, his voice lashing out like a whip. I give him a small, sad smile because there’s nothing either of us can do about the situation right now.
Patrick’s grip tightens on my hair. A whimper gets stuck in my throat, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s hurting me. He’s silent for a long moment before he exhalesharshly. “I can’t believe it,” he whispers. “The Wyldhart heirs are your mates. I wonder what they did to piss off fate to pair them with a whore like you.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Can’t he find something interesting to call me other than a whore? Like an asshat or a jerk taco or a douche muffin. Any of those are way more creative than his repetitive insult.
I’m not sure what it says about me that this is what my mind chooses to focus on in a life-or-death situation, but we’re rolling with it. It’s better than me freaking out, at least.
“Yes, she is,” Malachi growls, the sound raising the hair on the back of my neck. “You know we won’t just let you walk away with her.”
Patrick sighs deeply. “I guess I’ll just have to kill all of you, then.” He hasn’t even finished his sentence before he pulls the trigger, and a deafening boom shakes the alley.
“No!” I scream as everything seems to happen in slow motion. The world moves so slowly that I can see the bullet as it inches its way toward Malachi’s face. I’m helpless to do anything but watch in horror. My rage and hopelessness and grief and pain seem to boil in my chest before exploding out of me in a violent, chaotic wave.
I’m not really sure what happens next as the world resumes its normal speed. One moment, I’m trapped in Patrick’s hold watching Malachi get shot. The next, I’m free and covered in a sticky liquid. Looking around in confusion, I see Malachi rushing toward me. Unharmed. No extra hole in his head in sight.
My knees buckle under me, but Malachi crushes me to his chest before I can hit the ground. He holds me in his strong arms for a long moment before pulling back. Bastian and Xander swoop in for a lingering hug next, Bastian plastered to my frontand Xander to my back. I savor their comfort as they hold me almost desperately.
When they step back, I look around the alley in confusion. I don’t find Patrick, but I see what looks like blood and… human tissue splattered all across the back of the alley. Squinting, I can even make out parts of the pinstriped suit Patrick was wearing. Looking down at myself, I notice that I’m also covered in blood and unidentified goo.
Gross.
“What…?” I start, but I have to swallow around my suddenly parched throat a few times before I can continue. “What happened?”
“Your magic came out, little shadow. You somehow made Patrick explode, which I didn’t even know was possible.” Saint is the last to reach me. He squeezes me to him so tightly I can barely breathe, but I don’t complain. I let him hold me as long as he wants to, the whole time trying to wrap my mind around the fact that I blew up Patrick—or, well, my magic did.
It seems strangely anticlimactic somehow. All these years of beatings he put me through, and he’s just gone in an instant. I’m not complaining, because he got a very gruesome death from what I can see of the alley, but it just doesn’t really feel real.