Bewitched (Betwixt & Between #2) - Darynda Jones Page 0,55
That’s not power. That’s most likely an aneurism waiting to happen.”
Roane spoke up. “And you’re sneaking out at four in the morning because?”
“I told you. The messages. One of them is glowing, and I think something is really wrong with male-pattern-baldness guy. I think he’s in trouble, and Percy wouldn’t let me out of the house!” I turned and yelled at Percy through clenched teeth before refocusing on the wolf. “So, I had to sneak out. Also, my hair.”
“Really?” Annette asked, suddenly worried.
“Yes. It was basically dragged through mud. I brushed it but—”
“No, male-pattern-baldness guy,” she replied. “What happened to him?”
“No clue. I think the real question here is, are you two going to help me or not?”
“Get in,” Roane said, his deep voice causing a delicious heat to coil low in my abdomen.
We went around and, after a quick wave to Parris who was still gawking at us, climbed in.
I scooted next to him in the seat so Annette could sit beside me. “How many vehicles do you have?”
“Just the one. This one is a shapeshifter like me.”
I felt my eyes go round.
He laughed softly, his gaze appreciating my naivety a little too vigorously.
I nodded, accepting the fact that people hadn’t often found my gullibility humorous. My dads said it made me adorable. I disagreed. “That was mean. After everything I’ve seen lately, a shapeshifting truck is well within the realm of possibilities.”
We sat idling for a solid thirty seconds before I raised a questioning brow.
“Seatbelts,” he commanded.
“Oh.” We scrambled to get them on while then I gave him the address. He knew the area.
Annette crossed her arms over her chest. “I still can’t believe you went on a mission and almost got killed without me.”
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
“That’s so incredibly lame.”
Brutal honestly had never been an obstacle for her.
The question of how Roane knew where to find me hadn’t even occurred to me until that moment. “Did Percy tell you?” I asked him.
“Tell me what?”
“Where to find me?”
“He was there, too?” Annette asked, now thoroughly miffed.
I smiled. “In wolf form.”
Roane cast us a sideways glance, then another when we both gazed at him dreamily. “No, I was . . . already out.”
Annette gasped. “Running with your pack?”
“Something like that.”
“Wait.” A thought occurred to me. “Do you have, like, a wolf mate?”
One corner of his sculpted mouth slid up. “Jealous?”
I snorted. “No. Maybe. How’s her hair?”
“Furry. And, no. I do not have a wolf mate.”
Relief flooded my chest cavity. I would never be a homewrecker. Or a den-wrecker as it were. Either way. I sucked in a soft breath when something else occurred to me. I turned to Annette and whispered, “I wonder if he can have cubs.”
She pointed at me and nodded.
“Wolf,” he said, reminding us. “Excellent hearing.”
Wincing, I shut up as he turned onto a side road.
“It’s just up here.”
I felt it before we stopped. Cold. Pain. Fear.
Roane pulled onto a dirt drive. It was so dark, the narrow column of foliage seemed to go on forever, but a few seconds later, we pulled up to a rustic house.
I didn’t wait. I unbuckled my belt and was over Annette and out the door before he’d stopped completely.
“Defiance!” she yelled.
But I took off, tripping on the uneven ground as I went. After fumbling with my phone, I finally managed to get my light on and held it out as I followed the pain. It stole my breath.
“Defiance,” Roane said, following behind me. He caught up easily, took my arm, and pushed me behind him. “I smell blood.”
“Oh, my God. He’s hurt.”
We eased around an old detached garage that had probably been a barn at one time. An old muscle car sat out back next to with a small crane that lifts engines.
“Can you see?” I asked him.
“Everything,” he said.
“That’s so cool.” Annette joined us in the dark.
I took her hand. We stole around the car, and there he was, Mr. Leonard Quinn, lying unconscious on the ground with a seven-hundred-pound engine on his leg.
I rushed over and knelt beside him. He was unconscious. “Mr. Quinn?”
His eyelashes fluttered open. Though his cinnamon hair was indeed thinning, he was much younger than I thought he would be. Stocky with a boyish face, he was maybe in his late thirties.
I quickly assessed the scene around me as Roane examined the motor. The chain on the small lift had broken and somehow the motor had ended up on top of him. I could see by the disturbed ground on his