“Sorry!” I offered as we slid through the gap he’d created.
We need to cut him off, Sentinel. He killed and he ran, and I doubt he’ll stop.
No argument there. I mentally pictured the neighborhood, tried to guess where he might go. But since I didn’t know him—or where he’d come from, or where he was going, or what kind of transportation he might get into—I really didn’t have anything to go on. He’d been in Wrigleyville, and he’d done murder in Wrigleyville. And now, with two vampires on his tail, he was probably hoping to get out again.
Right, Ethan said as the vampire turned and dodged back toward the El.
Maybe he’d taken the Red Line to get down here, and was planning to take the same route home again.
Stay on him, I told Ethan, and dodged across the street. If I could make headway, I could cut him off before he dodged into the alley again.
“Cubs hats!”
A man stepped in front of me from out of nowhere, wearing a column of stacked baseball caps on his head, a dozen more hanging from his fingers. “You need a Cubs hat?”
He was enormous. A red-and-blue-clad wall of a man. “Not tonight, pal,” I said, and tried to pivot around him, but instead we did the awkward left-or-right dance as he swung his hats back and forth, tried to get a bite.
I finally managed to slip around him, but the effort had slowed me down. The vampire darted across the street and into the shadows under the tracks again. I hit the shadows only seconds before Ethan . . . and nearly too late to hear the engine race. The driver’s door still open, a beat-up Trans Am barreled toward us. The door slammed, the vampire’s face shadowed in the vehicle, but I could see—and sense—perfectly well the handgun that pointed out the window.
I moved with only instinct, and without thought.
“Move!” I told Ethan, and turned in front of him, pushing him to the ground as the shot rang out, the sound slapping off brick and concrete and steel. Tires squealed as the car jerked forward, turned onto the street, and screamed into the night.
I rolled off Ethan. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he said testily. “You stepped in front of me.”
“I will always step in front of you. You named me Sentinel.”
“In the larger scheme, not my wisest decision.”
I wasn’t going to argue with that admission of fallibility, even if I disagreed with the sentiment. “You can’t take it back now. I’m finally getting good at it.”
“Jesus, Merit.”
“What? Are you hurt?” I didn’t see blood, so I looked around, then back at Ethan. “Is he back?”
“No,” he said, with silvering eyes that shone in the dark. “You’ve been shot.”
“No, I haven’t.” I glanced down at my arm, saw the crimson rivulets that flowed down my arm and now pooled into my open palm. Adrenaline faded, and I felt the spear of fire that lanced through my biceps.
“Damn it,” I said, my vision dimming at the edges. The world began to spin, but I gritted my teeth. I was a goddamn vampire, and I was absolutely not going to pass out. Not after chasing a murderer and taking a bullet for my Master.
“It looks like I took another bullet for you,” I said.
Ethan grunted, ripped off the bottom hem of his shirt, and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He folded and pressed the handkerchief to my arm, then used the hem to secure the handkerchief in place and create a make-do bandage.
“Ow,” I said when he secured it a little more snugly than he should have. Fast healing was one of our better biological advantages, but we still felt pain, and this hurt like a son of a bitch.
“You did that on purpose,” I said as he tucked the ends of the fabric into place.
“You did that on purpose. It’s your fault you got shot.”
“Technically, it’s the vampire’s fault. And I’d still rather be shot than listen to Luc harangue me because I let you get shot.”
Ethan just growled. He was so adorable in ultra-alpha protective Master mode, with his blond hair and green eyes, and a slightly murderous expression on his face.
I frowned. “I think blood loss is making me loopy.”
“Well, this isn’t exactly how I thought the evening would go, either.” The bandage assembled, he sat back on his heels, brushed the hair from my face. “Could you try not to get shot again? I believe this is your third time.”
“Fourth,” I said, wincing as pain waved across my arm. “And I promise to try not to get shot again. Because it really does hurt.”
He leaned forward, pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “Steady on, my brave Sentinel.”
Brave . . . and slightly bullet-ridden.
? ? ?
Ethan grabbed water and aspirin from a corner store, which he administered as well as any experienced nurse.
We waited until my dizziness had passed; then we walked back toward the alley. Mallory and Catcher stood beside a peeling pier that supported the tracks, staring down at the body. Humans had already begun to gather on the sidewalk, trying to get a glimpse of the man on the ground.
Catcher’s eyes narrowed in concern at my bandaged arm. “What the hell happened to you?”