Page 55 of Moon Destiny

But it wasn’t working. She’d lost so much blood, and Seren had already weakened her. There were tiny clusters of burst capillaries around her eyes. He’d tortured her by cutting off her air—and he was a dead man.

Suddenly, Dylan was at my side. He was nude from his shift, and his chest was absolutely covered in blood.

“It’s not mine,” he said quickly. “Tell me what to do.”

“Hold her skin together. That’ll give it a chance to seal.” I had no idea if I was right. Malcolm was the pack medic, and he was currently on four paws with his incisors buried in a man’s neck.

Fuck.

Dylan gently pressed the sides of Brooke’s wound together. But there was so much blood, I couldn’t tell if his efforts were working.

“Here,” a deep voice said at my elbow. Logan, my human COO, tugged his camouflage neck gaiter over his head and handed it to me. “I take it you don’t have to worry about germs?”

“No. And thank you.” I wiped around Dylan’s fingers, clearing Brooke’s blood. Later, I could worry about how I was going to explain things to Logan—and how I was going to defend my decision to involve him in this mess to the Council.

But seriously, fuck the Council. I was done with inaction. Inaction had killed Alex. Inaction had led to Brooke being kidnapped and tortured.

Her breathing was so shallow…

And I was not doing this. Not again.

I seized her face with both hands. “Brooke. Baby. I need you to open your eyes and look at me. I know you’re stubborn and don’t like obeying my orders, but you don’t have a choice on this one.” I threw all my power into my voice, calling up my wolf until I was teetering on the edge of shifting. “Open your eyes right now,” I growled. “Come back to me and I’ll never try to stop you from having a career again. We’ll make it work, sweetheart. I’ll buy the goddamn Dispatch if I have to.” My tears splashed onto her cheeks and nose. Her adorable nose with those maddening freckles. If I never got to see her nose scrunch in thought again, I wasn’t going to live very long. My heart would die with her. It was that simple.

“Open your eyes,” I said. “I love you.” I sucked in air. I was probably squeezing her face too tightly, but I couldn’t help it. I needed her to stay with me. “I love you and it has nothing to do with fate. I’d choose you all over again, totally on my own. I’ll always choose you. Open your eyes.”

Her eyelashes fluttered. I held my breath, my heart fluttering just as wildly.

She opened her eyes. Her lips moved, and I practically broke my neck leaning down to listen. “You are so bossy,” she rasped in my ear.

I scrubbed at my eyes—probably getting blood all over my face in the process—but I needed to see her clearly. My chuckle was more of a watery hiccup. “And you’re stubborn as hell.”

“The perfect couple.”

We smiled at each other. I couldn’t tear my gaze away. Like a lovesick fool, I let myself drown in her sapphire eyes.

Someone politely cleared their throat. I looked up to find Dylan and Malcolm standing side by side. When had Malcolm shifted back?

“We gotta go, boss,” Dylan said, casting an anxious glance at the ex-SEALs who were lifting their fallen comrade’s body as they prepared to carry him outside. Shepherd and another enforcer were already ripping up the carpet. We couldn’t leave any trace of our DNA behind. It would be best if we could torch the whole motel, but that would bring the human authorities in droves.

Dylan continued. “We fired a lot of shots. This place is off the beaten path, but I’m worried about that highway overpass.”

He was right. Every second we lingered risked a passerby calling the cops. I brushed Brooke’s hair off her forehead. “It’s a short drive home. Do you think you can tolerate it?”

“Yes. As long as I’m with you.”

“You are. I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Sounds perfect.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

BROOKE

“So tell me the part where SEAL Team Six rescued us again.”

Hugh looked up from his laptop. He was sitting in a chair in the corner of his bedroom while I reclined on the bed. He wore nothing but a pair of cuffed jogging pants, and his bare feet were propped on an ottoman. It was unfair how hot he was. Not that I was complaining.

Well, maybe I was complaining a little bit. It had been five days since my injury, and he still refused to touch me. He insisted I was weak from blood loss and needed to rest.

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