Wyatt heaved a sigh and quietly said, “You scared the crazy out of me.”
I watched as he bent down to pick up his flashlight. “I thought Christian was supposed to be protecting you?”
He pulled off his hat and stuffed it halfway into his back pocket. “If that man were a sock, he’d be the one that goes missing.”
“Well, I saw him downstairs. Is there anyone else on this floor?”
He shrugged. “I came in through the fire escape. You didn’t hear the window break?”
“No, that must have been when the gunshots were going off.”
He peered over his shoulder at Viktor, who stepped out from an open door. “I need to find his office. Have you seen it? Anything with filing cabinets or a desk.”
I shook my head, and we parted ways. Since Viktor and Wyatt had this floor covered, I circled back to the stairs. If Darius was in the building, he was probably hiding as close to the roof as he could get.
A commotion sounded from above, and I ran up the steps, my light moving erratically across the walls with every swing of my arm. More shots fired, and I stumbled out of the stairwell, spinning in confusion when I didn’t run into a wall. Instead of narrow hallways, the entire floor was wide open, separated by accent walls in the center that went toward the back.
A light flashed with the crack of a gunshot, and a sharp sound whizzed by my ear. I dropped my flashlight and shrieked, then raced across the open living room.
Claude roared, and when I reached the other side, I glimpsed him fighting a Mage who was armed with a dagger. Claude didn’t need a weapon. He had venomous fangs, and before they moved out of my line of vision, I saw him dive in for a bite like a savage animal.
Another shot was fired and grazed my arm. I flashed into a dark corner, grimacing in pain and trying to get a sense of the layout. There were several couches, two coffee tables, and a wall with a stone fireplace on the center wall to the right. I grabbed a vase and flung it across the room at the Mage, hoping he’d stop shooting long enough for me to do something.
Still armed with my dagger, I flashed toward him but tripped over an area rug. I rolled hard across the floor, close enough to him that I swiped my blade, cutting his leg. I tried to remember the moves Niko had shown me. Punching him in the testicles wasn’t one of them, but it always got the ball rolling in the right direction, so to speak.
He had the perfect opportunity to shoot me point-blank, but he cursed and dropped the gun, attempting to grab my wrist and disarm me. He was probably more concerned I had a stunner, and as we wrestled, he accidentally kicked the gun away with the heel of his shoe and sent it flying beneath the couch.
“Hold her still!” someone shouted.
When I heard the first shot, I scrambled out of sight. My flashlight was on the floor, aimed at the empty fireplace, but it illuminated the room just enough to allow me to see more clearly.
With a second gunman coming at me, I raced toward the stairwell, and just as he began firing, something slammed against my back and pinned me to the wall. At least seven more shots went off, making me shrink where I stood. A few of them struck the wall on either side of me. Suffocated and confused, I spun around and realized Christian was shielding me from the attack—using his body like a cage, his forearms pressed firmly against the wall, his head low. He was taking bullets for me. One right after the other until clicks sounded from an empty cartridge.
“Dammit,” the man hissed.
I looked up at Christian with wide eyes. It took me a second to process that he had just saved me from being turned into swiss cheese. I released a shaky breath, my eyes fixed on the blood oozing from his right arm, neck, and God knows where else. With a trembling hand, I touched my chest and stomach, searching for injuries that weren’t there. The bullets must have lodged inside him, perhaps ricocheting off his bones.
He eased back a little and grimaced.
“Why did you do that?” I whispered.
Christian lightly shrugged. “Old habits die hard.”
He stepped aside, appraising the gunman. It was then that I recognized Declan—the man who had tortured me with a hot iron.
“That one’s mine,” I said through clenched teeth.
A dark look flickered in Christian’s eyes. “I just took a Hail Mary of bullets for you—twelve to be exact. You’re fresh out of weapons, and you want to go for the big arseface who’s twice your size?”
“That’s the man who burned my face.”
I thought Christian would stand aside with a sweep of his arm and let me get my revenge, but his fangs descended, and I’d never seen him more menacing than in that moment.
Christian inclined his head and dramatically turned, stalking toward the man who’d just loaded another clip. He fired at Christian, each shot resounding in my head and making me jump.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.