Page 2 of Meant for Her

Then, as if someone had tossed teargas into their cabs, all of the men, wearing red or blue bandanas over their faces, jumped out of the two trucks. What the hell were they doing? He doubted they were getting out to change the tire he’d hit.

In what looked like a choreographed movement, they lifted their guns at the same time and sprayed a line of bullets at both of them. One hit Luke in the arm and another in his thigh.Motherfucker, that hurt.

As a werewolf, the wounds would heal, but his injuries would prevent him from fighting at maximum efficiency.

Luke slowed and then glanced at the long line of cars. No one was stopping or even seemed to have taken notice of the drama unfolding a few hundred feet down the sloping hillside. Since it was lightly snowing, the car windows would be closed.

Ryan stopped, jumped down from Zeus, and then shooed his horse away.

“What are you doing?”Luke telepathed him.

“I can heal from a bullet, but Zeus might not survive. I’m not losing him.”

That was smart thinking. Luke lifted his leg to dismount, and his knee gave way. He met the ground with a thud. “Go on, Atlas. Follow Zeus.”

Thankfully, his horse trotted off toward a line of trees several hundred feet away. If he’d had time, that’s where he would go, but unfortunately, all six men were running at them, spraying more bullets in their direction.

Ryan yelled and dropped his gun. When Luke glanced over at his brother, he was holding his right wrist, blood spurting out. That looked bad, especially since it was his shooting hand.

Mustering his reserve energy, Luke rose to his knees and fired at the two men in front. He hit one in the shoulder and another in the side, but it didn’t seem to affect them. They kept on racing toward them. By now, Luke could sense their werewolf signatures.

If the funeral procession hadn’t still been going, he would have shifted and torn out at least one of their throats. If he had managed that feat however, there was a high probability that he and Ryan would have died in the ensuring battle.

Ryan scrambled for his gun and picked it up with his left hand. He popped off a few more shots before all six men reached them.

Three men descended on Luke—two of whom hadn’t been injured, and the other three attacked Ryan. Ignoring the ache in his thigh, Luke stood. He did a sideways kick to one of men’s gut and immediately punched another in the face. Both men grunted but kept fighting back. The third man who hadn’t been shot, ran to Luke’s backside and put him in a chokehold while the other two pummeled Luke’s face and stomach.

He kicked when he could, but his air was being cut off, draining him of energy. The next punch to his face made his world turn black.

* * *

“Malia. Two gurneys incoming,” the dispatcher announced. “Both patients have multiple gunshot wounds and were severely beaten.”

She looked around to see if anyone was free to help them since her shift was about to end, but the other nurses were dealing with their own situations. Oh, well. One more case wouldn’t kill her.

“I’ll get ready.” This sounded bad. Her heart rate elevated, Malia Granger rushed to her emergency room station to prepare for them.

She was gathering some bandages, a saline drip, and anything else she thought the injured men would need when they were rolled into her area. She stilled, her senses rocketing to high alert.Wolves?What the hell were they doing in a human hospital? Their ability to heal abnormally fast would draw the attention of the human nurses and doctors who had no idea her kind even existed.

Before she would decide what to do, Malia wanted to see what condition they were in. She highly doubted they came here voluntarily. When she turned around to assess their injuries, conflicting emotions bombarded her. One was a strong ache from seeing their swollen and bruised faces, along with the gunshot wounds. The other was lust. Streaks of pleasure were coursing through her veins, which was totally unwarranted and certainly inappropriate.

The only logical explanation was that Malia must be exhausted after working back-to-back shifts. She obviously confused that erotic emotion with another.

“Malia?” the paramedic said.

“Oh, yes. What are their vital signs?” Spacing out was the worst thing an Emergency Room nurse could do.

One rattled off the men’s blood pressure stats and respiration rate. The other stated that the man in the tattered green jacket had two gunshot wounds, one to his upper left bicep and another to his right thigh. His knuckles were swollen and bruised, and his pant leg was torn.The man wearing the beige jacket had three injuries—one to his right wrist, one to his lower abdomen, and the third bullet had pierced his left calf. “No vital organs were hit.”

“That’s good.” Though only if they’d been hit in the heart would there be permanent damage—as in death.

“Who called it in?” Not a werewolf, that much she could guess.

“I did,” said a voice she knew quite well.

Midvale’s Sheriff Hanson strutted in. Malia ran into him quite often since she worked at Midvale Hospital. She put him a bit shy of fifty. While he was former military, the sheriff could stand to work out a bit more.

“Sheriff. Do you know who they are?”

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