Warrior Enchanted: The Sons of the Zodiac (8 page)

And what about Drake?
her conscious taunted.
Are you satisfied there?

Before she could even attempt to engage in her daily argument with herself, the air around her grew heavy, like a threatening storm, and the object of her thoughts fell to the floor of her bedroom in a heavy rush.

“Drake!”

Alarm bells went off in her system immediately as she took in the odd way he lay on the floor. Rushing to him, she barely held back a scream as she took in the blood that covered his side.

“Drake! Oh my God. Drake.” Pulling at his body to roll him toward his back, she saw where he had a hand pressed to his side, a raw, angry wound gaping under his fingers.

“Hang on, baby. Hang on.” Rushing from her room, she hit the hall closet and grabbed a handful of towels.

Could he be fatally shot?

A long, low groan greeted her as she ran back into her room, the sound sweeter than she ever would have believed. She didn’t have all the ins and outs of his abilities, but he’d always seemed so invincible—so perfect, really—the idea that he could be hurt like this tore at something inside of her.

Pressing a towel to the wound, she pulled at his hand once she got the proper pressure on it. Another heavy groan drifted from his lips and she linked his fingers with hers, all the while maintaining pressure with her other hand. “Drake, can you hear me?”

“Emerson?”

“I’m here. I—” She broke off at the shock of seeing the towel under her hand fill with blood. “I’m here. What happened to you?”

“Got shot.”

He may have been in pain, but she couldn’t miss the utter disgust in his raspy voice. “I can see that. But what happened?”

“Helping Grey. Fucker got off a shot before I could get out of there.”

“What fucker? Grey shot you?”

“No. The crime boss’s goon.”

“You went after a crime boss?” Emerson kept her movements gentle as she reached for a fresh towel. She was pleased to see the bleeding was definitely slowing. And it looked less
angry
, somehow…less raw.

“Grey did.”

“Well, why the hell did you go, too? Do you both have a death wish?”

Drake opened one eye, his green gaze hazed with pain. “That’s what we do.”

“Do you make it a habit to get shot?”

He opened the other eye. “It’s an occupational hazard I usually manage to avoid.”

“So what happened tonight?” Emerson heard the tough edge to her voice—reveled in it actually, because it meant she had some measure of control back over herself—and poked at him. “Who’d you piss off? And what could possibly make you think it was a good idea to go after one of New York’s crime families? Who was it, by the way?”

“The Gavellis.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Emerson almost dropped the towel as she focused on him. “They’re meaner than snakes and they’ve been all over the news for their suspected antics lately. Bombings. Drownings. Even a delightful buried-alive story that gave me the chills the other night.”

“Which is the exact reason Grey and I needed to pay them a visit. They’ve been getting some help.”

“Help?”

“From a supernatural source.”

“Oh.”

Wind knocked from her sails, Emerson focused on tending to Drake’s wound. Keeping her movements gentle, she lifted the towel, pleased to see the wound continuing to close. “Will it close all the way?”

“It’ll heal—but not fully until the bullet comes out.”

When he began moving around to reach for his feet, she clamped a hand on his arm. “What are you doing?”

“I need to get it out.”

“With what?”

“My Xiphos.”

“Drake.” Emerson pushed harder on his arm to keep him still. “What are you after?”

“I’ve got my weapon strapped to my ankle. It’s a really big knife. I can use it to remove the bullet.”

“You most certainly will not.”

“Why not?”

“It’s dirty, for one.”

“Look, it hurts more to leave it there.”

“I’ll get it.” Shifting, she scooted back to give herself easier access and reached for his ankle, unstrapping the knife sheathed there.

He wasn’t kidding. The blade was wicked-looking and a little less than a foot in length. Holding it up, she summoned fire at her fingertips and let the flames wash over the length of the blade, paying particular attention to the tip.

“What are you doing?”

“Sterilizing it.”

“I can’t catch a disease from it, Emerson.”

She focused on the flame, unwilling to acknowledge his muttered complaints. “Roll to your side.”

“It’s going to be hot.”

“Which means it’ll cauterize the wound as I remove the bullet.”

“Just do it quick.”

