Jesse went down hard, instinctively dropping the gun as he brought his arms up to protect his head. He felt the werewolf’s jaws clamp down on his raised forearm in the same moment, and cried out with pain. The charcoal wolf just bit deeper.
The tan wolf hit the charcoal wolf with a rolling tackle, but the smaller wolf had a perfect lock on Jesse’s arm, and it dragged Jesse with it as it rolled, wrenching his forearm in its jaws. He screamed with the pain as he was flipped sideways, nearly landing on his attacker. The charcoal wolf slipped nimbly out from under him and stepped right onto his goddamned chest, the unexpected weight making him gasp. It never let go of his arm.
Suddenly, the sharp pop of a gunshot exploded in the night. Jesse felt the charcoal wolf’s jaw loosen its grip with surprise, and both of them looked toward the source of the sound. Scarlett was on the lawn in front of them, silhouetted against the house lights, her hand extended in the air. She had his service Beretta raised toward the sky, and was grimacing with pain. Jesse didn’t see her cane anywhere.
“What the fuck,” she said, her voice ragged but calm, “is going on here?”
Chapter 22
Jesse grinned with relief. Scarlett lowered the gun to her side and began limping toward them, taking little hopping steps and dragging her bad leg behind her. The charcoal wolf snarled with frustration and launched itself off Jesse, forcing a little oof of pain out of him as it pushed off his chest. Then it raced back toward the woods, leaving Jesse and the tan wolf alone in the yard.
Jesse staggered to his feet to go help Scarlett, but there was a sudden movement to his right, and by the time he turned his head Jesse could see a very human Will, stark naked, rolling to his feet. Without even looking at Scarlett, Will squared off opposite Jesse and demanded in a panting voice, “Did it break the skin?”
“Huh?” Jesse looked down and realized he was clutching his forearm. It throbbed with hot pain, but he didn’t see any blood. He held it up, angling himself so he could inspect the arm in the dim light. The thick leather of his jacket had caught the werewolf’s teeth—one or two had gone all the way through, leaving perfect little holes in the leather, but the shirt underneath it was okay. “No, my jacket stopped it,” he said, and Will’s shoulders sagged with relief.
It was only then that Jesse understood the alpha’s anxiety. “Wait, could I . . . could he have turned me into a werewolf just now?”
“She,” Will said wearily. He’d dropped down onto the lawn, sitting with his elbows propped on his knees. The shadows hid most of his body, but his nudity didn’t seem to concern him anyway. “That was Anastasia. And it’s unlikely that one bite would have changed you . . . but yeah. It was possible.”
“Oh,” Jesse said. He didn’t really know what else to say.
Scarlett took one last hopping step to Jesse and held out the gun without a word. He accepted it. A glance passed between them, and then Scarlett looked away. Jesse realized how much it must have cost her to get the gun out of the glove compartment, knowing she might have to use it against someone. “Thanks,” he said quietly. Meaning it.
Without meeting Jesse’s eyes, Scarlett looked down at the alpha. “Will, you okay?” she asked. The concern in her voice made Jesse squint at Will again. The alpha was still breathing heavily, and he had a long, shallow tear down his side that was oozing blood.
“I thought you healed when you changed form,” Jesse said stupidly.
Will smiled briefly, obviously in pain. “A normal change boosts my magic, which boosts the healing.” He tilted his head at Scarlett. “But this time she forced the change—thank you, by the way.” Scarlett nodded. “So I didn’t get the extra healing.”
“Oh,” Jesse said again, feeling like an idiot.
Will rose unsteadily to his feet. “Detective, if you would please take Scarlett inside,” he said. “The back door’s unlocked. I’ll grab some clothes and join you shortly. We can talk then.”
“Do you need help, or . . . ,” Jesse began, but he noticed Scarlett trying to suppress a smile. “What?”
“He wants us to go ahead so he can heal, dummy.” Scarlett held out her arm. “Be my cane,” she commanded.
Jesse holstered his Glock, keeping his service gun in his injured right hand after making sure Scarlett had put the safety back on. His fingers could barely close tight enough to hold it. He slid his left arm around Scarlett’s waist, bending awkwardly to compensate for their height difference, and guided her through the unlocked back door, which opened right into a kitchen. It was tidy but well used, and surprisingly homey: shining hardwood floors and rustic cabin-type accents made the room feel like the kind of place where you could have a cup of coffee and share secrets. Jesse helped Scarlett to the solid oak table, which was clearly used hard, often and lovingly. When she was settled in a chair, he went back out to put the Beretta away in his car’s glove compartment, retrieving Scarlett’s cane from where she’d dropped it just outside the sedan.
“How’s your arm?” Scarlett asked him when he returned. She looked shaky and a little pale.
“It’ll be sore as hell tomorrow, but I don’t think she broke it.” He took the chair next to hers and held open his good left hand. She took it without a word, wrapping both of her hands around his.
They sat in silence for another moment, and then Will entered the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a simple blue pullover. Scarlett drew her hands back into her lap. If Will saw it, he didn’t comment.
“Did you guys want anything to drink?” he said tiredly. “Coffee, beer, water?” They both accepted a glass of water, and Jesse took a long gulping drink from his, feeling dehydrated after all the soda.
“What happened tonight?” Scarlett said to Will. “Why did Anastasia attack you?”
Will sighed heavily. He showed no signs of injury now, but he still had the strung-out weariness that Jesse had noticed earlier. He sat down in an empty seat next to Scarlett.