Gathering of Angels(26)

Jaw clenched, Simon dug into the wound. Blood welled around his fingers, an ugly, black-laced red. Cursing, he probed deeper. Marcus arched away from him—or tried to. Three people holding him in place gave him little chance of escape.

With a final, vicious curse Simon jerked free, the bullet captured between his fingers. Marcus collapsed, his face whiter than the sheet.

“Son of a bitch—” Simon dropped the bullet on the bedside table and wiped his fingers on a gauze pad. With the blood gone, Claire saw the reason for his cursing—his skin was an angry red. As if he had been burned. “Mindy Kay, hand me the bottle of water.”

He gripped Marcus’ arm and dumped the contents of the water into his wound.

Marcus let out a hoarse scream, every muscle in his arm clenched.

Claire smacked Simon’s hand away, and the bottle flew out of his grip. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Flushing it out. His own blood is burning him.” He picked up another bottle, opened it, and kept a constant flow pouring over the arm.

“I’m sorry—thank you, for what you did. Marcus.” She brushed hair off his forehead, scared by the hot skin under her fingers. “Open your eyes for me.”

He obeyed, and it took all of her control not to recoil. The once clear, striated green looked muddy, and dark with pain. “Claire—”

“Hush. Get some rest, and we’ll talk later.” He managed to raise one eyebrow, as if to question whether he would be around later. She leaned in, whispered against his cheek. “You will be here, even if I have to drag you back myself.”

“Claire.” She lifted her head, met Simon’s gaze. “Go—I’ll bandage him up, make sure he’s comfortable. Go on—you look like hell.”

She pushed shaking fingers through her hair, flinched when they caught on the tangles. That needed to be taken care of. Later, when she could think straight.

Lea stepped away from the wall, offering Claire her hand.

“Food, drink, and a comb for that hair. You’ll feel better in no—”

The front door slammed open. Simon leapt past them and put himself between them and the intruder, an ugly gun in his hand, aimed at the open doorway.

“—not going to do anything until I—” The intruder came into sight, and froze, all nearly six feet of nervous energy and wild blonde curls. The man with her caught her arm and pulled her behind him, blue eyes narrowed as he faced Simon, a small pistol in his hand and aimed at the floor.

“We’re friends,” he said, his low voice quiet. “There is someone here who is expecting . . .”

His voice faded when Claire stepped out from behind Simon. “Hello, Eric.”

He didn’t have a chance to answer; Annie pushed him aside and stared at Claire. Brown eyes widened, her face draining of color. “Claire—”

Hands clenched, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat, Claire couldn’t find her voice. She shook her head, and to her horror, tears blurred her eyes. When Annie didn’t say anything else, she started to back away, wanting to hide, to avoid the revulsion, the rejection. Avoid the anguish that she would feel when she lost her best friend. Again.

She only took two steps before Annie lunged forward. Braced for anger, Claire’s knees almost buckled when Annie let out a sob and wrapped both arms around her.

“Oh, God—Claire—” With a shuddering breath, she pulled away, gripping Claire’s arms. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I? Damn—I can’t believe you’re here—”

She gathered Claire in again, crying silently as she held on.

Claire clutched the back of Annie’s jacket, putting aside the aches, the bruises that flared into life.

Sniffing, Annie let out a watery laugh and eased back. “Sorry about the smothering—you must already be hurting, and I just added to the pain. You look like you’ve been through hell—oh, shit.” She clapped one hand over her mouth, let go.

Claire caught her wrist, a smile tugging at her mouth. “Good to know I look like I feel. You didn’t hurt me, Annie—and I came close, but I didn’t make it inside. Though, you already know that.” Annie stilled, eyes widening. “Yes, I saw you, and I remember. I held on to that, and I think it helped me get home. I wasn’t certain—” Claire took in a shaky breath, kept going. “Now that you know—about me, I wasn’t certain you would want anything to do with me.”

“Wow. If I weren’t so damn happy to see you, I’d be pissed that you’d even think I would turn on you, because you’re a—because of your past.” Annie studied her, brown eyes as warm as she remembered. And as sharp. “We can talk more, later. There’s some big nasty going on in this town, isn’t there?”