Page 33 of Blood Bearon
One moment, she was being carried out the front door unwillingly by Khove, the next, sailing through the air surrounded by shards of glass, wood, bits of cinderblock and more. A burst of fire reached out and slapped them down into the front windshield of a parked car on the other side of the street.
Rachel groaned, her entire body aching. A tremendous ringing in her ears drowned out any sound. Slipping off the car, she stood on wobbly feet, staring at the remains of the restaurant as flames licked at the roof through the blown-out windows, a thunderous inferno raging at the heart of the building.
It was an inferno she would have been incinerated in, if it weren’t for Khove. He had saved her life. Twice—in a span of seconds. The world spun and Rachel slipped to the ground, pain from dozens of injuries overwhelming her brain and sending her spiraling into a blissful darkness that reached up to hug her like an old friend.
“Rachel!”
She blinked awake, realizing she could hear her own name being called.
A huge figure loomed over her, mostly shadow, his outline visible against the flames raging behind him.
“Rachel, are you okay?”
His voice was faint, like she was hearing him through earplugs. Reaching up, she tried to remove them, but there was nothing there.
“It’s the explosion,” the figure said. “Your hearing should return, but there’s nothing you can do about it.”
She nodded. “Ow. That hurt. I’ve never landed on a windshield before.”
Khove shook his head. “You still haven’t. That was me you landed on,” he said with a wry smile, helping her to her feet. “It just felt that hard because of my muscles,” he joked.
Rachel laughed, the shaking igniting a dozen protests from her body, and she winced.
“Are you hurt?” Khove asked, looking her over even as she shook her head.
“I’m fine. Nothing serious,” she said, grabbing his hand and holding it when he tried to take it back. “Thanks to you, I’m okay.”
“All in a day’s work.” Then he drew himself up tall, puffing out his already impressive chest to new proportions. “See,” he chortled happily. “Bodyguard.”
Rachel groaned. “I’m never going to hear the end of that. Am I?”
In the distance, sirens flared to life. Fire and EMS would be there soon.
“Any signs of the perps?” she asked.
“Um, no. I, uh, I was a bit too busy to go after them,” Khove admitted, sounding genuinely sheepish. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry!” she gasped. “How are you sorry? If it wasn’t for you, that bomb would have killed us both.”
Khove didn’t respond.
Suddenly, she yelped and spun him around as her memory came crashing back. “Khove! Your back. The bullets. You’re hurt!”
She looked over his back, terrified he was somehow only standing because of adrenaline. The bomb had fried her brain there for a bit, drawing her focus to that, and away from the fact that he’d leapt in front of the hail of bullets. There was nowayhe hadn’t been hit.
Try as she might though, looking through the tattered remnants of his shirt where the bomb had blasted at it, she couldn’t find anything but half a dozen ugly bruises.
“You didn’t get shot?” she asked incredulously. “How is that possible?”
Khove shrugged. “I’m fine, trust me,” he said, turning and taking her hands, preventing her from inspecting him any further. “Trust me, I’m fine.”
Rachel was shaking. “The bomb. The bullets. You jumped off a two-story building with me in your arms. Khove, what’s going on?” she asked, looking up at him, his eyes glowing in the firelight.
It was then that she realized he brought a hand up to her face, holding it steady, its thumb brushing against her cheek.
“Khove,” she whispered, suddenly feeling very, very small in his arms. “Khove, what’s going on?”
“I’m a bodyguard, remember?” He looked down at her, the fierceness of his words reflected upon his face. “I protect people.”
