Page 6 of Sapphire Flame
Natalie plucked her client’s purse from off the small round table next to the oversized chair and handed it to the woman. “We have to reschedule, Terry. I have an emergency.”
“But what about Jim’s investment?”
Natalie spoke as she turned around to the cupboard behind her. “Sorry. Can’t help you right now. I gotta go save someone. We’ve talked enough about Five Bridges for you to have a basic understanding of our world.”
She opened a cabinet door and secured her Glock and holster. She’d had too many intruders over the years not to be armed.
She buckled her holster over her silk smock. She wore leggings and flat shoes. Not the best gear to go into the cactus-infested Graveyard. But it would have to do. At least she could levitate.
Though she was a strong futurist, she rarely consulted her gift on her own behalf. Knowing the future could be a real pain in the ass, something she avoided like the plague. She gave wolves a wide berth as well.
“Go home, Terry. I’ll be in touch. Lock the door behind you.”
She was levitating by the time she reached the door of her studio. She heard Terry’s protests trailing after her, the usual something about how she’d paid ‘good money’, blah, blah, blah.
Natalie resisted the urge to flip her off.
She flung her studio door wide, scanned the skies then shot into the air.
~ ~ ~
Grant kept the battle away from the woman. She’d passed out again, thank God, but he had no confidence she’d make it. She’d lost a helluva lot of the red stuff. He’d even gotten a heavy swathe of her blood pouring down his arm when he tried to lift her out of the Graveyard. But the wolves had returned for another attack and he’d set her back down on the ground, so he could face her attackers again.
The three rogue wolves in front of him were Neo-Nazi skinheads which seemed like putting a cliché on a cliché. Each had lengthening muzzles which meant they intended to shift. They were also hopped up on a variety of flame drugs evidenced by the different colors of flames on their necks and cheeks. The problem was, given the level of drugs, if they shifted, Grant would be up shit creek. He could battlemano-a-manosince he had a blade on him. But he doubted he could survive a three-wolf onslaught in full fur.
They’d brought the woman to the Graveyard, so they could do what they wanted without being seen. The Graveyard, a no-man’s-land that separated all five territories, was a dumping zone for Five Bridges, and was meant to keep the territories separated. Debris of all kind littered the rocky, weed-and-cactus strewn ground.
The dying woman had blue flames all over her body. Grant had no doubt she’d been shot up with sapphire flame, but why? She’d been mauled, not used for her futurist expertise, which was the general purpose of the drug these days for gifted fae.
The wolves began to spread out.
More fur appeared.
A string of foul words shot through his head.
This crew had been working together awhile. They had a strategy and liked making war. They liked hurting women as well. His rage kicked up a notch sending another cozy flood of adrenaline through his veins.
The wolf on Grant’s left shifted his gaze for a split-second. “What the fuck?”
A gunshot stunned the airwaves. The wolf went down with a hole in the middle of his chest, dead as soon as he hit the ground.
Grant had served as a Border Patrol officer for almost the entire six years he’d been in Five Bridges. He didn’t bother to look at who’d come to support him. All he knew was he had reinforcements and his battling instincts kicked in.
He levitated, added a thrust of power and aimed for the wolf in the center. He hit his chest square and the pair of them flew back about ten feet. The wolf landed on broken up concrete. Hard.
Grant heard the crack, levitated off the dying wolf and turned to face the last assailant. He half expected his support personnel would fire off another shot, but realized he was caught in-between.
No problem. He’d take the third one out himself. Hell, he wanted to. He’d needed a battle after Kryder’s beating.
Emerald flames pulsed on the wolf’s face as well as blue, and he came at Grant screaming, but no weapon in hand. When he got close, Grant reached across the man’s chest, grabbed his opposite arm at the elbow, levitated and jerked the wolf through the air. The man landed not far from the broken-up cement but was on his feet in a flash. The flame drugs always added a meth-like quality of increased wolf strength.
But Grant hadn’t served on the Border Patrol or answered every dominance fight without a ‘hell, yeah’. He worked out and kept his muscles tight and toned. He sparred with hand-to-hand as well as swords. Plus, this wolf was drugged-up and out-of-control. His kind relied on numbers, which he’d just lost.
When the wolf rushed him again, Grant levitated, flipped through the air and came down behind him. He used both arms to encase the wolf’s neck then twisted with a firm, familiar grip.
The resulting crack sent the wolf crumpling to the ground.
“Need help over here.” An unfamiliar woman’s voice called to him.
