Frigging park. She’d actually been shot after making the biggest mistake of her life so far? Was that some sort of Karma?
“Bullet?”
He nodded. “Only grazed.”
“Who would do that?”
“The shot was probably meant for me.”
That announcement didn’t make Abby feel better or provide a clearer picture of what had just happened. She glanced around again, wondering who would shoot at this guy without the onset of a full moon.
She didn’t like what came to mind.
Could it be a gang warning them to keep off their turf? Other than that, who prided himself on being a kind of guardian angel for the darker areas of Miami, knowing what sort of things inhabited those places?
Good old Dad.
But Sam Stark and the team in residence this month hadn’t mentioned coming out tonight. They had nothing to gain from hurting anyone in human form, and none of them possessed the ability she had to detect species other than their own. There was no reason for the team to hunt. Plus, her father wouldn’t have missed a target. As a sharpshooter, Sam’s marksmanship was first rate.
Abby turned her head to thoughtfully scan the dark to the east of where they walked.
Couldn’t be Sam. Unless her father had in fact been looking for her, and had taken a potshot at the man keeping her from doing her job.
Unless Sam had witnessed the sexual escapade and been angry enough to get that point across.
In that case, maybe her father had meant to hurt her.
She checked out her leg and the raw skin on the outside of her thigh. Blood hadn’t pooled there, so it was, in fact, only a graze. Still, it stung like hell, and her nerves hadn’t calmed down much.
Can’t be Sam.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t be entirely sure.
The object of her sexual fantasy continued to hold her. If her father remained in the area and took better aim now, he’d have a twofer. With the next shot, Sam would lose an important piece of his business on the one hand, while bagging a Were with the other, without knowing his daughter’s lover was Were. The same beautiful wolf that actually appeared to care about what happened to her, and might even care more than her father did.
How would she explain any of this at a hospital?
“I can walk,” she said.
“How fast?”
“Fast enough.”
Broad shoulders strained against the fabric of his open shirt. When the Were turned his head, Abby felt tension ruffle through him that made her senses stir uncomfortably.
“We’ve lost them for now. Too many others patrol the sidelines of this one section of the park for gangbangers to willingly trespass so close to the boulevard,” he explained.
“Yet they’re not gone.”
That remark earned her a sober glance.
“No,” he agreed. “They’re out there somewhere, waiting.”
“For what?”
“Possibly to try another shot, better aimed this time.”
“Why would they go after you, if, in fact, they did?” she asked.
“You mean a reason that didn’t involve getting lucky with you?”
The remark sounded like forced lightness—an excuse that didn’t work, a cover-up that sent Abby’s mind into overdrive.
She tried again. “Who are you?”
“Just a guy.”
“Oh no. Not just a guy. It doesn’t take a genius to know that.”
When he didn’t respond, Abby said, “Okay. Listen. We don’t owe each other anything, like sharing names, phone numbers or Sunday dinners.” She glanced at the surroundings for the source of his nervousness, shoving aside her own discomfort.
“I don’t feel anything remotely like the kind of pathetic female in need of carting around or being rescued from her own mistakes,” she said. “I can manage a grazed leg.”
When he looked at her questioningly, a prickle of fear underscored Abby’s sense of balance. Uncertain about whether this guy’s closeness caused the flutter in her belly, or if something else wasn’t quite right, she gritted her teeth. The icy chill at the base of her neck brought up a fresh round of anxiety.
In contrast, the shirt pressed against her hip and shoulder felt soft and silky. Abby recalled all too well the smoothness of the Were’s back beneath it, and how she had marred that skin with her nails.
Holding up one hand, she saw blood under her fingernails. She remembered the heat-tempered smell of blood in the air. That had been his blood. Now, the scent of hers mingled with the memory of his.
Another jolt of pain struck, slightly milder this time and ending up as a dull, persistent throb that Abby had to compartmentalize. Danger lurked. They had to get out of the park.
“Put me down and I’ll be on my way. You don’t have to take me anywhere. You aren’t responsible for what happened, and don’t have to wait around to get to know me better.”
“That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think? Imagining that I’d want to know you better?”
“Actually, I can feel how much you’d like that.”
He didn’t smile. Though he was hard enough beneath his jeans for Abby to feel the ongoing state of arousal that told her how much he might appreciate another round of death-defying sexual antics on any available surface, the Were’s expression was deadly serious.
“Someone’s coming,” she guessed.
“Yes.”
No way could she ask whether that someone was human, or something other than human, because that would let the cat out of the bag regarding her ability to detect Weres.
“I can walk,” she repeated. “I promise.”
He looked down at her, his face a mask of doubt.
“Promise,” she said.
He stopped walking long enough to set her on her feet—reluctantly, Abby thought. Although her leg protested when she put weight on it, luckily it didn’t give out.
Grabbing her clothes, ditching the embarrassment of being naked and upright, Abby tugged the T-shirt over her head.
“Who is out there?”
“No one you’d want to meet,” he replied.
“I noticed you took the time to get buttoned up.”
“Two naked people would have created quite a scene when we reached the street.” His eyes met hers. “I hurried.”
Upon closer scrutiny, her midnight lover was on guard, his angular features shadowed. He didn’t like whatever he sensed in the dark.
“How many are there?” Abby yanked on her pants.
“Enough to make us want to clear out of here as fast as possible.”
“So, you actually were trying to get me to safety?”
His sad expression made his face seem older, though no less appealing as he said in the manner of a confession, “What I’ve done is to let them know about you. I knew better, but you...” He let that fade and started again. “You were a surprise.”
Those