Claiming the Wolf. Michele Hauf
bloody vampire. And not biting him. The last thing he needed was...this problem.
Dropping the steering wheel, Hart gripped her by the head and yanked. Her fangs tore his muscle and flesh and he yowled and swore. She lunged for him again, attaching her mouth to his bleeding neck like a leech.
“Bloody longtooth!”
He managed to elbow her in the kidney, which detached her just in time for him to feel the impact of the SUV hitting the river guardrail and soar into the air. But he couldn’t process the fact that he was airborne and in worse danger than from a mere vampire bite, because the horror of having been bitten flashed red and angry in his brain.
When Hart got brassed off, his werewolf took over. Instinctively, he began to shift. His T-shirt tore at biceps and across the chest. Fingers lengthened, and he kicked off his shoes to make room for his changing feet. His spine cracked and shifted.
The SUV’s nose hit the water’s surface, jarring them and sending the vampiress flying into the backseat where iron piping left over from a plumbing project at the pack compound clattered. The werewolf he’d become gripped her leg as his hands shifted and talons curled into her flesh. Icy water poured through the open windows, and Hart howled a long and rangy cry that was drowned by the dirty river water.
Now in half-man, half-wolf shape, his brain switched to survival. Trapped within a murky metal box, his limbs shivering from the cold water bath, he slashed a taloned paw outward. The glass windshield cracked as the light from the surface was completely snuffed, save for the small red and blue LEDs glowing on the vehicle dashboard.
Twisting his body, the werewolf pounded again toward the glass and this time the clear sheet sucked inward and the vehicle dropped swiftly. He caught the crackled sheet of glass against his paws and, with a heave, forced it out through the metal frame. Pushing from the seat with his powerful feet, he soared toward the surface.
A paw broke through to the cool night air, and his wolfish head followed. Gasping, he eyed the shore, sniffing. No mortals in the vicinity. Kicking his legs, which were encumbered by the mortal pants that hadn’t fallen away, the werewolf instinctually shifted as he knew he wasn’t designed to swim in this shape.
Sinking in the murky depths, Hart quickly reverted to were-form with a howl that drank in the dirty Seine. Breaststroking, he swam toward the surface and, by flinging himself halfway onto the sanctity of a hard surface, landed on the cold sidewalk.
He lay there panting, spitting out the disgusting water, wincing when he realized his left ankle had been twisted and broken during the crash. Already healing, the knitting bone and sinews hurt like a mother.
“Longtooth,” he muttered, then lifted his head to scan the river. “Where did you go?”
He suspected vampires were better swimmers than werewolves simply because they didn’t have to deal with any shifted body parts, but he watched the deceptively calm surface, mirrored with frail moonlight, for a long time. Nothing broke the water, nor did he spy anyone surface across the other side, or down as far as he could see. They’d plunged in at city’s edge. Hell, he suspected it would be a while before rescue vehicles got the call someone had driven into the river.
“One dead vampire is no skin off me,” he muttered, then slapped a palm to his aching neck. And yet... “She bit me.” He could still feel the open wounds, which meant it was deep, because a small injury should have healed within moments.
If she hadn’t surfaced, she must be dead, Hart decided. On the other hand, drowning wasn’t going to kill a vampire. And something he’d seen while struggling with the crazed vamp returned to his thoughts.
“That tattoo,” he murmured. But a flash second had shown him the detailed and finely wrought words: come what will.
Hart lifted onto his elbows and fiercely stared toward the spot where he presumed the vehicle had settled. She was down there. Alone. A just punishment for what she’d put him through.
Shaking his head like a dog to whip the water from his short hair, he growled and smashed his fist against the sidewalk. She was alone. And the tattoo bothered him. Recent? Some weird part of him answered, yes, it’s new ink. Which meant...
Hart stood and dove into the water.
* * *
Danni struggled with the steel pipe that pierced her gut and pinned her like a giant bug to the back seat of the submerged SUV. Upon descent, she’d instinctually started breathing through her nose. She couldn’t think how wrong it was she was still alive and struggling. Yet another cool thing about vampirism she had never asked for.
No matter how she tried, she couldn’t dislodge the pipe, which had come from the rear cargo area and had wedged in the dashboard. Stuck here forever. Literally.
When would she die? God, she didn’t want this. She’d never asked for any of this! The idea of tears made her choke on the water and she wished she could drown and get it over with and done.
When she felt the hand on her leg, she kicked, but instantly regretted the move. Help? Yes, please!
The hand returned and moved along her leg, groping over her limbs. Even with her heightened vampire sight she could only make out shadows and the tiny LEDs on the dashboard. When the hand moved over her hip and slapped against the pipe embedded in her body, she knew whoever it was had determined her dire situation. She landed her hand on his face, stroking her fingers down the side of his jaw and neck, where she felt the serrated skin.
It was him, the werewolf who had condemned her to this watery grave.
You did too, eh, Dan the Man? Would have never landed in the river if you hadn’t bitten him.
He tugged at the pipe, and each jerk felt as if her insides were being rearranged by a flunky surgeon. He touched her arm, moving his hand down her skin past her wrist. Placing his palm over hers made her feel as if he were trying to convey something. He swept away, and suddenly she was alone.
He was leaving her? Danni protested with a yell. Stupid. No sound down here, save the gurgling of bubbles still rising from the settling vehicle. And her frantic heartbeats pounding in her veins and ears. She deserved it, she supposed. She had tried to kill him. But only in self-defense.
The hand slapped over her ankle again and he pulled himself inside the vehicle by moving along her body. Fingers pressed gently to her cheek, reassuring, and she moved her hand over his, squeezing. Must have gone to the surface for air.
Now the pipe moved, she could feel every inch as it slowly tugged at her skin and muscles, and hell—who knew—it might have pierced a kidney or her liver. She was still alive by some impossible means that made her want to kick and scream and yell. But she wouldn’t. He was helping her. All that mattered now was that she cooperate.
Slowly, methodically, he managed to move the pipe toward the rear of the vehicle. He’d hooked a leg about one of hers, which held him down and his powerful muscles flexed against hers. Another pause, he pressed his palm flat to hers again, and she knew before he left he had to resurface to take in air.
Wolves couldn’t breathe underwater? A girl learned something new every day.
Those minutes she lay in the darkness were the longest in Danni’s life. Six months ago she’d never imagined this for herself. She wouldn’t let this be her end, she was stronger than that. Curling her fingers about the end of the pipe, she felt but a foot left to go, but she couldn’t move it herself. Even with the infusion of blood she’d taken in the car, exhaustion coiled about her bones. She couldn’t hold her eyes open and let the lids fall shut.
The next time she opened her eyes it was to thin moonlight upon silver waves as she was being pulled ashore. Her body landed on a hard surface and she choked up water endlessly.
“Gotta get out of here,” a male voice with a British accent said near her head. “I can hear sirens now. I’m sure neither of us wants to talk to the police. Trust me, eh?”
Danni’s eyes closed as she felt her body lifted and tossed over