Leaning forward, she placed a firm hand on his
shoulder as she pointed the knife at the entrance of the wound. “Hang on.”

Emerson heard Drake’s sharp exhale of breath and fought to keep her hands steady as she dug for the bullet.
This should be easier.
She continued to probe the torn flesh at his side.
Where was the damn thing?

“You drilling for oil?” Drake muttered through gritted teeth.

“I’m trying to be gentle.”

“I know.” Drake’s free hand moved up to cover her left one, where she’d shifted to hold it against his chest, and squeezed hers in reassurance.

She felt the quivering in her belly and exhaled on a deep breath. The bullet had to be in there. It was just a matter of finding it. She could
do
this.

“Just focus, baby. You’ll get it.”

Drake’s voice drifted over her, the calm reassurance—and absolute belief in her—a soothing balm to her pounding heart.

She shifted the blade slightly and felt the resistance immediately.

“Got it.” Digging the point a hairsbreadth deeper, she felt it as the tip of the blade notched under the bullet. “Hang on to me.”

Drake’s hand tightened on hers, but there was no other indication of his pain. No other indication of how badly he must be suffering.

On a final rush of motion, she had the bullet out in one smooth move, the now-misshapen metal falling to the floor.

Immediately, his skin began to mend even faster than before. She grabbed a fresh towel and pressed it to
the wound, but it was obvious he wouldn’t need it much longer.

Drake’s big hand squeezed hers. “Thank you.”

“You…you’re welcome.”

She still gripped the knife so hard her knuckles were white. She tossed it across the room, where it clattered along the floorboard. As soon as the knife left her hand, uncontrollable shakes gripped her entire body.

“Emerson?”

Her name on Drake’s lips sounded very far away as she turned to look at him.

“Emerson? Are you all right?”

She tried to snap out the words “of course,” but they wouldn’t form. Instead, a wash of hot tears filled her eyes as another round of shakes gripped her shoulders.

Drake struggled to sit up—should he be doing that?—and reached for her. “Come here.”

“F…fi…fine.” Her teeth chattered so hard she couldn’t form a word. “I…I’m fi…fine.”

“Sure you are.” He pulled her close and Emerson wanted to feel embarrassed, but all she could feel was the delicious warmth that seeped into her skin wherever he touched her. Drake shifted back slightly to look at her, those mysterious genie’s eyes boring into hers. “Thank you.”

An embarrassing hiccup escaped her lips as she said, “You’re welcome.”

When Drake’s arms wrapped around her once again, Emerson did something really embarrassing.

She broke down and sobbed.

“Y
ou want to tell me what just happened?”

“Not really,” Grey snapped out as he reached for a crystal decanter on the credenza behind his desk.

“Can I at least have one of those? I don’t quite have my sea legs yet.” Finley’s tone was low, but he had to give her credit. That sexy voice never quavered.

Grey gave the legs in question a quick look before turning back to pouring. He heard the light clink of the decanter against his crystal-cut glass and struggled to keep his hand from shaking as he reached for a second one. “Of course.”

He poured her a couple of fingers of bourbon and carried their glasses back to the leather couches on the opposite side of his office. Everything looked exactly as he’d left it an hour before, even if it felt entirely different.

She was here after nearly getting herself killed by a bunch of unrepentant thugs who would have reveled in her death.

Focusing on the fact she was safe, he handed over the bourbon and had to give her credit for the steady blue gaze that never wavered, even as she took a sip of the harsh liquor.

“I had a feeling there were a few secrets here.” She glanced around the room. “I can’t say I’m all that disappointed to have my instincts proven correct, especially since I suspect that’s how you saved me tonight.”

“Ms. McCrae,” Grey began.

“Haven’t we gotten a bit past that? I’m Finley.” And to prove it, she moved forward, set her glass on the coffee table with a soft clink and turned toward him, laying a hand on his knee.

Grey hadn’t been a teenager since Rome fell, but he’d be hard-pressed to say he’d ever felt so awkward around a woman in the ensuing years. “Finley.”

“That’s better. Now, what the hell is going on? How’d you know I’d be in that warehouse and how did you and your friend get in like that?”

