Page 9 of Bad Moon Rising
Roman was still on his feet, fighting to get closer to Skull Throat. Blood coated his knuckles—unknown if it was his or others’ blood—but he was pissed off and fully engaged with a dagger in each fist while sporting a scary beast expression. He seemed bigger, stronger and somehow more intimidating than he had seconds ago.
Her eye caught on a shooter aiming for him. As things went into slow-motion, the shooter pulled his trigger.
Nova jumped in front to take the bullet’s impact, to protect Roman.
He threw both of his blades at the shooter and screamed something as she went down.
The gunshot had hit her mid-bicep. Indirect. Not too bad. Her arm didn’t hurt yet, at least not as much as the cut on her side. She must’ve been in this type of situation before to be so freaking chill about all of it. With a detached ease, she refocused on Skull Throat.
The vial. Skull Throat was about to open it. She found Roman’s gaze. He was closer but wouldn’t make it in time.
“Catch it,” she said. Although quiet, she knew he heard her.
She threw the knife still in her fist, hitting Skull Throat mid-neck. He dropped the vial and grabbed his throat.
Roman caught the small glass tube before it hit the floor. In a smooth turn, he scooped her up and carried her through the frenzied crowd, running for the stairs. Not a shoulder toss, but in his arms against his chest. “He’s going to explode. Hold on—”
Crack. Boom!
Everything blanked as her ears rang.
Roman still had her, but they weren’t standing. Her back ached where it supported all her weight and his at an odd angle, her spine pressed into a step.
“Didn’t you hear me sayno?” With a groan, he stood, picking her up. “Never assassinate a wannabe warlock who’s holding an alchemist stone.”
“A what?” Must’ve been her imagination. He meant warlord. And she hadn’t seen the man holding anything else. “I got the vial for you.”
“That guy held the stone in his other hand.” Jostling through the crowd, he muttered, “I’ll never hear the end of this. Amateur move to blow him up with this many witnesses.”
“He was going to open the vial.” She clung to his neck as he carried her through panicked people, her face mere inches from his. If she leaned forward just a bit, she could brush her lips across his jawline, which was roughened by scruff. His skin radiated an almost impossible heat.
“If you’d have given me half a minute, I’d have mesmerized him. You know, voice coercion? He was a human dabbling in magic, not full warlock.”
“What?” She pushed off his chest to crane away and see his face. “That’s not possible unless you’re a Jedi.”
He pulled her back into him to avoid a collision with two screaming women, still threading his way toward the exit. “Jedis are impossible…no, I’ll change that to improbable. The past few decades have proven to me the things you’d think impossible can actually exist. Did you forget how to use your voice to coerce humans into compliance?”
“That’s…magic? You believe magic exists?”
“Of course magic exists. Our kind distrusts it, though. In fact, the Council forbids its use. But I need it from time to time.”
She didn’t really follow what he just said.
Moments later, they were outside with throngs of people. Sirens screeched around them. Flashing emergency vehicle lights sent red pulses into the dark night and added to the chaos. He didn’t put her down when they reached the street but kept moving fast.
She didn’t fight. Wounds aside, she wanted more from him—to find out all he knew about her. And magic.
And, truth be told, she didn’t want to stop touching him. Or being this close to the heavenly smell of him.
A tall, elegant, but ripped man in a gray tailored suit over a black button-down shirt without a tie sauntered toward them, his clothing at odds with the leather-clad crowd. His thick brown hair had been secured at his nape against smooth, olive skin.
Roman set her on her feet, wiped blood off his knuckles onto his dark pants, and moved in front of her, whispering, “Don’t speak. This is one of those things humans consider impossible that actually exist.”
She was human, as was he, right?
The new man leveled his dark hazel gaze on them. In a thick Spanish accent, he asked, “You got what you sought, I hope, and found an evening friend, perhaps, as a bonus?” He sniffed the air. “She’s a bit battle-damaged, though. And…” He crinkled his nose, and his eyebrows rose. “I smell the perfume of charcoaled warlock on both of you. Getting sloppy, aren’t you, Roman?”
Warlock?
