Page 82 of Flare
Andrew’s body suddenly convulsed beneath Ward. His half-shifted form shuddered violently, then changed. Fur receded, limbs straightened, and his features rearranged themselves back into human form.
The transformation seemed involuntary, spasmodic rather than controlled. When it was complete, Andrew Brunborn lay naked and unconscious on Ward’s floor, the true extent of his injuries now visible without fur or clothes to hide them.
Besides a long, shallow gouge over his biceps, he had a bullet hole in his right shoulder, and two more clustered on his chest.
Blood pulsed weakly from the wounds with each shallow breath, the rhythm already becoming irregular. His skin looked grayish under his golden tan.
As Emily stared down at the man who had terrorized her, controlled her, hunted her, he coughed. A shocking gout of blood spilled from his mouth, spreading across the ruined hardwood floor in a widening crimson pool.
And beside him, Ward—still in his massive bear form—collapsed onto his side, his own blood mingling with Andrew’s on the ruined floor.
Emily dropped her empty gun and ran to Ward’s side, falling to her knees beside his massive bear form.
Blood soaked through the knees of her jeans, disturbingly warm.
She buried her face in his thick, coarse pelt as sobs tore from her throat.
“Ward,” she whispered against his fur.“Please don’t die. Please.”
His breathing came in ragged, wet gasps that terrified her. Each exhalation pushed more blood from the gaping wounds across his belly and chest. His amber eyes fluttered closed.
A low groan rumbled through his massive body. Then, beneath her hands, Ward’s form shifted. Fur receded into skin. Bones shifted with audible cracks. Muscles rearranged themselves beneath her fingertips.
The transformation looked agonizing, especially with his injuries, but within moments, the bear was gone. Ward lay naked on his blood-soaked floor, human again.
Emily felt sick. Without the thick fur concealing the full extent of the damage, Ward’s injuries appeared even more catastrophic. Deep gashes traversed his abdomen from hip to ribs, exposing layers of muscle and glimpses of organs that made Emily’s vision swim. Blood pulsed steadily from the wounds with each labored breath.
“Emily,” he rasped. He reached for her hand, his fingers leaving smears of red against her skin.“You’re… safe?”
“Yes,” she choked out, pressing her forehead against his.“I’m safe because of you. But you have to stay with me, okay? Please, Ward. I love you.”
One week. That’s all they’d had together. It wasn’t enough time. Not nearly enough.
The wail of sirens penetrated her consciousness. Help was coming, but would it arrive in time? Ward’s skin had gone bone white under his beard, and his lips were tinged blue at the edges. Each breath seemed to require more effort than the last.
“Ward,” Emily pleaded, tears streaming down her face.“You promised. You promised you’d protect me. That means you have to stay alive, understand?”
His lips curved in a faint smile.“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered.“And I love you, too. I’ve loved you forever.”
The front door burst open with a crash. Two officers stormed in, weapons drawn—Malia Jacobsen and a tall officer who looked like he could be her brother.
They took in the scene with professional swiftness.
“Secure the scene, Kenny,” Malia ordered, holstering her weapon and rushing to Emily’s side.“Emily, how badly are you hurt?”
“W-what?” she managed. Why was Malia askingherthat, when Ward lay dying in front of them?
“Your arm,” Malia said.
Emily looked down. With a shock, she noticed her forearm was all ripped up where Andrew had grabbed her earlier.
The long scrapes were dripping blood onto her jeans and adding to the stains on Ward’s fur. Her Cinnamon + Sugar work t-shirt was soaked in red, plastered to her stomach and side where she’d braced herself to aim her gun.
And she hadn’t even noticed.
“I’m fine,” she said, just as her injuries woke up and began screaming with pain.“They’re just scratches. Help Ward… please.”
“Ambulance is two minutes out,” Malia assured her.
