Page 77 of Don't Bait Me (Nora Jacobs 3)

I kick out with my foot and sweep the woman off her feet. She’s not expecting the move and crashes to the ground. The gun flies from her hand. I dive for it, but before I get it in my hands, the woman jumps on me. She pins me to the ground and smashes her fist into my face. I feel the sickening crunch of my nose breaking, and warm blood starts gushing.

The woman grabs a knife from her belt and tries to plunge it into my heart. I grab her arm just in time to avoid the deathblow, but the knife gets buried in my shoulder. Burning pain sears me from the inside out, and I scream. If this is what iron poisoning feels like, remind me never to go through it again.

I see stars for a second, but then my training kicks in again, and I take a deep breath. I need to think through the pain and panic. I yank the woman forward, tucking her head into my good shoulder. I hook my foot over her leg, lift with my hips, and roll. Once I’m free, I scramble for the gun and bring it forward just as the woman lunges for me. The gun goes off, and the woman falls backward. I don’t need to check her to know that she’s dead. I’d fired blindly, but I got her right in the chest.

I drop backward to the ground, just as the emergency door bangs open and Illren and Nick rush forward. I rest my head on the freezing sidewalk and let out a groan. Now that it’s all over, the pain is really kicking in. So is the fact that I’m lying on the sidewalk in a skimpy dress in December in Detroit. It’sfreezing.

“Damn, little spitfire. Looks like it was a hell of a fight. You okay?”

I blink a couple times and focus on Nick. “Peachy,” I choke out. “The knife is iron. This shitburns.”

Nick grimaces. “I need to pull it out. The sooner the better.”

What he’s not saying is that it’s going to hurt a hell of a lot worse than it does right now. “Do it,” I say, sucking in a deep breath and clenching my teeth.

Nick kneels over my arm to pin it down and presses one hand on my good shoulder. The other he wraps around the hilt of the knife. He gives me a grim look. “Okay. On the count of—”

He rips the blade free of my shoulder, tearing a scream from my lungs with it. My eyes water, and my empty stomach rolls again. I let out a string of profanity that makes Nick laugh. “You’re a champ,” he says, then helps me sit up. “Come on, let’s get you inside and patched up. Enzo’s on his way, and Director West is already here working things out with the Detroit PD. In case anyone asks, this was an undercover FBI op that went south.”

“That’s not even a lie.” I groan, getting to my feet. “How the hell did things go so wrong?”

Nick sighs. “Can’t dwell too much on it. Just have to be grateful that everyone is safe and that we got the bad guys.”

He’s right. It was pretty bad, but it could have been a lot worse.

I look around. Illren is already gone, and so is Rook, but the giant bloodstain is there. I shiver at the sight of it. The female hunter stares lifelessly up at the night sky.

Nick sees me shudder and puts his arm around me. “Come on, Jacobs. We can leave it for the cleanup crew. Let’s get you taken care of.”

While Director West is outsidedealing with the humans, Nick leads me down to the employee lounge where my little beat-up and bloody group of wannabe federal agents is licking their wounds. It’s a large, bright room with several sofas and tables.

Illren leans against a far wall, looking no worse for the wear save for the dark bloodstains on his black clothes from carrying Rook here. Terrance is sprawled out on one of the sofas. He’s covered in dirt with his clothing singed, torn, and bloody. Oliver is out cold on the other couch. Rook has shifted back to his human form and is lying on the table like he’s in an OR. Considering Parker is standing above him, digging bullets out of his body, it basically is. When I see all my men lying in various states of injury, my throat clogs with emotion. “I’msosorry.”

The apology earns me a glare from everyone in the room. “None of this was your fault,” Terrance growls. “So that is the last time I want to hear you apologize for it. We all played our parts, and things just went wrong. Nothing to be done about it. We’re all safe. We’ll all heal. No sulking.”

I suck in a sharp breath through my nose and hold it in my lungs as I nod. I still feel utterly responsible, but I can keep it to myself, if Terrance and the others need me to.

Enzo jumps up from his place beside Terrance. “Allow me to heal your wounds, Miss Nora.”

The man is pale, sweaty, and has dark circles under his eyes. I’m sure he exhausted himself healing Terrance, and he possibly did something for Rook, too, so that Rook would be strong enough for Parker to work on. I hold up my hand. “It’s really okay. I’m not in that bad of shape. You should rest.”

“Nora,” Terrance grumbles. “Let the man heal you.”

I sigh and plop into a chair. Enzo smiles at my wary expression. “Don’t worry, Miss Nora. As you said, you’re not in bad shape. It won’t take much to heal you.”

I give him a small nod. “Okay, thanks.”

After Enzo fixes my broken nose and heals the stab wound on my shoulder, I wash as much of Rook’s and my blood off me as I can. Then I move over to Rook and do a quick count. Overall, he’s been shot nine times. How he’s awake and coherent is beyond me. That’s some serious durability. Almost as incredible as a vampire. I take his hand. He gives me a small squeeze and manages a smile for me. “Nice moves, Rocky,” he teases, his voice hoarse. “You were pretty kickass out there.”

I bark out a strangled laugh and press my hand against a burning sensation in my chest. “Thanks to you. Your training saved my life.”

“We’ll have to start teaching you how to throw punches.”

Parker pulls another bullet from Rook’s abdomen, and Rook grits his teeth through it. He pinches his eyes shut and holds his breath. The poor man is pale and sweaty. “You couldn’t give him something for the pain before you did that?” I ask Parker.

Both men shake their heads. “Werewolves’ metabolisms are too high. Any painkillers would just wear off too fast,” Parker says, dropping the offending bullet onto a small plate with the others he’s already removed. “One left.”

Rook lets out the breath of air he’d been holding and pants a few times. When he can speak, he says, “Plus, we had to get them out fast before my body healed around them.”

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