Page 61 of Under a Wicked Moon
She didn’t respond as she paced toward the door.
A few steps and he had his hand on her shoulder, clamping down hard enough to stop her. The scent of her flew up his nose and ran through his body. He couldn’t hurt her. But letting her threaten the king was a surefire way to seal her death warrant.
How did they think bringing her here a smart plan? Of course, either Gerard or Slate would report to the king she was a threat so that she became their next nonhuman problem to eliminate.
In an instant, she transformed to her feral form, which was more muscular and spectacular. With a twist, she punched him in the solar plexus and jabbed his chin. On instinct, he swiped back at her, which she dodged with little effort, then landed a kick to his lower back.
He bear-hugged her, locking her arms in place. She struggled. “This isn’t you, Vivi.”
The elevator shut as Slate started his descent.
“Wake up, Vivi. Remember the waffles. There’s always the waffles.”
She stilled for a few seconds.
Thank God.
The instant he loosened his hold, she clocked him with theback of her head against his still smarting nose, sending him backward while swiping away blood. It’d been a fake-out. Smart girl.
As Roman moved in, a sniper’s gunshot pierced a glass window and caught him by surprise in his side, sending Roman behind a column.
Vivi had regained her balance and was stalking toward the elevator.
“Go low and move to the next column,” Ky called out. “I’m going to need that gun, Vivi, or we’ll all be picked off in the next few minutes.” He sensed the next bullet’s path while chasing her to the elevator.
Next bullet coming in.
He dove for her, shielding her from the next sniper hit that in his estimation targeted her. It tore through his side. Both of them ended in a tangle. “I’m trying to save you, damn it.”
She grunted and kicked, placing solid hits, but he remained focused to wrangle the gun free of her hand.
Successful in retrieving the weapon, he released her and moved to engage the shooter. “Roman, stop her from leaving. The shooter is targeting her.”
A bullet whizzed past Ky’s left ear. A second shot caught him in the heavily muscled part of his shoulder. Left side. Good. Could still shoot with the right.
Years of instinct and training took over as adrenaline coalesced with pain. Another slug entered somewhere in his side. He scrutinized the neighboring buildings through the window and used his kicked-up senses to find his target. With his left hand, despite the injured shoulder, he reached into his pocket and palmed the Ping-Pong-ball-sized sphere, a magical item that enhanced his focus and super-powered his telekinesis. Now came the magic.
He whispered and thought of the pendant of St. Michael, “I amthe gift. I do not miss. Be my protection against the devil. God give this speed.”
Gun raised, he shot through the window. A normal Glock didn’t send the bullet with enough accuracy to make it all the way into a building across the street. That required a rifle. But with the push of magic or maybe simple telekinesis, the bullet soared across the long divide and into its target.
Roman had wrestled Vivi and had her restrained on the ground.
Blood loss was getting to Ky. Internal bleeding. Not good. He probably wouldn’t die, but he was about to get light-headed. That meant his depth perception would fade.
He shuffled to Vivi and locked her chin to make eye contact. “Waffles. Fight it, love. This isn’t you. Violence isn’t your thing. Please remember.”
“Were you under orders to sleep with Ky?” Roman asked.
“Of course.” She struggled but gave up when it got her nowhere.
A fire he hadn’t realized burned for her sputtered. All they’d shared soured.
Denial roared loud inside him. It meant something to her. It had to. “Tell me you’re lying, Vivi.”
“Get off me, asshole. You’re all assholes.” She struggled beneath Roman. No denial of what she’d said that she’d been told to sleep with him. Not even a moment of pause or even an emotional glance from her. Nothing.
They were but a fantasy inside his head. For her, it was manufactured, forced. It wasn’t authentic.
