Page 62 of The Alpha's Gamble
Alpha werewolves didn’t need a fucking door handle, dammit. Door handles were for the weak.
I reared up and slammed my shoulder into the window. It shattered instantly, glass showering all over me and spraying everywhere, and I followed the motion through, grabbing the sharp edges of broken glass without worrying about my sliced-up palms and propelling myself out, swan-diving head-first onto the road.
My arms caught most of the impact, but my head still bounced painfully on the asphalt, an instant concussion blurring my vision and spiking pain through my skull. At least one of my arms was broken, and the other maybe as well. Small bits of gravel dug into my cheek where it pressed into the ground. Behind me, the screaming kept going, but I knew Walter would get it together any moment. He hadn’t been knocked unconscious, and he’d probably used his magic to cushion himself from the impact.
Broken or not, that arm had to lift me up. It’d heal within half an hour or so, ditto the concussion. But I didn’t have that long. I had seconds, probably. I let out a grunt of pain as I forced myself to my hands and knees and then staggered to my feet, glancing down to assess any other damage.
Not much, except to the tux. I spared exactly half a second to mourn it, because Italian wool deserved better.
And then I launched myself into a run, off the road, down the embankment, and skittering into the sand. Under the light of a half moon, scrubby bushes and spiky little plants dotted an endless expanse of sandy dirt, peppered with the occasional rock.
Almost no cover at all, and nowhere to go, with an enraged warlock right behind me and his magic still dragging me down, making my movements sluggish and my healing slower than usual.
Despair swamped me all over again. What had I thought I’d accomplish with this insane stunt? I could’ve waited until we stopped somewhere. Maybe Walter had some plan before, or in addition to, simply killing me. I could’ve turned them against each other.
Except that Declan’s martini jokes and my ruined tux aside, I wasn’t anything close to James Bond, who could suavely talk his way out of a situation like this. That sort of thing worked in movies. Not in real life.
No other choices left. I ran. Flat-out, with no destination, I ran like hell. A bolt of magic sizzled past my left shoulder and exploded a cactus, spines flying and spattering me in tiny agonizing stings. A moan tore out of my pounding chest, and I staggered to the side, picking up the pace again and pounding across the sand, dodging bushes and rocks, stumbling, a nightmare of fear and sweat and pain, shadowy objects in the moonlight. Another magical blast—and this time he winged me, the heat of it disintegrating the sleeve of my jacket and searing my still-broken arm.
That brought me to my knees, head hanging low, vision blurred to the point of uselessness. A rock pierced my right shin. A scorpion scuttled away from my legs and disappeared under a bush, small enough to take cover from the chaos, the lucky little bastard. My own hoarse breaths echoed in my ears. The dry, cold desert night had already sucked all the moisture out of my eyes and my nose and my throat, and I felt papery and hollow. But I couldn’t stop now. Icouldn’t. Giving up would be worse than anything.
I forced myself up, wobbling and wavering but determined to face my fate without flinching. Walter wouldn’t have the satisfaction of killing a coward.
I turned, expecting to see Walter raising his hands to deliver the final blow.
And he was, standing there halfway between me and the road. But he had his head twisted around, staring over his shoulder…at two more SUVs stopped right behind his, the headlights of all three shedding crisscrossing spotlights on the road.
And on a swarm of men, two of them taking charge of khaki-fucker, one of them opening the driver’s side door of Walter’s SUV, a few others doing whatever you did in a situation like this, one standing by the new vehicle and raising something up to his shoulder, and the other—Declan. My heart stumbled, expanded, clenched tight. The last was Declan, running faster than I’d ever seen an alpha move, headed straight for Walter with his claws and fangs gleaming in the moonlight.
Walter turned all the way, shouting something I couldn’t catch at this distance. He raised his hands again—toward Declan. Fuck, he was going to—I forced myself to move, staggering toward him, but I’d be too late, he’d kill him, I’d rather die myself, and oh, gods, what a time to realize that—
A sharp crack rang out followed by a rolling echo.
Walter’s right side jerked and he dropped to the ground with a gut-punched scream.
I shook my head, trying to clear the ringing in my ears and figure out what the fuck was going on.
The guy who’d been lifting something up: a rifle. He’d been aiming a rifle. Declan might have been depending on his own alpha strength, but one of his men, with a foresight and common sense I could’ve kissed him for, had brought along a gun.
As Declan passed him, Walter moaned his name.
Declan didn’t even slow, changing his trajectory to avoid Walter, now no longer a threat, and instead barreling at me with single-minded focus.
I could see his face now, his expression: caught somewhere between joy and terror and fury, features twisted into something closer to his animal nature than his human one. No one had ever been more beautiful.
He’d come for me. I had no idea how he’d found me, how he’d followed us, but he’d come for me. I could scent him now, over the acrid tinge of the desert and the nauseating odors of blood and pain coming from me and now also drifting from Walter in the faint breeze.
I let Declan’s scent surround me, ground me, and as I started to sway, Declan was there to catch me.
He skidded to a halt and wrapped me in his arms, tugging me into his chest and enclosing me in heat and safety and strength. My head dropped into the crook of his neck. I let my body go limp, trusting that he’d hold me up. Trusting in him completely.
He did, one hand sliding down to my hip, the other big and warm around the chilled, sweat-damp nape of my neck.
“Fuck,” he said. “Jesus motherfucking Christ. Blake, darlin’.Blake.” My name came out like a prayer, heartfelt and grateful. He buried his face in my hair and breathed me in, just like I was swallowing huge gulps of his scent and his presence, his alpha magic dark and heavy in the air, swirling around me and soaking in to soothe all my hurts. “You’re bleeding. Do you need a healer? I could only bring an ex-army medic on short notice, but he can—”
“No!” I lifted my head, forcing him to do the same. Our eyes met. And held. I couldn’t have torn myself away in that moment even if Walter had been about to explode the whole desert. No one had ever looked at me like that. Alpha gold had always been a sign of aggression, of hostility. Of something going wrong. Or at best, a sign of arousal and a different kind of aggression.
Declan’s glow as he gazed down at me held nothing but the assurance that he could and would protect me.
