and shot from his nostrils and mouth with golden fire. He stared at Poppy, anguish etched in his face. “You were mine too. You could have been like me.”
A strange sensation of loss filled her, and then the demon exploded in a burst of smoke and fire.
The explosion sent thick chunks of ice through the air and knocked her and Win down along with it. Apep’s final roar rippled through the night. And then he was gone, so abruptly that it almost felt as though Poppy had dreamed the whole thing. Exhaustion hit her in the same instant, and she sank back with a sigh. Her heart beat a steady but hard rhythm in her chest, the strain of using her power weakening her as always.
For a moment, she simply breathed, then Win’s boots came into view. Her eyes traveled up the long length of his lean form until she met his gaze. A greenish tint colored his skin, and beads of perspiration dotted his brow. His hands shook, though she could see his effort to keep them still.
“How did you know who he was?” Her voice was even, despite the shiver of fear that ran through her. Win could have been killed. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about that before. The knowledge ran in cold spirals down her back now.
He turned his head, giving her his scarred profile as he examined the small mountain of melting ice before them. A soft breeze lifted the ends of his hair and tossed them around his strong profile. “A little research never hurts one’s case.”
A flicker of amusement lurked in his eyes when he turned back to her. But she could see how very pale he was and the way he swayed on his feet. “Have you an entire arsenal tucked beneath your shirt, then?”
“Not an entire one,” she said, matching his light tone. “I’ve a few things in my pockets as well.”
His lips curled, but the smile was tremulous and hard won. “You’re late.”
Laughter burst from her, choked and abrupt. “I ought to be. You drugged me, you bastard.”
The very notion of his high-handedness had her seeing red. Only the greater part of her could not help but think bravo, and well done. For she would have done the same to him, had she thought of it. Win was a shrewd bastard when he wanted to be. That he’d thought to put the drug inside the cream buns had been particularly devious.
She’d been livid when she’d awakened. But, true to his promise not to keep anything from her again, he’d left her a note explaining where he was and how he had to trick Isley. Like a consummate gambler, Win had left so much to chance, but he’d done it with such finesse that her heart swelled with pride.
His breath gurgled. “I thought you might… appreciate… that.” Then he fell to his knees.
“Win?” She pushed up, scrambling toward him. Her arms caught him before he hit the ground. She’d forgotten about his wounds. A crimson stain spread out across his ravaged white shirt. “Win!” She ripped the shirt farther open. Holes punctured his flesh and a thick chunk of melting ice was embedded in his right shoulder. “Oh hell.”
His lashes fluttered. “It appears that I might need a bit of assistance.”
Shaking, she leaned close, resting her hand on the wound and chilling it down. “If you die on me, Winston Lane, I shall kill you.”
His lips tilted. “Don’t worry, sweeting. I live to thwart you.” Then his eyes slid closed.
Chapter Forty-two
One would think after months of convalescing from a werewolf attack, one would at least be accustomed to something so trivial as being impaled by a shard of ice. Well, “one” was not. Win lay on his side and tried not to breathe as he dozed. Despite his haze, a sound at the door brought him to instant attention, every sore and battered muscle screaming in protest.
Someone entered the room. He hoped it was Poppy, but the step was too heavy, and the atmosphere in the room felt off, foreign. Beneath his pillow, his hand curled around the gun he kept there. Heart pounding and his body throbbing with pain, Win remained still. He was too weak to whip about and attack so he had to rely on the element of surprise. The slow footsteps came closer. A buzzing sound filled his ears. His clammy hand held the gun firm.
From beneath lowered lids he watched as a pair of long,