Page 5 of Shift in the Blood
The woman gaped at me.
“It’s the least I can do,” I said, my voice smooth and calm.
She nodded.
I scooped Clara Manning into my arms, my heart finding its rhythm, still shaky after all the years of lack of use.
My. Heart. Beat. In. Rhythm. With. Another.
With the human in my arms.
“Merde,” I said as I sped from the museum.
Chapter Three
Clara
Asense of light and darkness moved in front of me, but I was tired, and it was too much trouble to even lift my head. Cold air passed over me, but again. Too tired.
“You’re safe,” a smooth, soothing voice said. “I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”
Again? I was hurt before? “Wha…” I began.
“No, don’t try to sit up. We’re not safe yet,” the smooth voice said into my ear. Despite the cold around me, the voice warmed me, comforted me.
I wanted to wrap myself in that voice like a cape, and curl into bed.
* * *
It was later. I knew that much before I even opened my eyes. My mouth felt dry and stale; the bed wasn’t my own.
And my cheek hurt. A lot.
Time to assess the situation, the damage, whatever.
I opened my eyes.
There was a man in the shadows, and at the movement of me just opening my eyes, he was at the bedside. His face looked familiar…
Didier Hugo.
I’d gone to meet him last night at the Stonewell Museum to see the Laferriere exhibit. For a job. He wanted me to paint.
The memory hit me like a one-two punch.
He wanted me to paint copies of the six newly discovered—or newly liberated from some art hoarder’s collection—Timothee Laferriere paintings.
Because he planned to steal them.
Had I just imagined it all?
No. I hurt too much for this to be my imagination.
What had happened next? My hand went to my cheek, fingers careful. I didn’t know what I would find.
“The man who attacked us managed to cut your cheek,” the man with the smooth voice spoke. He sounded as though he was right next to my ear.
“I have a scar?” It was difficult to speak. My throat was raw and sore, “Was I screaming?”
