If that dart hit Warrick, he’d be just as sick and deadly as the ferals. She couldn’t let him take that shot. Her mind moved at lightning speed, making a decision she wasn’t even aware of considering. Her feet flew across the carpeted rug faster than should’ve been possible.
The sound of the gun discharging echoed in the room as her body went airborne. The dart entered her shoulder with enough force to throw her back and send spikes of pain through her body. She hit the ground hard and rolled away from the stranger.
Reaching for the dart to pluck it free, she realized it was too late as the chilly slide of the drug entered her system. Her fingers fell away, numb and useless.
Curled on her side, she watched as squeaky, white sneakers entered her vision.
“You stupid bitch, that wasn’t meant for you,” the man raged from above her. “I don’t have a fucking clue what that’ll do to a human.”
From the corner of her eyes she saw Warrick struggling to his feet, just as the front door splintered open.
The stranger cursed and retreated from the hallway, his footsteps softened by the carpet, until they disappeared completely.
Warrick shifted back to human and rushed over to her, one hand cupping his rib cage that seeped blood.
“You’re hurt,” she whispered, wishing like hell the spinning in her head would stop.
“I’m hurt? Baby, you know how quickly I heal,” he choked out, falling to his knees beside her. “Jesus, Sienna, what were you thinking?”
Quinton appeared beyond Warrick, striding down the hall, his face pinched with fury.
“Wait in the van? I should kick your ass for talking me into that, Donovan. Are you guys okay?”
“He’s bleeding,” she muttered a bit drunkenly. “You should probably clean that wound before it gets infected.”
“My wound is already healed,” Warrick said tersely as he glanced over at Quinton. “She jumped in front of a drug dart that was meant for me.”
Shaking his head, Quinton muttered, “Fuck me, you both sure know how to find trouble. I’m calling for backup and an incident response team for cleanup.”
“Where’s my dad?” she whispered, trying to gaze around the kitchen. But it was hard to see. There were glittery tracers. “I heard him…he’s got to be here somewhere.”
Warrick touched her forehead and sighed. “I don’t think that was him you heard, Sienna. More like a recording.”
Her stomach clenched, then heaved. Maybe it was the drugs, but suddenly she felt like she was about to get sick.
“Warrick—”
“Don’t think about it right now, Sienna. We’ll find him.”
She struggled to sit up, but fell back to the floor. Warrick slid his arm beneath her and pulled her onto his lap, holding her head as his worried gaze slid over her face.
“You’re going to be all right.”
But was her father? If his voice had just been a recording, then it must mean they had him. Whoever they were.
Warrick took her hand and she squeezed it with as much energy as she could muster. There was a comfort in his arms. Then again there always was.
She closed her eyes, lulled into a sense of peace as his fingers traced over her cheek. Then they moved down her body to where the dart was still embedded in her shoulder, probing gently, but not removing.
Off in the distance she could hear Quinton rapid-firing instructions into his cell phone.
“Ah, God, Sienna,” Warrick whispered hoarsely. “Stay with me. Open your eyes.”
If only she could, but her eyelids felt as if there were forty-pound weights on each of them.
“If anything happens to you…” He broke off and swore under his breath. “Why’d you do it?”
Because I love you. She didn’t have the energy to say the words, and wasn’t sure she would’ve said them aloud even if she could. Instead she squeezed his hand tighter, just before she turned her head away from him and threw up her lunch.
The air conditioning kicked on in the room at the Marriott, the constant blast of cool air filling the silence as Warrick strode back to the window.
He thrust aside the lacy cream curtain and stared out over the marina and the array of boats on the water.
He didn’t see the glistening blue water or the heat of the sun that reflected off it. Couldn’t appreciate the sight of the city outside. No, the anxiety that had hit him back at Sienna’s house still continued to fester in his gut.
Turning, he glanced back at the bed where she sat propped up with pillows, a sullen frown creasing her forehead as a P.I.A. doctor checked her vitals.
The poisoned dart had been removed, and a bandage now covered the wound. She didn’t seem to be in much pain, but that was likely from the cocktail of meds the doc had given her.