He began to flop like a caught fish.
Sucking in air, she pretended the air around them was on fire. Flames danced on her skin. She pictured fire in her mouth, on her tongue, and suddenly, flames danced out of her mouth.
This was crazy. Definitely risky. Leaning down, she opened Bernie’s mouth and breathed in. Hard and fast, she shot those flames down his throat, hoping she wasn’t killing him. God, she hoped she wasn’t burning him from the inside out.
Her fire continued, snuffing his out, but his convulsions increased in pace and strength.
Finally, she ran out of air. Leaning back, she sucked in oxygen and tried to make more fire. Nothing. She tried again. No fire.
Bernie lay out cold, his body shuddering, the smell of burned skin cascading around them.
The door burst open and paramedics ran inside.
Lex slipped to the side and put Bernie’s head on her lap, tears streaking down her face. Her vision hazed. “One here and one behind the bar.” She watched as they set an IV in place and then helped them load him onto a stretcher.
Bernie and Masterson, whose color had faded to a light blue, were both loaded into an ambulance. She and Bundt, who was covered in blood, stood in the rain for a sliver of a second, watching the ambulance careen away.
“I’ll drive,” Bundt said, turning and running for his car.
Lex nodded and followed, wiping tears off her face, her knees weak. What if she’d hurt Bernie? What if her fire hadn’t been enough to save him? What if Masterson didn’t awaken? They had to be all right.
She shook her head and holstered her weapon, leaping into the passenger seat of Bundt’s truck. Her throat hurt like claws had ripped down it.
Patrol officers screeched to a stop, lights swirling, jumping out to take statements.
A witch had attacked Bernie right in front of her, and he’d tried to hurt her. She’d head to the hospital and pray her partner lived then go have a talk with the entire Dunne family.
It was time they told her everything.
Chapter 23
Kell’s wet boots squeaked on the polished tiles, but he paid no heed while all but running through the hallway to the emergency waiting room. His heart thundered in his chest. If Alexandra had been harmed, he’d know . . . right? As her mate, he would feel her pain, deep in his gut.
But they’d only been mated a short time, and they hadn’t fully connected. So maybe he wouldn’t feel anything.
Darkness and fury coursed through him, and it took every ounce of control he had to hold back the flames . . . to keep the fire at bay and not start throwing plasma balls in an effort to shove out some of the fear and pain.
He turned the corner, and the second he saw her, he halted. The world slowed, and the frantic beating of his heart mellowed.
She was all right.
Alexandra huddled next to a middle-aged woman on a set of chairs, her arm around the slender shoulders of the crying woman. Fresh bruises marred Alexandra’s too pale face, and one near her temple had already turned an angry purple. Blood covered the front of her shirt.
But she was unharmed.
He growled low. His mate. In danger.
Never fucking again.
Cops milled around, some sitting, some pacing. The level of tension, of fury, clogged the oxygen, even though the sensations came from humans.
He needed to touch her and reassure himself that she was all right. But as a suspect in a current case, he’d only cause a scene by walking through the ocean of cops.
As if she sensed him, she stilled and then slowly turned her head. Despair filled her pretty eyes, and the lost look had him stepping toward her automatically. He’d do anything to erase that expression.
She whispered something to the woman and stood, heading his way. To avoid being seen, he turned and backtracked into the rainy night, making for his truck, sensing her on his heels.
Reaching the black Chevy, he opened the passenger-side door, and she climbed inside without a word.
He tuned in his senses for a threat, found none besides the raging storm, and crossed the truck to climb inside. The second his ass hit the seat, he reached for her, lifting and settling her on his lap.
She struggled, shaking and moving, finally shoving him hard in the chest.
He kept his hold relentless, letting her fight it out, feeling the stubbornness in her when she stopped moving and perched tightly coiled on his lap.
“Alexandra,” he whispered.
The first sob shook her entire body. She bit it back, her muscles somehow tensing further.
“It’s all right,” he said, gently rubbing from her neck to her tailbone.
Another sob emerged, full of hurt.
His heart shattered in two, and a deadly frustration exploded inside him, along with a vow to disembowel whoever had hurt her. He clasped her neck, unwilling to wait any longer, and pulled her head into his chest.