Allegiance(85)

Yeah, bloody good luck with that.

They walked the long block to the mill in silence, but as they crossed the street, Robin grabbed his wrist. “Wait.”

She was looking toward the woods visible to the left of the mill, the edge illuminated by the one working parking-lot light.

He kept his voice low. “What did you see?”

“Flash of light color. I think it was the coyote.”

Cage reached inside his jacket and pulled out the small automatic Mirren had given him his first night back in town. It didn’t have the kick of a big Smith & Wesson, but it was a lot more portable. And it was plenty big enough to maim a coyote if he got a good shot. Not kill it, though. This wily coyote, they wanted to have a conversation with.

They walked silently toward the mill, watching the wooded areas without being obvious about it. No point in letting the coyote, if it was still out there, know it had been spotted. For all it knew, they were going back for more sex on the gym mats. If only that were true.

They’d stopped near the front entrance of the mill when Cage heard something. A rustling sound from behind the mill. He and Robin looked at each other, and in a split instant, he had to decide whether or not they were suitable partners. They hadn’t trained together. He didn’t know her skill set, nor did she know his. They should’ve been finding that out instead of fucking.

They’d have to find out on the fly. He pointed to her and to the right side of the mill, then to himself and the left side. She nodded, reached inside her right boot, and pulled out a small pistol—a Ruger, by the looks of it. And she handled it like she knew how to use it. He’d revisit that particular sexy image once this was over. He hoped.

They each set off. Cage looked over his shoulder every few steps to make sure she was okay, but she was moving faster and out of view before he’d cleared half the side of the building. Focus, dick-for-brains. He kept the weapon poised and stayed in the shadows until he reached the corner nearest the woods and then crouched to listen.

For a few seconds, there was nothing. Then another crackle, maybe a stick breaking. Another rustle. A low-pitched growl.

He moved faster and reached the back of the building at the same time as Robin. She was focused on the woods, and they walked toward the sounds together, he with his weapon scanning to the left, she to the right.

Another shuffling noise, and then a sound that was most definitely not a coyote, unless they’d grown male voices and learned to say fuck you.

“That was Nik,” Robin murmured, taking off at a run. Cage stayed behind her, willing to let her take point. She and Nik were partners, so he’d take his cues from her on how to proceed. Part of being a good tactician, after all, was knowing when to lead and when to fall back.

She held an arm out and Cage stopped. They listened again, and the silence dragged on for what seemed like minutes but was likely only seconds.

Another curse, and more scrambling to their left, so they set off again. Finally, they reached the edge of a clearing and halted. In front of them, a bloody, ragged Nik sat on a bed of thick brown straw, his left arm latched around the neck of a struggling, snapping coyote. In his right hand was his pistol, pointed right at Robin.

“I can’t see worth shit out here, so identify yourselves or you’re fucking dead.”

Before Cage could shove her out of the way, Robin spoke. “It’s me, Niko. Me and Cage. Cage, say something.”

“Right. Uh, it’s Cage.”

At the sound of his voice, the coyote’s struggles increased, and it snapped back with such a lunge it caught Nik’s ear in its teeth. When he tried to pull his head away, the beast locked its jaws. They rolled so that even with his vampire night vision—better than a human’s but probably not as good as a shifter’s—Cage couldn’t get a clear shot.

Finally, the coyote broke loose and raced into the woods, leaving Nik panting on the ground, his neck covered in blood.

“Your ear!” Robin ran to him and knelt, ripping off her shirt and balling it up to press against the wound.

“Call Mirren and stay with Nik. I’m going after the coyote.” Cage didn’t wait for a response, racing into the tree line where the coyote had disappeared. It had enough of Nik’s blood on it—not to mention his earlobe—that tracking it was simple, even in the dark and with it moving at a run.

Moving due west. Cage calculated his own speed and knew he could outrun a coyote, so he angled away until he thought he might be ahead of it. He stopped, crouched, and waited.

Only it wasn’t a coyote that ran out of the woods, headed straight for him, and it wasn’t Fen Patrick.

The naked woman racing through the dense pine forest, covered in blood, was Shawn Nicholls.