“I was at that warehouse because you gave me the tip. Earlier this evening. Remember?”

The impatient huff as she exhaled on a heavy breath was unmistakable. “Yeah, but it was the
way
you got in.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“You just…appeared.”

Deflect. Evade. Lie. He’d had centuries of practice. “We were hiding in the storeroom.”

“Between the storeroom and the middle of the warehouse. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“Okay, fine. How do
you
think we got in?”

“I’m a logical person, Grey. I have to be. I’m a lawyer.
I deal in facts and things that can be seen and touched. Things that are proven.”

“And?”

She brushed a lock of auburn hair behind her ear. “There is no logical explanation for how you arrived. You just…appeared.” Finley said it again as she reached for her glass, her puzzled gaze focused on the amber liquid.

Grey shifted back to his original strategy and sought to deflect the conversation and turn it around. Put her on the defensive. “Are you going to report what happened this evening?”

“Report what?”

“To the DA? To the cops. I wouldn’t blame you for either. They may be a slippery bunch of thugs, but they still threatened to kill you.” He took another sip of his bourbon. Even as he asked the questions, he knew he could never let her put voice to them.

Couldn’t let her face the danger that would come with riling up the monsters that hid in the DA’s office.

Finley ran her thumbs over the pattern on the glass. “I shouldn’t have been there, so I’m not planning on saying anything. My boss wouldn’t be very happy to find out I specifically defied a direct order.”

“So why did you?”

“I couldn’t miss out on the opportunity to figure out what was going on.”

“Gavelli’s men know who you are. Now so do Lavano’s men.”

“Grey, this is New York City. There’s not a thug in New York who doesn’t know who works in the DA’s office. This isn’t the first time I was a target. I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

Grey finished his drink in one large swallow, the thought of her facing that danger alone sending ice-cold fear winging through his veins. Settling the glass on the coffee table, he managed to keep his voice to a quiet whisper. “You were captured.”

“It was a calculated risk.”

The simmering anger that had roiled in his gut since he looked out of the storeroom and saw her at gunpoint erupted. “Like hell it was!”

Other than those bright blue eyes going wide with surprise, she didn’t even flinch at his raised voice. Instead, she leaned forward, the hard set of her slender shoulders proof positive she felt no remorse about her decisions that evening. “Grey, I knew what I was getting into.”

“Bullshit. I want to know how you got a tip about Gavelli’s meeting and then ended up at gunpoint.”

“My colleague Melanie gave me the tip. Gave it to both of us—my boss, Charlie, and me. He forbade me to go. Forbade both of us to get involved.”

“So Melanie’s responsible for setting you up?”

“But then why would she have told Charlie about it? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Anger had him in its cold, pointy claws, but he held his voice steady. “It makes perfect sense. She knew you wouldn’t be able to resist going exactly where you didn’t belong.”

“She has nothing to gain. Why would she own up to a tip, tell our boss and then use it against me?”

Grey wasn’t ready to let their illustrious DA or his staff off the hook just yet, but she had a point. It would also be an incredibly poor move for her colleagues to suddenly make themselves targets if she’d gone missing.

“Why did you go into that warehouse? People do lots of dumb things.”

The dumb comment had her back up, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “I had an opportunity and I took it.”

“Well, then, Miss Opportunity. It looks like we have a new mystery to figure out.”

“What’s this ‘we,’ Grey? This is my problem. And if it is someone in my office, I’ll deal with it.”

“No, you won’t. Not on your own.”

She lifted her gaze to his, heat rising quickly in the sea of blue. “You don’t have a say in it.”

“Fuck if I don’t.” Grey didn’t think—didn’t keep the cool head he prided himself on.

Instead he simply acted.

Reaching for her waist, he dragged her forward on the couch, the leather making it easy to pull her slender frame forward. Unable to see anything but her—unable to think about anything but her—he slammed his lips on hers, fusing their mouths in a rush of heat and need and such soul-pounding fear he didn’t know if his heart would ever stop thumping against his ribs at triple its normal speed.

The need to consume her simply filled him and he was unable to stop the rush of heat as their tongues met and plundered.