Page 34 of Chained
And then Edge let go and collapsed to his belly.
Terry, trained to assess a situation instantly, took note of several things. Ms. Stroman stood back several feet, laughing as if this were high comedy. Edge’s brothers surged forward but stopped, both of them clearly torn over their allegiances. And Whitaker reached into his pants pocket with his good hand and pulled out a handgun. He raised the weapon, pointed it at Edge’s motionless head, and—
Terry tackled him.
He didn’t actually hear the gun fire, which was odd, but he certainly felt the bullet tear into his abdomen. The pain was distant, however. More important was wrestling with Whitaker, trying to yank the weapon away despite a damaging second shot, even though everything was slippery with their blood. His thoughts seemed to move faster than his body, and he wondered whether the bullets were silver, or whether that was necessary for dog-shifters as it was for werewolves. He wondered if Ms. Stroman would be happy she’d received such a good deal—a brand new soul for her collection, and she hadn’t even had to pony up Terry’s fortune and fame. He wondered if this was the outcome Townsend had planned on.
Whitaker snarled in his grip as they rolled on the pavement. The gun slipped away from both of them. Terry tried to reach for it, but his arms weren’t cooperating well. He felt sluggish. Whitaker touched the barrel with his good hand, dropped it, and grabbed it again. Then Edge, in dog form, leapt on them both and sank his powerful jaws into Whitaker’s throat.
Terry managed to roll away. He tried to get to his feet but couldn’t manage it. He ignored the gun; he was as likely to hit Edge as Whitaker. Anyway, it didn’t look as if the gun would be necessary. Edge was effectively ripping Whitaker apart with his teeth.
Ms. Stroman had no such compunctions about the weapon; she darted forward and snatched it off the ground. But before she had the chance to aim, Duke and Holt leapt on her. She didn’t sound remotely human as she screeched under their ferocious onslaught. And devil or not, she also didn’t stand a chance against them. They tore at her until the screaming finally stopped.
Time jumped—probably just a few minutes, but Terry couldn’t judge. Whitaker and Ms. Stroman were nothing but lifeless heaps. Terry lay on his side near his beloved car, feeling oddly disconnected from his body, as if he were a balloon straining to break free. Three very strong naked men knelt around him. “My fantasies involve less blood,” Terry slurred, trying to smile up at them.
Edge was pressing his hands to Terry’s wounds, trying to keep the life inside. “What do we do?” he cried. “I don’t know how—”
“’S’okay. You’re safe now.” Terry’s teeth began to chatter even though he wasn’t cold. “No more boss.” God, that was good to know. He smiled. “G-go dancing.”
“Terry, please, don’t….” Edge looked frantic, which made Terry sad. Edge was supposed to have joy now. Wasn’t that the deal? The goal?
Terry remembered a song he used to dance to, back when he still went to the clubs. He’d sing it teasingly to Amos and Amos would laugh at him, and Christ, they were so young. “Your love.” Terry tried to sing now, but the words were elusive and it was hard to find enough breath. “Emotion… new… love….”
Holt and Duke were trying to help Edge stop the bleeding, but it was far too late for that. He smiled at them. It was nice to see their human faces. “ABBA. Let Edge… show you… ABBA….” Maybe they’d like music too.
There was a palm tree nearby. Its fronds waved at him.
Engines roared closer. Holt and Duke leapt to their feet, growling, while Edge clutched Terry close. Squealing tires. Shouting voices. Terry recognized one of them.
“Don’t shoot!” he yelled. Or hoped he did. His connection to himself was tenuous at best. “Don’t hurt them.” Then, more quietly, he told Edge, “Bureau.”
As Edge held him even tighter, Townsend loomed over them both, Homburg perched on his head. “Well, that’s one way to solve the problem.” He knelt as well.
With nearly the last of his energy, Terry shook his head and whispered. “Don’t. I’m Edge’s.”
“Then let’s keep it that way, my boy.” He touched Terry’s stomach very gently.
Terry closed his eyes and slipped away.
Chapter Thirteen
The room smelled awful, the medicines and cleaners sharp in Edge’s nose, and he didn’t like the fluorescent lights or the beeps of the machines. But at least people had stopped coming in and flooding him with questions. And even better, Terry was right there where Edge could touch him, although he was pale and unmoving in the narrow bed and filled with tubes and wires. But alive. Still alive.
Sometimes Terry’s eyes fluttered open, and he’d smile at Edge and murmur a few sounds before drifting off again. One of the Bureau’s doctors had to keep reminding Edge that Terry was only human, and that humans healed more slowly than shifters. It wasn’t fair. Edge would have healedforTerry, but when he asked if that was possible, the doctor laughed and said he didn’t have that kind of magic.
So Edge waited in the annoying little room, would wait forever if he had to. Edge would be loyal to him no matter what. Not because Terry owned him, like the boss, but because Terry belonged to him. He’d said so himself. That knowledge comforted Edge when the strangeness of the hospital threatened to overwhelm him.
The door swung open soundlessly and the chief came in. He had an odd odor, similar to human but not quite, and Edge didn’t know what he was. He did know, however, that the chief was important. Not just to Terry, who was his employee, but to a lot of people. Edge also sensed that the chief was enormously powerful in ways Edge didn’t understand.
“How is he doing today?”
“The doctor says better. But he won’t stay awake.”
“He’s working hard to repair the damage to his body. Give him time.”
Edge nodded. He’d been told this already.
“Have they been taking good care of you as well?”
