"Can you get up?"
Trina nodded, but her movements were weak, and she seemed unable to find any purchase on the floor tiles. Swearing softly, Kirby tucked her arms under the woman's shoulders and hauled her upright. Trina whimpered and went limp. Grunting under the sudden impact of her weight, Kirby gritted her teeth and struggled to keep them both upright.
The manarei's snarl made her look up. The net was flickering, its power fading. She reached desperately for more energy and for several seconds the net flared brightly. Then the pain in her head kicked in full strength, and the net continued to fade. There was nothing more she could do to hold it. The manarei wrenched an arm free, its claws slashing the air, a chilling indicator of what it intended once it was free.
Fear surged, threatening to stifle her. She had a minute, maybe less, to get out of here. The energy was fading fast, trickling away from her control as quickly as time. She began dragging Trina from the room.
She'd almost reached the hall when the manarei broke free of its bonds. Red-hot knives of agony tore through her brain, and she gasped, dropping to her knees. Tears filled her eyes, but it was the pain in her head that blurred her vision. She couldn't see. Didn't need to. The air seemed to scream with the manarei's closeness.
She called desperately to the fire, but the knives dug deeper, burning white-hot through her entire body. She gasped, doubling over, pain pounding through her head and body. She couldn't move, couldn't even defend herself, let alone Trina.
She closed her eyes. Doyle's image swam before her, his blue eyes rich with warmth and caring—something she would not now have the chance to explore. And for that, I'm sorry...
A door slammed open to her right, and two quick shots filled the silence. Flesh slapped against the flooring, hitting hard enough to vibrate the old boards.
For several heartbeats, nothing moved. Not her, not the manarei and not whoever it was who'd come through the door.
"Kirby, are you hurt?" Doyle said into the silence. Relief swept through her, so intense it snatched her voice away. He was okay, and so was she.
"Damn it, answer me. Are you hurt?
His voice was sharp with anger and concern, but right then, she'd never heard a sweeter sound. She shook her head, but even that small movement sent the madmen in her head into overdrive.
"I held the creature in an energy net," she ground out. "Something I've never tried before. It hurt like hell." Was still hurting like hell.
"Camille? Need your help in here."
Boot heels echoed across the floorboards. He knelt beside her, something she felt rather than saw. Her vision was still blurry, and the pounding ache in her head was so bad she felt like throwing up.
"I thought I told you to stay in the car," he chided softly. Warmth brushed across her cheek as he thumbed away a tear.
"I thought I told you to call for help if you ran into a manaref?" His smile shimmered through her. He touched her hand, fingers twining around hers. Touche. Are you able to move? We really have to get out of this house in case the neighbors have called the cops."
She nodded carefully. The last thing she needed right now was another three hour session with the disbelieving detective. "What about Trina?"
"We take her with us," Camille said from the doorway. "I'll just splint that arm first."
"Don't suppose you've got anything in your magic box to cure a psi-blinding headache?" Doyle asked.
Psi-blinding headache? There was a technical term for this sort of pain?
"Not on me, no." Camille said, her sharp voice close. "I have something back at the office, if you want to follow us."
"Is that safe with the murderer still on the loose?" Doubt echoed through his soft tones.
"Got no other choice. We can't exactly take either of them to the hospital right now, can we?"
"No."
'Then just make sure neither of us is tailed."
Trina's weight was lifted from her, then she was picked up and cradled close to Doyle's chest. This time she didn't fight. This time, she simply enjoyed the warmth of his arms around her, the tight sense of security that ached through her heart.
He carried her out of the kitchen. She blinked against the sudden brightness, her eyes watering again. She swiped a hand across her eyes, but her vision was still blurred. His face was little more than a wash of skin and dark hair. But she didn't need to see him when his arms were wrapped so tightly around her, and his scent—a rich mix of muskiness, pine and masculinity—tingled across her senses and warmed her deep inside.
"Have I ever mentioned the fact you smell nice?" She leaned her head against his chest and listened to the rapid pounding of his heart. It was a rhythm matched by her own.
His laugh rumbled through her. "No, I don't believe you have. And this is a rather strange time to mention it."