Page 48 of Brimstone and Broomsticks
“Damn Alberta,” I raged staring down at the pale, bloodied, unconscious werewolf. “She lied.”
“Technically, she didn’t.” Lucien’s voice was droll.
I scampered over to Clinton, checked his vitals, relieved to feel a steady pulse. “We need to get him out of here.” I glanced down the wet muddy trail to where the deadfall was. Even if I could get my car over the deadfall, I’d never make it through this mud. But clearly Clinton wasn’t walking on his own two feet out of here.
“I got this.” Huge wings snapped out from Lucien’s back. “I can’t carry you both, so I’ll fly him out to your car.”
“I’ll meet you there,” I told him, jumping up and getting a head start. As much as I wanted the experience of being flown around in a demon’s arms, I didn’t want Clinton being unattended until I was sure he was okay—and until I was sure no one would come by and finish him off.
I was out of breath and covered in mud by the time I made it back over the deadfall to see Lucien standing next to Clinton. He’d laid the werewolf onto the ground next to my car, and I winced thinking that the demon looked rather menacing looming over the werewolf like that.
I checked Clinton’s vitals again and sent Ophelia a text. Normally I’d call Dallas for the werewolves to take care of their own, but until I knew exactly who had done this, I didn’t trust anyone beyond my own sisters. And Lucien.
“You think Alberta did this?” Lucien asked.
I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t see her as a killer.”
I did see her as someone who would stash a seriously injured werewolf somewhere out of the way, not thinking that he might possibly die out there. But why? There had to be a good reason for Alberta to want to hide an injured Clinton away where he couldn’t be found.
Because she’d known who did this and had a vested interest in protecting them, but wasn’t so morally depraved that she really wanted Clinton to die.
I knelt down beside Clinton, peeling away his tattered clothes and assessing his injuries. There were bruises and cuts whose level of healing lead me to believe they’d occurred around twenty-four hours ago. There were some broken bones that had begun to knit—probably a half hour to two hours before his last devastating injury depending on how bad those injuries had been. Then there was a puncture wound that probably should have killed him.
The werewolf’s eyes popped open and I caught my breath.
“Bitch,” he breathed, pink liquid bubbling from his lips.
“Alberta?” I asked. “Who did this, Clinton? Who did this to you?”
His eyes wandered to Lucien, then widened when he saw the demon’s wings. “I repent. I repent. Don’t take me. Don’t. Done some bad things, but not that bad. Want to repent.”
Lucien rolled his eyes. “Oh, the deathbed confession. Screw you, dude. Much to my regret, you’re going to make it this time.”
“I repent,” Clinton insisted.
“Not my call,” Lucien informed him. “I just deal out the punishment, I don’t decide who deserves it.”
Clinton gasped and I shot Lucien a warning glance. “Who did this?” I asked the werewolf. “Clinton. Stay with me. Who did this?”
“Got jumped.”
“After the fight with Lucien at the tavern?” I asked. “Where did you go? Do you know who attacked you?”
He frowned. “Walked down the road a bit. Something with claws. And magic.”
I exchanged a puzzled glance with Lucien. “Claws and magic?”
“Claws stabbed. Something hit me. One attacker I think. Then nothing. Magic and nothing.” He winced and coughed, spitting some blood onto the ground. “I think a magic spell knocked me out, ‘cause I don’t remember fighting, just getting attacked, then nothing until just now.”
He closed his eyes and his head lolled to the side. I wasn’t alarmed since already the werewolf was breathing easier, a bit of color beginning to return to this skin. The power of the full moon. Even in the daylight, this time of the month, a werewolf would heal just about any injury. Must be nice.
“Magic,” Lucien mused. “The attacker used magic to subdue him.”
“Which means whoever attacked him didn’t have enough strength to take Clinton down solo without a spell.” I held up my hands. “That could be just about anyone in town. Clinton has pissed off most of the residents of Accident at one time or another.”
“But which of those have access to magic?” Lucien prodded.
I frowned in thought. “Bronwyn is pretty selective about who gets her enchanted devices. I really doubt this is her, and none of my sisters outside of Bronwyn and I could enchant something with a long-lasting sleep spell like this. So that leaves…”
