“Sophie!” Will yelled.
I felt Will’s fingers brush past my shoulder as I put my hands on the man’s chest. His head railed against my palm and his breathing came in sharp, fast breaths.
“I’m calling an ambulance.”
“He doesn’t need an ambulance,” I told Will. “He needs to come home with us.”
“What?”
I looked into the man’s dark eyes, which were now hooded and weary. “He’s a werewolf.”
The man started to shake his head and I steadied him. “It’s okay. I recognize you from the UDA, but I don’t remember your name.”
“Sergio,” his dry lips whispered. “My name is Sergio.”
Will’s eyes went wide. “Werewolf?”
I had a hot, sinking feeling in my belly. On a daily basis I surround myself with immortals, angels, and the occasional fire-breathing dragon. From time to time, having that kind of posse tends to make me feel rather invincible, but coming face-to-face with the kind of firepower that could take down a werewolf—let alone turn me into a runny hunk of Swiss cheese—had the uncanny ability to turn me into jelly.
I blinked at the velvety bubble of black-red blood as it made its way out of Sergio’s wound. I felt hot bile rise in my throat. “I don’t feel so good.”
I felt Sergio’s baseball mitt–sized paws holding my shoulder, guiding me softly to the concrete. Will pressed his palm to my forehead.
“Is she going to be okay?” Sergio asked.
I blinked and gulped down a lungful of stale, urine-scented air; then I gagged and coughed.
“Yeah, she’s fine.”
I tried to glare at Will, but I was feeling a little barfy. I swung my head out of the vestibule and sucked in some semiclean air.
Will crouched down next to me. “So, do ... these guys ... bleed out like normal humans?”
I looked back to where Sergio was holding his wound and nodded. “Yeah.”
“Then we need to stop the bleeding or we’re going to lose him.” Will gently pushed Sergio’s arm aside and Sergio let him. “Looks like he was shot in the chest.”
Sergio shook his head again. “Shoulder. It’s the upper shoulder. Not a big deal.”
“Let’s get him home.”
We helped Sergio up and I was astonished to see that he was almost a full head taller than Will; but Will wielded Sergio as if he weighed nothing.
I stared into the street, frowning. “Should we get a cab?”
Sergio shook his head with concentrated effort. “My car is right over there.” He dug in his pocket and dropped a shiny set of keys in Will’s hand. “Do you mind?”
Will shook his head silently, continued to guide Sergio and me toward the car. We helped Sergio lay down in the back of his SUV, then drove home in near silence. The only sounds were Sergio’s occasional groans and ragged whooshes of air. I glanced over at Will, noticing his own arm lying limp in his lap, covered with blood. He was slowly flexing and unflexing his fist.
“You okay?” I wanted to know.
I watched the muscle twitch in Will’s jaw. I saw the pink tip of his tongue slide across his lower lip. He leaned over to me.
“What does it take to make a person ...” His eyes flicked from the windshield to his blood-covered forearm.
“Into a werewolf?” I finished for him.
Another whoosh of air from the backseat and Sergio pushed himself up. “Don’t worry, man. You’re fine. I didn’t nick you, did I?”
My eyes went wide. “He didn’t nick you, did he?”
Will wagged his head and I let out a tiny, relieved breath. “You’re fine,” I said. “It’s only a bite, a really significant scratch, or drinking from his footprint.”
Will knitted his brows. “Drinking from a footprint?”
I shrugged. “I’m just the messenger.”
We rounded a corner and Sergio winced again; I angled myself over the back of my seat. “You’re going to be okay, Sergio. We’re almost back to my apartment.” I eyed the man and his well-tailored suit—that gorgeous coat now glistening with a growing sheen of wet blood. “Do you know what happened? Do you know who did this?”
Sergio shook his big head. “I don’t really know. I was walking home from the office and I heard tires squeal. I didn’t really pay attention because, you know, downtown San Francisco.”
We all nodded knowingly, used to the constant honks, tire squeals, and inarticulate shouting from the downtown residents and tourists.
“Then I heard the first pop. Naturally, I ducked, but I didn’t think it had anything to do with me.”
“Gangbangers?” I asked.
“Something like that. I really try and keep to myself mostly. There are a lot of thugs out there, a lot of bad elements. I like to keep my business clean.”
I socked Will on the shoulder. “See? I told you.”
“Good guess,” he said without looking back at me.
“I felt the first shot whiz by me, so I dove into that doorway. I wasn’t too worried because”—Sergio’s dark eyes glanced from Will to me—“well ...”