Page 19 of Avenger of Sins

“Yeah, well. That’s being human for you.”

The wide street with its light traffic quickly gives way to interstate-side strip malls and gas stations. No sign of the car with its red sign yet, but traffic on the entrance ramp is at a standstill. Ryan couldn’t have gotten far, assuming he chose to go this way.

“He might not have,”Caleb admits.“But he’s not familiar with the area, so far as we know. And he wants to keep moving. The interstate is the fastest way to do that.”

There—the vehicle they seek is just nosing out onto the slow-moving interstate. The traffic forces them to slow, so Caleb threads a path through as best he can, squeezing between concrete barriers and car doors with only millimeters to spare, splitting the lane between semis. It takes too long—they are too slow?—

An opening; Caleb cuts in front of a truck, less than an inch before collision, and they’re off the ramp and onto the interstate. Ahead, the vehicles are beginning to move faster, the knot in traffic caused by the on-ramp clearing slightly. From five miles an hour, they accelerate to ten, then fifteen. Caleb opens the throttle; they roar between cars, faster and faster, the sedan with the red sign five cars ahead, then four, then three.

Ryan swerves into the HOV lane and guns it.

“Damn it!” Caleb shouts, then recedes, and Gray bursts to the fore.

He dodges another car and swings into the HOV lane, ignoring the blare of angry horns. Ryan is just in front of them now. He can try to lose them, but his human reflexes are nothing to theirs. No matter what he does, they will run him to ground.

A pickup truck swerves toward them.

For a split second, they both think it is simply an inattentive driver. Then Gray catches a glimpse of Jo at the wheel, an instant before she slams into them.

In the sliver of time he has to react, Gray gets their left leg out of the way before it is trapped between the motorcycle and the concrete barrier separating north- and south-bound lanes. Agony tears through them as the right is caught between the side of the truck and the motorcycle. Sparks fly and metal screams as Jo tries to either drag or crush them against the barrier.

The pain is immense, but Gray pushes through it. Jo is right there now, inches away, driving with her left hand. Her face is horribly white, and fear flickers in her eyes when she glances frantically in their direction.

Good.

He punches out the driver’s side window. Jo instinctively flinches away, jerking the wheel as she does so. Their leg comes free, the poor wreck of the motorcycle falling behind. Gray sinks claws into the side of the truck and hauls them up and partially through the window.

Horns blare and the truck swerves again. The front plows into the barrier; a sudden snap as they stop, but his claws hang on. The airbag deploys, hitting them in the side of the face like a punch, then collapses.

Jo moans in pain. There’s an abrasion on her forehead from the bag, but she’s trying to curl around her right hand, the one they bit. Guilt sparks through them from Caleb, which is nonsense—what else were they to have done?

Still. “We do not wish to hurt you,” Gray says. “Surrender.”

“Surrender to a demon,” she says, and laughs weakly. “God.”

Why must mortals say such ridiculous things? “I am no demon. John would not wish for you to be harmed further. Do not fight me.”

She holds up her left hand, and for an instant flame flickers, and he braces for pain. Then, with a groan, she lets her hand fall, the spark going out. “I give up. Do what you want.”

SEVEN

Dawn wasn’t faroff when John stepped through the hospital room door. Two SPECTR agents stood guard outside; one looked uneasy when John shut the door behind him, but didn’t object. No doubt he knew as well as John that Jo couldn’t hurt a fly at the moment.

She lay in the bed, her skin as pale as the sheets pulled up to her chest. Special flame-retardant sleeves covered both of her arms and hands to prevent her from attacking a doctor or setting the room on fire. The precautions probably weren’t necessary…but John didn’t blame the hospital for taking them.

Jo turned her head slowly, and the expression on her face when she spotted him mingled hope and despair. “Jonny.”

“Hi.” He pulled over one of the visitor chairs and sat in it. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.”

“I bet.” He hesitated, then hiked up his trouser leg, exposing the twisted knot of scar tissue on his calf. “I know what it’s like to be bitten by a vampire.”

Her mouth settled into an angry line. “He—it—did that to you?”

“No!” Not that anything he said was likely to make her feel any more charitable toward Gray, but he couldn’t help but defend his boyfriend. “Another drakul back in Charleston. They’re dead now.”

Jo feebly lifted her right hand; the flame retardant sleeve bugled around the bandages underneath. “They operated, but it had been too long to save my index finger. I might lose the middle one, too; they don’t know yet. And there’s nerve damage, broken bones…”

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