Page 65 of Brotan

The cage rattles violently behind us. I glance back to see Granite, the orc who was supposed to destroy Crow, vaulting over the fence. He charges through the crowd, moving with unexpected speed for his size.

I press myself against Crow's chest, waiting for the impact, for the blow that will end us both.

It never comes.

Granite surges past us, tackling the nearest gunman. Another goes down under his massive fists. I stare in shock—wasn't he just trying to destroy Crow seconds ago? Why is he suddenly helping us?

"What is he doing?" I gasp, clutching Crow's arm.

"Choosing a side," Crow mutters, his eyes tracking Granite's movements.

"Get Brotan out!" Granite bellows over his shoulder. "NOW!"

He reaches Quinn, who fires wildly, the bullet grazing Granite's shoulder. The young orc doesn't even flinch, just knocks the gun away and delivers a blow that sends the promoter sprawling. Understanding dawns—Granite realized he was just another pawn in Quinn's game, expendable once his purpose was served.

I don't wait to see more. I grab Crow's uninjured arm and pull, guiding him through the pandemonium toward where Hammer is fighting his way toward us. Blood soaks Crow's side, but he's still moving, still conscious. The exit seems impossibly far as panicked humans and orcs alike rush for the doors.

"Almost there," I encourage, leading Crow through the surge of bodies.

Hammer reaches us, immediately supporting Crow's other side. Together, we make our way to a side exit and step into the cool night air. An SUV with tinted windows waits at the curb, engine running.

"In!" Hammer orders, throwing open the back door.

I help Crow inside, climbing in after him. The interior lights reveal the full extent of his injuries—the shoulder wound seeping blood, the more worrying abdominal wound that could have hit vital organs. My medical training kicks in, cataloging damage, planning treatment.

"Where to?" the driver asks as Hammer slams the door.

"Hospital," I say automatically.

"Clubhouse," Crow counters, voice strained but determined.

"You need a doctor," I argue.

The ghost of a smile crosses his blood-spattered face. "I have one." His eyes hold mine, full of a trust that makes my chest ache.

I want to scream with frustration. "You've been shot. Twice."

"Will I live?" he asks, eyes locked with mine.

I assess his wounds more carefully—the bullet in his shoulder missed major arteries, and the abdominal wound appears to have entered at an angle that likely spared his vital organs. With his orc physiology and my care, his chances are good.

"Yes," I admit reluctantly. "With proper care. If I don't kill you myself first."

"Good." His undamaged arm snakes around my waist, pulling me onto his lap despite my protests about his injuries. He holds me against him, his heart pounding beneath my palm.

Then he kisses me, deeper and harder than ever before, with none of the restraint he's always shown. It's desperate, hungry, a claim and a promise wrapped into one. His lips press against mine with bruising intensity, his tusks cool against my heated skin.

I should push him away, should insist on treating his wounds immediately. Every medical instinct screams about blood loss and infection. But the woman in me, the one who faced down Quinn and his thugs to save this stubborn orc, responds with equal desperation.

Instead, I kiss him back with everything I have, all the fear, the anger, the relief pouring into that single connection. When we finally break apart, both breathless, his eyes hold mine with fierce intensity.

"Never again," he says, voice rough. "No more running from each other."

For once, I'm in complete agreement.

ChapterThirteen

Crow

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