He swings around, and as he grabs for me, I notice the bullet hole marring the perfection of his crisp white sleeve. I’m falling, so he misses.
My ass hits the ground harder than I was expecting. My teeth clash together from the jarring impact, but I do what I didn’t do in the attic. I keep hold of my gun because I’m going to kill Rylan with it.
I will not drop it.Ever.
A crescendo of snarls and growls ring out behind me. Wolves are fighting. Who? Don’t know. Don’t care. Rylan needs to die. Now.
I lift my gun in a two-handed grip, aim right at Rylan’s face, and fire.
Pop.
A hole eats into the side of the car. It comes from up high, so I know it wasn’t me. Is someone shooting from an upstairs window?
Don’t care.
I fire again.
The smell of something burning, of coppery blood, and of the tang of acrid sweat and fear—mine and Sam’s—fills all my senses.
I’m shooting at Rylan, but he’s still coming, a dark sneer on his face as he reaches for me.
A bullet tears into his shoulder. Again, not me. He yanks his arm back, snarling at someone up high.
Yep, someone is in an upstairs window.
I dig my heels into the grass and push away from him. At no point do I ever stop firing.
How the fuck do I keep missing? He’s right fuckingthere.
Pop.
A small red circle blooms on the shoulder of his perfect shirt. A shirt that probably costs as much as someone’s car does.
Stop thinking and shoot.
I shoot.
And I miss. It’s like the fucking tree all over again.
He grips his shirt, tears it off, and then suddenly, I’m staring down a wolf with furious glinting blue eyes.
I remember Simon Trevor. I remember Nathan closing his teeth around Simon’s neck and snapping it down.
Crack.
That sound.
Why can’t I stop thinking about that sound?
My hand is shaking.
Sound.
Someone from behind me drives a bullet into Rylan’s shoulder and he stumbles as he smacks into the side of the Mercedes.
“Everyone could do with grounding, Jane,” Harley’s voice slinks through my mind.
I cling to those words, and what he said before them.