Page 12 of The Way You Bite
Chapter Four
“Duck.” Eric swerved and pushed Lexan toward the passenger window. Two bullets whizzed through the windshield on a failed trajectory for Lexan’s head.
Lexan leaned around his seat to assess the truck closing in behind them. He rolled down his window. “Give me your gun.”
“No, I’m not giving you my gun so you can lean out the window like you’re James Bond. Last time, you shot my foot.”
True. He sucked with guns. Give him a knife or sword and he could kill anything. “That was ten years ago. Who’s James Bond?”
“You’re shitting me, right? British Spy?”
“Have I met this spy? I’m not a fan of spies. They’re duplicitous.”
“I can’t believe you don’t know James Bond. Movie character? He’s fictional.” Eric swerved to avoid another round of bullets. “Forget it. I’ll get the movies on the iPad. Get down. I’m getting you out of here.” Eric yanked out his cell and auto-dialed, keeping the phone on speaker. “TC, you boys got these assholes?”
“We authorized to use lethal, sir?” asked TC.
“They just tried to assassinate Lexan. Take the motherfuckers out. If you feel you can get anything out of them, then interrogate, but leave nothing for the police.” He squealed the SUV into an abrupt left. The car leaned hard, struggling to stay on all four wheels.
Behind them, their attacker’s truck crashed into a telephone pole, with two flat back tires.
“I wouldn’t have missed,” Lexan muttered while gazing at the smashed truck in the side view mirror until it was far behind them.
“It wasn’t worth the risk of you getting your head blown off.” Eric slammed his hands against the steering wheel. “That’s twice the Squad has attempted to assassinate you since we set foot in this country twenty-four hours ago.” He wove through streets at dizzying speed.
“We knew the risks were high in coming here.” Lexan hoped his tone hid the fury seething in his brain. Running into a vampire at the airport after their plane landed had been rotten luck. Since then the Squad had been on their ass.
Lexan sank into the plush SUV seat. Intense violence whipped around inside his head, mixed with surprise. This was real give-a-shit emotion. He hadn’t experienced much beyond exhaustion bordering on apathy in eons, which had signaled him close to the dreaded ennui. He liked it. This gift was because of her.
Eric braked hard to a complete stop, whiplashing them both. He angled to face Lexan. “Look, I believe in fulfilling promises, but not at the risk of your life. This is suicide. You dead is a house of cards. There will be an all-out massacre to avenge your death, and then we’re back to global war. Well, without the whole freedom-from-slavery ideal of the Forty Years’ War. You may not believe your people care about your fate, but believe me, Your Majesty, they do. They would rise to avenge you. All of them. I want you out of this country tonight. We’re good at protecting you, but there are too many hostiles here. Someone’s got the inside track on your location, or a witch with precognition abilities is freakishly accurate.”
Lexan blinked against sudden fatigue. Should he be flattered his people might rise up in his defense? They’d use his death as an excuse to initiate the war many in other countries craved to wage against vampires. He rubbed his forehead, longing to escape the political crap. For too long he’d wished he could walk away. Maybe even stand in front of the next bullet headed for his head and end everything. For the past year, he’d dreamed of living out the rest of his days somewhere quiet where his people weren’t always relying on him to purport profound insight on whatever momentary minutia gripped them. Free of assassination attempts. Free of tricky negotiations with vampires. Free of every wolf family angling to marry off a daughter, niece, or cousin to him.
The strong emotion of moments ago vanished, leaving indifference.
Panic ensued. He needed to feel something. Anything. He waited.
Feel something.Feel something…
Nothing.
Damn it. Eric needed him to be upset about yet another murder attempt. He was not at ennui.
He dredged up the memory of his ex-wife after her second contracted assassination attempt a half century ago, something he did when he feared himself close to ennui. He’d gone to confront her and order she desist hiring assassins to kill him, but their son prevented the conversation.
His eight-year-old had glared at him. “Why are you here? You stopped loving Mom and me long ago.”
“Ryder, I have never and will never stop loving you. Your mother and I, though, are no longer on the same page.”
“We don’t want to see you again. Mom said you wouldn’t be here anymore. That’s the way it should be. You left us. You’re not coming back.”
A feline smile spanned her lips. “You abandoned us.”
Lexan ignored her. “Ryder, I never left you. I want to see you, but your mother prevents me. Your mother tried to hurt my friends and me today. I’m here to speak with her.”
“It’s your fault everything is like it is now. Mom would never hurt anyone.” He shot her an adoring gaze. He puffed up as if ready to fight in defense of his self-centered mother. “Leave us alone.”
“You will always be my son.” Lexan knelt at his son’s eye level. He reached for Ryder, but his son batted away his hands.
