Alex followed Jared, his expression hard as he leaned down to pull the machete out. He wiped the blade on the other man’s sleeve and spat blood in the snow beside him.
Coldly, he said, “The rules don’t apply to her.”
His legs were unsteady when he faced Lilly again.
“Is he dead?” she whispered, looking on with wide eyes.
“As good as.”
Alex hesitated and Lilly looked up in alarm. Was he going to stab him in the heart and chop off his head now? He swayed again, blinking in the driving snow. Even if he wanted to, he obviously lacked the strength. Lilly rushed around to the passenger side and opened the door.
“Get in, Alex,” she said, trying not to think of the man dying in the cold. The man who’d meant to kill her. Both of them.
Alex didn’t move. Blood dripped from a new wound on his forehead. His cheek was swollen, his eye puffy and bruised.
“I can’t go with you, Lilly. More like him will be coming. For me.”
And for her, if she was still with Alex. She heard it in his voice, saw it in those startling eyes.
“I won’t leave you to die,” she said.
“If you don’t leave me, you will die.”
“So far I’ve managed to hold my own,” she told him. “Don’t make me shoot you, Alex. Get in.”
He tried to smile but it looked more like a grimace.
“Get in,” she repeated, using the rifle to point for good measure.
Alex stared at her for a long moment without speaking. Confusion, respect, disbelief—all of it glimmered in his On-Golden-Pond eyes. He shook his head.
“Humans,” he said with a hint of disgust.
But he got in.
Dark and Deadly: Eight Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance by Jennifer Ashley, Alyssa Day, Felicity Heaton, Erin Kellison, Laurie London, Erin Quinn, Bonnie Vanak and Caris Roane
CHAPTER 4
Alex might be hard to break, but he’d sustained some serious wounds, first from the hellhounds and then from his friend. By the time Lilly pulled up in front of her sister’s cabin, his skin was ashen and his eyes dull. He was conscious enough to help her get him out of the vehicle, but Lilly had to manhandle him through the front door and onto the bench just inside. He faded in and out as she worked him out of boots and coat, trying to figure out what she should do next.
The cabin didn’t have a wired phone and her cell kept searching but couldn’t find a signal. Whistler Valley was a forty-five-minute drive in clear weather. She’d never make it in the storm that buffeted the SUV and dumped snow and ice on top of them. The short drive to the cabin had been harrowing.
She eyed Alex worriedly. She didn’t know how much of the blood covering him was his or if he had more serious injuries beneath the skin.
Frustrated, she surveyed her rustic surroundings. The cabin didn’t try to be more than its name. It had a kitchen, a sitting room, a bedroom, and a bathroom. Amy had furnished it and Lilly hadn’t had the heart to change anything about it after she’d died.#p#分页标题#e#
Behind her was the front room, dominated by an overstuffed couch and chair with a battered coffee table between them. A comfortable layer of chaos covered everything. Amy’s laptop, tablet, magazines, and books cluttered the table. A blanket was wadded up at the foot of the couch, Amy’s slippers beneath it, just where she’d left them.
The fireplace’s massive stone surround stretched wall-to-wall with various built-in nooks of different sizes. Amy had used the space for books and snapshots of her dogs. Before her death, she’d added a framed picture of herself with her long-lost sister, Lilly. It held the place of honor on the mantel and it broke Lilly’s heart every time she saw it. They’d had so little time together.
Lilly sighed and looked back at the wounded man. He sat on the bench, head lolled back against the wall and eyes closed. She needed to move him to the couch, where he could lie down and she could attempt to patch him up.
“Alex,” she said, but his eyes didn’t open. “Come on, Alex. Stand up. Let’s get you to the couch and then you can rest.”
His eyes opened, but they were unfocused. Knowing she might not get more than that out of him, she sat beside him, slung his arm over her shoulder, and stood, forcing him up with her. He weighed a ton, and she’d never have succeeded if he hadn’t roused enough to help. They danced an awkward tango across the floor, listing from side to side. The dogs helped, which meant they made every effort to trip them both. By the time they reached the couch, she could do little more than maneuver and push. He collapsed in a heap on the big, soft cushions.