She did without question. Heard two sharp retorts, like a car backfiring. Felt the heat of the creature fly over her head. Heard the crunch of its body as it hit the pavement only feet away.
Saw the black liquid that leaked across the wet concrete from the gaping hole that had once been its head.
Her stomach churned, but she swallowed against the rising bile and clenched her fist, calling to fire once again. She wasn't out of the woods just yet, because footsteps approached. Measured, cautious steps.
"Are you okay?"
The voice was accented, but not heavily so— American, she thought. But it was deep and warm, and as soothing as hot chocolate on a winter's night. It was also the voice she'd heard in the bathroom.
She shifted slightly, squinting up against the rain. The stranger stood by her right side, a black-cloaked figure holding a gun he kept aimed at the creature.
"Can you hear me? Are you okay?" he repeated, still not looking at her. Somehow, she found her voice. "Who in hell are you?" She felt more than saw his smile, which was odd. Helen had always been the empathic one, not her.
"What, no hysterical overtures of gratitude?" His tone was light, yet she sensed a hint of curiosity. "Not even a thank you for saving your life?"
"Not until I know who you are and why in hell you're here." Not until she knew if she'd jumped from the frying pan into the fire.
"You may well have done just that," he said, voice suddenly sober. "But believe me, the danger has nothing to do with me." Anyone would have thought she'd spoken aloud. Her fear rose several notches. Light danced across her fingertips, brighter than before, but still nowhere near full-strength. Time, she just needed time.
"You won't need your weapon against me," he said softly. "I didn't save your life just to kill you, believe me."
Right now, she wasn't into believing anyone. Particularly someone who'd conveniently appeared out of the darkness the precise moment that she needed help. Then what did you save it for?"
"Certainly not to hold a conversation with you in the middle of a storm. You want to get up?"
"You want to tell me your name?"
Again, she sensed his smile. "Doyle."
"Doyle what?"
"Doyle Fitzgerald." He glanced down. In the glow of the nearby streetlight, his eyes were blue, but a blue so dark they were almost navy. "Is that leg of yours stopping you from getting up?"
She shook her head and pushed upright. Pain shot up her leg, and she yelped, losing her balance and heading back to the concrete. He grabbed her arm, holding her upright, his touch almost white-hot against her chilled flesh. Once again her vision blurred, and she saw not her blackcloaked rescuer but a dizzying montage of images in which a big black panther was always central.
Though it made no sense, one thing was clear.
Doyle Fitzgerald wasn't exactly human.
Four
Magic burned across Doyle's skin, a touch as warm as her fingers were cold. Fear flitted briefly through the vibrant depths of her eyes, though whether it was fear of him or the situation, he couldn't say. Maybe it was both. Right now, though, it didn't really matter. It was more important that they got out of here. Manarei's usually traveled in pairs. There would be another out there in the darkness, and it would have felt the death of its mate. Somehow, he had to get Kirby into the car without alarming her any further no easy task, he suspected. Especially if she noticed the manarei was beginning to melt away.
He stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the creature. "You need those wounds tended to."
It sounded rather lame, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. He certainly couldn't force her into the car—not when the thrum of magic pulsed between them. Light danced across her fingertips, a gentle play of energy that lit the night with miniature thrusts of lightning. Though he'd never come across anything like it before, one thing was clear: One wrong move and that energy would be aimed at him. And that, he suspected, would not be pretty.
"So you're offering to drive me to the nearest hospital?" She pulled her arm from his grasp and wavered on one leg. "Why?"
"Because you're going to bleed to death if you don't get medical help soon." The emergency room was actually the last place he wanted to take her. There were too many people—and too many forms the manarei could assume.
"And you're what? The local neighborhood watch out on evening patrol? And I suppose you just happened to have a gun handy in the glove compartment." Inferring, no doubt, that he was a crook and up to no good. Once upon a time that might have been true, but not these days. Not since he'd joined the Circle. "Listen, all I'm trying to do is save your ass." Irritation bit through his words. He thrust a hand through his hair and tried to remain calm.
She snorted softly. "Why the hell would you have any interest in saving my arse? You don't even know me."
"But I know a fine ass when I see one, and yours certainly deserves to be saved." His irritation was more obvious this time, and he took a deep breath. Damn it, why was her distrust getting to him? It was more than natural. In her shoes, he probably would have used his magic first and asked questions later. A startled look crossed her face and, for a moment, a smile touched her lips. It transformed her features, thrusting them from pretty to extraordinary.
"Compliments ain't going to get you anywhere, chum." Her tone was still tart, despite the lingering warmth on her lips. Lips he suddenly had great difficulty tearing his gaze away from.