Page 41 of Fae Devoted
“You’re about to lose your head. Got it.” They didn’t need the Detroit PD arriving because of a complaint of shots fired.
“Stay inside.”
“I’ll try.” She racked the gun’s slide.
“Jo—”
“Don’t get killed.”
The vampires were closing fast, and he didn’t have time to argue with his stubborn she-wolf.
“I’ll try not to, baby.” Tucker opened the truck’s door, feeling the fleeting press of Jo’s fingers against his spine as though she were on the verge of grabbing his shirt to prevent him from leaving. “Lock it behind me.”
Tulwar in one hand and plate-sized shield in the other, he bolted from his seat, surprising the armed quartet by charging rather than waiting for them to strike first. The door closed behind him, the lock engaging as he swung his sword at the nearest vampire’s neck. The male ducked, exposing his companion to the honed outer edge of Tucker’s blade. His tulwar whistled over the first assailant’s head, cutting through the bone of the second’s arm, and separating it from his shoulder. The disabled vampire staggered away in shock, losing blood at a startling rate.
One down.
Tucker blocked a downward strike from the third attacker with his shield while lashing out with his sword at the fourth and removing his head.
Another down—permanently.
His opponent’s longer blade slid off his shield, and Tucker slammed it against his sternum. He used the domed surface to drive the vampire backward and avoid the second male’s slash at his knees. A Ferwyn’s strength winning over a Dádhe’s speed.
Tucker heard the pickup’s motor catch, then die. If things went south, Jo wouldn’t have the option of leaving him behind.
Wheeling away from his attackers, he converted the fingertips of the hand holding his shield’s leather strap into claws, the tapered ends lengthening beyond its edge to act as lethal daggers. Then he took a defensive stance and confronted the two remaining vampires with his sword, shield, fangs, and claws at the ready.
These two wouldn’t be allowed near Jo. He’d die first.
His opponents held their katanas in front of their hips, the swords’ points slightly lifted and directed at Tucker. The pair advanced with caution and then separated, flanking him on either side. He mirrored their movements, rotating in a slow circle, keeping his enemies in his peripheral vision.
Jo tried the ignition switch again; the engine coughed but didn’t turn over.
The vampire on his left stepped forward and thrust the point of his sword at Tucker’s heart. He deflected the potentially lethal strike with his shield while the other male attacked his now vulnerable side. The bite of steel sliced a fiery trail from his waist to his hip, the gash burning like liquid fire. He ignored the pain and plunged his blade between the V-shaped gap created by the Dádhe’s two-handed grip, pressing against the hilt and twisting downward with the curve of his sword. The violent motionwrenched the katana from the vampire’s grasp and broke his right wrist with a snap.
Whirling to confront the last armed assailant, Tucker sank his sharp claws that jutted over the shield’s rim into the startled male’s upper torso, shredding a path to his stomach. His howl of agony competed with the roar of the truck’s engine.
A single gunshot rang out, and Tucker spun around in time to see a hole appear in the forehead of the vampire behind him. The pistol in the male’s uninjured left hand clattered to the pavement, the body following it to the ground an instant later.
“Jacob,” Jo shouted, jumping from the driver’s seat and sprinting toward him. She hurtled into Tucker’s arms at full speed, and he caught her against him with a grunt, clasping her to his chest with a bloodied palm and shield.
“He was going to shoot you,” she cried, clinging to his neck, a combination of horror and outrage in her voice. “I had to stop him. I…I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t let him hurt you.”
“Shhh, I’m fine.” Tucker was stunned to discover his hand on the small of her back trembled.
“The other one cut you,” she said, attempting to pull from his embrace as if just remembering his wound.
“Stay,” he rasped, pressing her more firmly to his heart, its rapid pulse drumming in his ears. He rubbed his cheek on the top of her head, absorbing her scent into his skin. The thought of Jo alone and vulnerable—sharpshooter or not—left a pain in his chest worse than the fresh gash in his side.
“I should have shot him too,” she mumbled into his t-shirt, nose burrowing into his breastbone. “Bunch of cheaters.”
“No respect for tradition,” he deadpanned, lips twitching at the ferocity in Jo’s voice, his racing heart beginning to calm. His she-wolf—his mate—was safe and unharmed.
Tucker reluctantly let Jo go and transferred his sword to his shield-hand. He hurried to the male with the bullet lodged in his brain and crouched next to him.
Would the vamps have gone after Jo next?
He flipped the Dádhe to his stomach, disturbed but not surprised to find Daimhín’s crest burned into his nape.
