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“I’ve got one,” I heard him say.  “She was alone but running.  Get a car here, quick.”

Like hell.

I shook my head again and pulled hard.  His grasp slackened, and I almost lost my fajita but the pull worked.  I’d gained what I needed.  Clarity returned in time for me to see the man fall to his knees.  I punched him in the face.  Twice.  Then grabbed the phone from his hand.  The man blinked at me stupidly.

Across the street, someone was yelling.  I ignored that and put the phone to my ear.

“Who is this?”

“This is Blake,” a man politely said on the other end.

I saw red.

“Who is this?” he asked.

“Hi, Blake.  Not nice to meet you.  My name is Isabelle, and I’m out for your blood.”

He laughed.

“So refreshingly honest, Isabelle.  I am truly sorry about your loss,” he said, becoming serious.  “I hope we can meet, so I can apologize in person.”

I clenched my fists and looked at the man still kneeling beside me.  He was starting to look a bit too alert.  I pulled again, taking some of the anxious emotions from the people starting to crowd around the café.  The coppery tang of blood coated my mouth, and I spat.

“The human’s death was unnecessary,” Blake said.  “We only wanted to separate you from the filth with which you’ve been traveling so we might discuss the future.”

“The future,” I said.  “Yeah, we have a lot to discuss.  And I’m on my way to you.  But not with your guy here.”

Carlos came around the corner at a run but when he saw me, he stopped and started to shake violently.  Crap.  He was going to go fur.  I glanced around at the people staring at us from the café across the street.  Not good.  This would end with the kind of exposure Bethi didn’t want for the werewolves.

“Gotta go,” I said quickly, then disconnected.

I dropped the phone to the sidewalk, stomped on it, then pulled hard enough that the guy next to me slumped to the ground.  Just as quickly, I pushed everything out.

Hurrying forward, I went to Carlos.  His teeth peeked out from his upper lip as he stared at me.

“You caught me,” I said, cupping his face.

He growled, not at me, but at my bruised and bloody face.  His gaze flicked to the man on the ground behind me.

“No way, Carlos.  You promised me a make out session.”

His gaze shifted back to me, and I tilted my head back, offering my lips.  He didn’t move to meet me, and I couldn’t reach him.  We didn’t have time for his hesitation.  No doubt some idiot had already called the cops.  They were probably snapping pictures.  Carlos needed to find his happy place fast.

“Hey, I’m the one who’s supposed to be playing hard to get, remember?”

I set my hands on his shoulders then jumped up and wrapped my legs around him.

“I feel like a frontwards backpack,” I whispered before touching my lips to his.  It hurt.  And I was pretty sure he tasted my blood.  But I didn’t stop.

After a moment, his arms wrapped around me.  His lips feathered over mine oh so gently, then skimmed over my hot and throbbing cheek.

“We can’t leave him.  He’ll trace our scent back to the others,” Carlos said against my skin.

“We can’t kill him,” I whispered against Carlos’ throat.  He shuddered.  “Too many witnesses.  Take me for a run.  We’ll get a taxi, then go home.”  I pulled back enough to look at Carlos.  His teeth had receded.

His gaze drifted to those around us, then he turned and headed back the way we’d come.  At the street, he didn’t cross but kept going straight.  When I saw a taxi over his shoulder, I whistled—my cheek felt ready to fall off—and waved.  The car pulled over.

“Got your wallet?” I said in Carlos’ ear.

He nodded and set me down.  I got into the back and slid over for Carlos.

“We’d like to see some sights,” Carlos said, pulling out a benny and showing it to the driver.  “What do you recommend?”

I didn’t catch the driver’s answer.  My face was killing me.

Carlos had the driver stop for an Italian ice, just so I could hold something to my cheek and lip.  While he was paying the vendor, the driver quickly asked me if I was okay.  His disinterest belied the question.  No doubt he was just asking to cover himself in case I showed up dead on the news.  So, I told him I’d run into an ex and Carlos had helped me.

The driver didn’t ask any more questions as he showed us the sights.

*    *    *    *

It was late when we got back to the apartment.  Grey was inside waiting for us.

He let me escape to the bathroom while he spoke quietly with Carlos.  I looked in the mirror and winced at my bruised face.  I should have kicked that guy harder.  Despite the Italian ice, I would be looking like a battered woman for a while.

“I have a bag of ice for you,” Carlos said through the closed door.

I opened the door and took the bag from him.

“Thanks.  Are we grounded?”

Carlos stepped aside and let me into the hall where I could see Grey still waited near the door.  He wasn’t smiling.

“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked.

I glanced at Carlos, wondering just how much he expected me to say.  As usual, I couldn’t tell.

“Um, well, Carlos and I went for a run.  We were separated for just a few seconds, and when someone caught me from behind, I thought it was Carlos.  Until that someone spun me around and punched me in the face.  Then, I figured it out.  With my ears ringing, I couldn’t pull right.  The guy called Blake to say he had one of us—”

“How do you know it was Blake?” Grey asked.

“Because I pulled again, knocked the jerk who’d hit me to his knees, and stole his phone.”

“What did Blake say?”

Some of my sass left me as I remembered his apology.

“That he didn’t mean for Ethan to die.  He was lying, though.  I told him we were coming and that I would kill him.”

“All right.  I’ll let you two rest.  Stay inside for the rest of the night.”  Grey left, quietly closing the door behind him.

I turned to Carlos.

“Yep, we’re grounded.”

Carlos wasn’t amused.  At least, I didn’t think so.

“Come on, big guy.  Let’s go to bed.  I’m beat.”

Grinning at my pun, I held the bag of ice to my face and walked back to the bedroom.

Seventeen

Several times during the night, a cool cloth pressed against my cheek as I lay in the circle of Carlos’ arms.  Each time, his care brought a drowsy smile to my lips before I drifted back to sleep.

In the morning, I woke alone and stretched slowly.  My face hurt, but it was nothing new and nothing to cry about.  I’d been hit hard plenty of times in my life.  And each incident was my own fault.  This time was no different.  I shouldn’t have played quite so hard to get.

“Good morning, Isabelle.”

I looked over at the bedroom doorway.  Carlos stood there, dressed for the day in his pressed pants and pastel polo shirt.  His hair was neatly combed, and he looked freshly shaven.  The sight of him made me feel light and happy, and not just because he was holding a plate of food.

“Good morning.”

Patting the bed beside me, I pushed myself up into a sitting position.  He joined me and handed over the plate.  Scrambled eggs and hash browns.

“I’m so glad you can cook,” I said, loading my fork.  “I suck at it, and TV dinners like to go straight to my butt.”

He didn’t say anything.  I paused with my fork halfway to my mouth as I eyed him.  I took my time studying his features, trying to guess at his mood since I couldn’t feel anything, as usual.  Something about his eyes seemed almost sad, but the set of his lips was slightly tight.