Proof of Life (The Potentate of Atlanta #4) - Hailey Edwards Page 0,71
skull.
“This is not how I pictured tonight ending.” Liz scratched Ares’s head. “I banked on the abuse twisting you up, making you doubt yourself. All I needed was a second alone to disappear into the background.” She glared at Ford. “You should have kept your mouth shut.” She flicked her gaze over him. “You just won’t die, will you?”
“Momma expects grandkids.” He shrugged. “I try not to disappoint my momma.”
While Liz bumped her gums, Ares nudged her back, away from us and immediate danger. Uncovenlike behavior by any metric. They tended to attack, brutally, in whatever form guaranteed the most damage to their adversaries. They didn’t tuck tail and run, and I had only ever seen them protect one member above the others, but that had been during battle when they sought the element of surprise.
This wasn’t right. Ares was acting like a gwyllgi defending her mate, not a coven lackey, and that made no sense. None at all. There was no way she was that good of an actor, that she could have faked being Midas’s friend for so long without getting caught out.
“Ares,” I tried reasoning with her. “You don’t have to do this.”
The gwyllgi hung her head but kept backing away slowly, herding Liz behind her.
Ares was still in there. She was in there. Why wasn’t she fighting back?
“Ares,” Midas commanded, his eyes tight when he used his power as beta against her. “Stop.”
A hard shudder wracked her frame, but she slung her head and shook off his compulsion.
“She’s not pack,” he said, dumbfounded. “She couldn’t disobey me otherwise.”
Again, I questioned what we were seeing. And again, I couldn’t shake the sense Ares was present.
There was no other excuse for the deep sorrow in her eyes or the shame in her posture.
Pressing my shoulder against his in a show of support, I asked, “How does that happen?”
“She forsook her alpha,” Liz told me then winked at Midas. “She’s mine now, Beta.”
A soft whine escaped Ares, but she didn’t slow their retreat.
The transformation engulfed Midas, crested and splashed, washed away his humanity and left a beast in a lather standing before us. He lunged for Ares, who rose up to protect Liz, and they clashed with bone-crunching force.
“Bring her down,” I told Ambrose quietly. “Whatever it takes.”
Understanding I meant Liz, who was attempting to flee while Ares distracted us, he streaked across the craggy lot aiming straight for her. He punched through her, inflicting small hurts, but he was too full to slow her down.
Calling him back to me as I ran after her, I dipped my hands into him and retrieved my swords.
Then I prayed I didn’t trip, fall, and skewer myself. I was getting better, but I was no Jedi Master.
As I got within striking distance, an engine rumbled to life, and a truck streaked past me. Liz waited until it got even with her then leapt into the bed as nimbly as a doe. She popped back up, grinning, and waved goodbye before climbing through the window into the cab with the unfamiliar driver.
The truck squealed onto the main road. Next stop, the interstate. After that, I would never catch them.
Pulling on Ambrose’s reserves, I pushed my body to its limits to pace the truck. I brushed the tailgate with my outstretched fingertips, but they glanced off as I rung a pothole with my foot.
A sickening crunch filled my ears, my balance wobbled, and I flung out my hands to stop the fall. I hit the asphalt. Hard. I didn’t look down. I knew my ankle was broken. I could tell because of the loud snap, the agonizing pain, and—oh yeah—the fact my foot was still wedged in the hole a bit too far behind me.
Water poured from my eyes, but I had this much in common with my mother. The tears were borne of rage and fury.
Not fifteen seconds later, Midas skidded to a halt next to me, assessed my injuries while dragging a hand over his mouth, then cursed in a language that I would have found beautiful at any other time.
Crouching beside me, he stabbed the air in front of my nose with his finger.
“Don’t—” he bit off the word, “—move.”
“I didn’t plan on it.” I noticed the phone in his hand. “Who are you calling?”
“Abbott.”
“Grier can fix this,” I whined. “I bet Linus could patch me up too.”
“Abbott can be the judge of that.”
Given how the air vibrated with barely leashed violence, I decided to pick my battles and whispered, “Okay.”