The Serpent in the Stone - By Nicki Greenwood Page 0,22
you got a nasty surprise coming.”
“Whoa. Jesus. Hold on a second here, mister.” Ian held up his good hand and backed up a step.
“Out with you. This gun’s loaded, ’case you were wondering, and I’ve got no problem usin’ it.”
Ian heard a low growl. He looked behind him with a quickening pulse.
A wolf rounded the corner of the counter near the door, ears flattened and teeth bared in the shop owner’s direction.
MacRae’s eyes bulged. The gun faltered in his hand. “What the hell you doing, bringin’ animals in my shop? Get that thing out o’ here!” He raised his gun again.
The wolf vaulted forward with a snarl and plowed the man over. They barreled into a table, spewing books and stereo equipment that crashed to the floor. Ian heard the shopkeeper scream, but didn’t stop to think. He raced through the gap in the counter into the back room.
Another door stood at the rear of the tiny room. Through its small, filmy window, he saw an alley stretching away. The stone pendant lay on a messy workbench. Ian snatched it up and jammed it into his pocket. He jumped back into the shop doorway, hearing growls and human cries. “Come on! There’s a way out!”
The wolf sprang through the gap in the counter, and they ran for the back door. Ian shoved it open and bolted outside. The wolf’s breath churned behind him as it followed.
Just before they reached the corner of the alley, a gunshot blasted behind him. He ducked instinctively and heard a yip. Ian looked back, but the wolf kept coming. They raced around the corner together and flew down another long series of alleys until he thought they’d escaped their assailant.
He skidded to a stop behind a run-down hotel, clammy with sweat. Fuck! What the hell just happened? He glanced down at himself, shaking with shock. No blood, no bullet holes, holy crap what had he gotten into?
The wolf galloped into the alley, then its forelegs buckled. It somersaulted head over tail and lay still in the dirt.
For a second, Ian bent double, gasping, unable to trust his senses. When the wolf didn’t move, he stumbled toward it.
And then he stopped, because the creature’s outline began to glow. Its shape blurred, changed somehow. He couldn’t be sure what he was seeing. The animal shape stretched, distorted, resolved itself into a prone woman, and then solidified.
Sara. Without a shadow of a doubt this time. His world flipped over, and he felt sick.
She clutched her upper arm with the opposite hand, her eyes shut. “Did we lose him?” she panted.
Ian staggered backward, heaving for breath that wouldn’t come.
She opened her eyes. They faded to hazel, glassy with pain. Even though he’d seen it happen, he wanted to disbelieve it. His skin prickled. The hairs on his arms stood on end.
She labored into a sitting position, then withdrew her bloodstained fingers from her arm. He heard footsteps shuffling down the alley behind them.
Whatever had just happened, an explanation would have to wait. “Come on, you’ve got to get up,” he said. “How bad are you hurt?”
“It’s a scratch. He missed...mostly.” When Ian reached reluctantly for her hand, she pulled it away. “I can get up by myself.”
He hated to admit it, but relief washed through him at her refusal.
She lumbered onto her feet, and they started running again. They emerged from the alley into the street out front, still breathless. She slipped into the crowd and he jogged alongside her.
Sara took off her jacket to examine the bullet wound. She threw the coat under her arm, then clapped her hand over the wound again to staunch the bleeding. “Tell me you got the necklace back.”
“Yeah. Want to tell me why we’re getting shot at for your birthday present?”
“You ask a lot of questions for someone who wants nothing to do with this.”
Fury exploded through him. “I think I have a right to know, Sara!” He scanned the crowd to be sure they weren’t being followed, then stopped walking.
She went a few steps farther, hesitated, and then came back.
Pedestrians and cars alike rushed up and down the street, minding their own business. Ian reached into his pocket and held up the necklace, lowering his voice to a hostile whisper. “If I’m going to be shot at, I should damn well know what you are, and what this is. I’m not playing games with my life, and you aren’t, either.” When she reached for the necklace, he jerked it out of