I unlocked my fingers and peeled them away from his flesh, leaving the imprint of my hand on his skin—a lasting reminder of our fight—then took a deep, shuddering breath. It did little to quell the urge to finish what I’d started.
But as my breathing calmed, I became aware of the sounds. Grunts and the smack of flesh against flesh.
The werewolf hadn’t come alone.
Jackson.
I scrambled to my feet, lunged for the biggest piece of splintered wood I could manage, then ran for the door. Jackson fought a man who was little more than a shadow. The two of them appeared evenly matched, going blow for blow, their bodies shuddering under the impact of each hit. Jackson had the mother of a bruise forming under his eye and slashes along his cheeks and arms. The vamp obviously wasn’t afraid to use his nails.
I took a step toward them. The vamp hit Jackson hard, sending him staggering, then spun and ran for me. He was lightning fast, and I really had no time to do anything more than raise the wood.
He didn’t see it. He just ran straight into it.
The jagged edges rammed into his body just below his ribs, and blue fire instantly exploded from the wound, consuming the wood as it rolled across his body.
He screamed, burned, blackened. Fell.
I stepped back and rubbed my arms, my stomach rolling as the pungent scent of burning flesh and meat filled the air. He stopped screaming, stopped writhing, but still the fire consumed him, until there was nothing left but ashes and the cindered remains of the carpet underneath him. At least it was a quick death, and that was probably more than he deserved.
“Damn it, Em,” Jackson growled. “I wanted to question him.”
My gaze shot to his. “It wasn’t like I meant to do that. It was more luck and instinct than thought.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s just damn annoying that every step forward in this case is followed by two steps back.”
“In this particular case, it’s only one step. The other one is still alive.”
“Really? Well done, you.” He thrust a bloodied hand through his hair. “We’d better check Amanda before we interrogate him, though. You want to make that call to the paramedics?”
I followed him into the bedroom to retrieve my phone. Jackson glanced at the werewolf and then back at me. “Damn, that’s a mountain, not a wolf. Very well done, you.”
“The bastard very nearly got the better of me.” I bent to pick up my phone, but that just made the blood oozing from my nose flow faster, and half the screen was covered in an instant. I walked over to the bedside table and grabbed some tissues.
“He didn’t, and that’s all that matters.”
I guess. I shoved the tissues up my nose to help stop the bleeding, then called an ambulance.
“How is she?” I asked when I’d finished.
“She’s still alive.” He tossed me a handkerchief. “It’s clean. You might want to use it on your hand.”
I quickly wrapped it around the cut, but it didn’t do a whole lot. “Let’s hope she remains that way. If the wolf can’t tell us much, she could be our only hope.”
“I can’t imagine your ex is going to allow us to talk to her once he finds out about our adventures here.”
He was right. Sam would close out this avenue of investigation just as surely as he’d closed off Morretti. He might not use a drug to do it, but he didn’t need to. All he had to do was place Amanda under protective custody.
“We could always ring the police rather than him. It might only delay the inevitable confrontation, but it would at least give us some time to question her.”
“It’s worth a shot. But when you do talk to the bastard again, give him a fucking earful about drugging us. Not having our fires could have gotten us both killed today.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And do you think he’d care?”
“Probably not.” He walked around the bed. “Ring the cops. I’ll tie up our thug and do a quick search through the house.”
“It might be a good idea to drag him into another room. If the paramedics arrive before his healing fully kicks in, they’ll want to treat the bastard.”
And while I wasn’t against scum getting medical help when they needed it, after what he’d helped do to Amanda Wilson, a little bit of pain and suffering was the least he deserved. Besides, his wounds were already showing signs of healing.
“That is another good idea.”
“I’m full of them today,” I said, voice dry.
“My usual response to a statement like that is ‘full of shit, more likely.’” He sent a cheeky grin my way. “However, I sincerely desire you in my bed tonight, so I shall restrain the urge.”
“Oh, I’m so glad to hear it.”
He laughed, then grabbed the wolf’s arms and none too gently dragged him into the next room. While he tied up our captive with some wire coat hangers he found in the closet—which, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t have held him for long—I called the cops. With that done, we searched Amanda’s house.
Unsurprisingly, we didn’t find anything useful.
As the distant wail of the approaching ambulance began to cut through the air, Jackson said, “We’re out of time. Let’s go question that wolf.”
I followed him into the back bedroom. The wolf hadn’t moved, but his skin had lost its gray pallor and his breathing seemed easier. If he wasn’t yet conscious, he was damn close to it.
Jackson grabbed a fistful of the wolf’s shirt, pulled him partially upright, then slapped his face. Hard. The sound reverberated through the stillness. “Stop foxing, you furry bastard.”
The wolf made a low sound that seemed to rumble up from the depths of his boots. It wasn’t a particularly dangerous sound, but that he was conscious enough to even do it meant he was a whole lot stronger than I’d presumed. I could have drained him more. Should have drained him more. I crossed my arms and tried to ignore the somewhat angry thought.
After another slap from Jackson, the wolf’s eyes opened into slits and he all but growled, “What?”
“Who sent you here?” Jackson said, voice sharp.
“Sindi—” The wolf’s voice petered out, and he coughed. Blood speckled his lips. I wondered if the cause was internal damage or Jackson’s slap, but I didn’t really care either way.
Jackson shook him. “The sindicati?”
The wolf groaned. Jackson’s expression showed very little in the way of pity. “Why would the sindicati want Amanda Wilson dead?”
“Connected—”
“She’s working for them?” I cut in, though I wasn’t entirely surprised. If Amanda had been an ordinary black widow, surely she would have aimed for millionaires rather than researchers. She certainly had the looks to snag one. And researchers, while very well paid, didn’t make bundles of money, especially those who worked for the military or the government. Or at least, my boss hadn’t.
Unless, of course, it was the thrill of the chase she enjoyed more than anything else.
“Not just them. Subcontractor.” His answer this time was stronger. Clearer.
Angrier.
Jackson’s gaze met mine. “A black widow who subcontracts her services? That’s a new one.”
It certainly was. I returned my gaze to the werewolf. “So the sindicati employed her to keep tabs on Wilson?”
“And report on his research, yeah.” He took a shuddering breath, and I could almost see the tide of strength flush through his body.
“But if that’s the case,” I began, letting sparks dance across my fingertips. It couldn’t hurt to remind him he wasn’t the only nonhuman in the room, even if the sparks were as dangerous as I got right now. “Why were you sent here to kill her?”