“I’m not telling you anything.”
He backhanded her across the face. Her head snapped back from the blow, and she fell against the cushions.
“Here’s the thing. You will tell me what I want to know eventually. You can do it after being beaten bloody or before. It’s your choice.”
Her cheek flamed, and she didn’t doubt the sincerity of his threat.
“You tell me where he is.”
Even with a watering eye, her vision wasn’t completely blurred, and she saw Bronze. He stood naked in the doorway, his wet hair dripping water. He looked like a Viking berserker, the dagger in his right hand slick with blood.
It felt as though she stared at him forever, but it must have only been seconds. She dragged her eyes away to look around and realized there were only two ventala left in the house with her. The fake sheriff bared his fangs and grabbed her. Teeth scraped her neck. Her mouth opened in a silent scream.
She saw Bronze’s eyes, dark with fury, as he sailed through the air. The sheriff was yanked away from her by the hair, his head snapping back. Her visitor slit the ventala’s throat in a smooth motion while still airborne. He landed nearly silently, turned and drove the dagger down behind the sheriff’s left collarbone. The ventala’s eyes widened as he slammed to his knees, then fell facedown.
Bronze fought the other ventala, dispatching him with equal efficiency, but Bronze didn’t escape unwounded. She gasped at the half-buried knife in his flank. He grimaced and slid the blade out on a river of blood.
“Oh no!” she said, struggling to her feet.
When she reached him, she saw other wounds. A slice through his left shoulder that gaped open when he moved, a hole in his left thigh, a slice along his hip. He rested the dagger on the couch and sank to his knees holding the gushing flank wound.
She fumbled for the keys on the sheriff’s belt, her hands damp with sweat. She brought Bronze the keys with shaking hands.
“Can you uncuff me? Then I can help you.”
He groaned. “My back isn’t the only thing that hurts now.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Oh God,” she said, wincing. Please let the bleeding stop!
He took the keys. “Small shackles,” he murmured. “Delicate like your wrists.”
The cuffs popped open, and she turned back to him. He forced himself to a standing position, panting for breath. He bent forward so that the front of his body rested on top of the couch, then he rolled over it so he lay lengthwise.
“Come here, Kate.”
“Where the hell’s my phone? I have to call an ambulance,” she said, searching frantically.
“No, stay close,” he said, grabbing her hand. “I want—”
“Yes?” she asked, leaning over him.
“Stay with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said softly, squeezing his hand. He looked so vulnerable. Waves of tenderness crashed over her. Don’t let me lose him. “I just need to call for help. Lie still.”
He shook his head. She tried to pry her hand free of his grip, but couldn’t. He drew her arm to him, tugging the rest of her with it. “I want you close.”
“I promise I’ll come right back.”
“I won’t hurt you. I swear.”
What? Is he confused from losing so much blood? God, I need to hurry. “I’m not worried about that! You’re bleeding to death! Can’t you feel it? There’s no time to waste.”
He tugged her closer, shifting so he lay sideways. She tried to yank herself free, but he was still ridiculously strong. He positioned her against him, and at least he didn’t feel cold.
“This is crazy. You’re going to die.”
“Not today,” he said, and his breathing, which had been shallow and short, slowed to an even rhythm. His arm pressed against her back, and through her clothes, she felt his groin, which apparently wasn’t dead yet.