Bat and the Bone Page 7

  I might be a shifter who can easily heal from a bullet wound, but she is pointing it directly at my heart. There is no recovering from that.

  "Mom." I say the word, hoping that she remembers that she carried me for nine months. That she held me as a baby. That she kissed my skinned knees and read me bedtime stories. She lowers the gun one single millimeter.

  "Do it, Sveta," Oscar eggs on. "We can use her blood to fix you. To find the missing link to immortality."

  Her eyes slide over to Oscar. He is caught between pleading and faked bravado.

  "Sure." I shrug. "You could kill me, Mom." I make sure to enunciate that last work, really hammering it home. "But would you be ready to face Dad at that trial? Look into Edward's face and tell him what you've done? Mom?"

  The gun slides another millimeter down. If she were to shoot now, it would maybe nick an artery, but my chances of surviving have significantly increased.

  "Sveta," Oscar growls. "We have worked too hard to stop now. What are you thinking? Do it. I can fix you."

  “Mom, look at me. It’s me, Spooky. Remember? You called me that because I was the only little girl who wanted to dress like a monster instead of the princess at Halloween.”

  She bites down on her lip, a mannerism that is so like me that it makes my heart ache. Mom lowers the gun, but Oscar anticipates her move. He grabs for it, and the two begin to scuffle for the weapon.

  "Mila." T-Bone pushes me behind him and backs us up a few feet. I step back around him, trying to find a way to break between Oscar and my mom.

  "Why are you doing this, Sveta?" Oscar shouts. "We had a deal. We said we would find a cure to death, to aging. You're ruining it."

  "I can't hurt her." Mom weeps, clawing at her accomplice. “She’s my own. My Spooky. I can’t.”

  I can only watch in horror as the two very sick people battle it out for the weapon. It would be comical if it weren't so goddamn sad.

  She's too frail from battling the blood poisoning and the Foamies, and she loses the gun to Oscar.

  T-Bone surely notices the turn of the tide as he dives in front of me.

  I vaguely hear the sound of the gun going off, and I can only wait for the pain.

  It doesn't come.

  But T-Bone's leg buckles, and blood gushes from his thigh.

  Mom launches herself at Oscar, screeching at him that he could have killed me. Her pale face is a mask of fury as she claws at his face.

  I kneel by T-Bone and press my hand to his leg. A lot of blood is spouting out of him, and he’s unconscious.

  "You’re going to be okay,” I say. But there is a lot of blood. Enough for me to know that he has indeed been shot in his femoral artery.

  A few feet away, Oscar and my mother have stopped fighting. She's the one holding the gun. This time, it's pointed straight to Oscar.

  "You could have killed my daughter, you idiot," she shrieks.

  "It was for us, Sveta. You know you've grown old, and I only wanted to fix you. With her blood, we could have made you younger." He takes a step toward her, his hands outstretched for the gun. "We can still find the cure. We can make all of this better. You said, remember, that we could be heroes if we found the secret of life that lies in blood. We just have to kill her." He inclines his head in my direction.

  I have no idea why he has fixated on killing me, but I don't particularly enjoy being his target. My hands are applying pressure to T-Bone’s wound, trying to find a way to get a handle on the situation.

  "You know that legend, that daughters steal their mother's beauty and youth? That's what she did to you."

  Oh, that mother fucker. If T-Bone's leg weren't bleeding so profusely, I'd beat Oscar’s ass for believing—and perpetuating—that asinine tale.

  If T-Bone’s shifter healing could kick in, he would regain consciousness to hold his own wound while I tried to untangle the mess between my mother and Oscar.

  Mom narrows her eyes at him. "I've been fighting against the image of Elizabeth Bathory put on me, and here you are, spouting another misogynistic bullshit story. I should have known that you were just like the rest of them."

  In the distance, the sound of sirens can be heard.

  Her eyes slip for a second, and then with a sigh, she shakes her head.

  "What's a few more years added to my sentence?" she says, emptying the rest of the clip into Oscar's chest.

  I can't help the gasp that tears out of me.

  My knees go weak, and if I weren’t already sitting on the cold ground, I would have collapsed. I’ve completely forgotten how to breathe. My vision blurs, and I can’t seem to get a handle on my reeling mind. Thoughts speed by, and I can’t latch onto any.

  Mom just killed someone.

  Reality stops making sense as she walks toward me, drops the gun at my feet, and then sits on the porch. As if nothing has just happened.

  "What are you doing?" I ask her, finding my voice, but only just barely.

  "Well, you all hear them coming. He's injured, so you'll be the only thing between me and my freedom. I won't hurt you, Mila."

  I blink at her, and I try with all of my might to keep quiet. But I can't. "It's too late for that."

  She nods sadly and looks away. "I know, Spooky. I know."

  13

  T-Bone

  The world comes back into focus, slowly and painfully. The sun is hurting my eyes, and I want to stand to get Mila out of its harmful rays, but my body won’t answer me.

  I watch through half-opened eyes as Mila and Markov exchange a few words. Even injured, I can see the sadness on both women’s faces. I’m surprised to hear Markov admit that she’d hurt her daughter.

  The words feel heavy on the air. She leans her head back on the cabin wall and closes her eyes. It's surrender.

  All because Sveta refuses to hurt her daughter.

  It's kind of fascinating. She was holding a gun to her head not five minutes ago.

  The sound of the sirens is now accompanied by the flash of red and blue lights against the white building. A dozen agents spill out of the various vehicles, weapons drawn on what can only be described as the oddest scene.

  The escaped convict is sitting quietly, not making a single move to run, while her accomplice bleeds out beside her.

  "Agent Thrussell." One of my team leaders, Meg, comes to stand above me. “That’s a nasty wound. It’ll take a bit of time to heal up. You’ll need to get that checked out.”

  She’s not wrong. I'm suddenly very grateful that I called for medics as well as a few teams to meet us at the Lake Murray location once we spotted the car parked out front.

  Not that I need the medical attention, per se, now that the blood flowing from my leg has progressed from a mild deluge to a slowly decreasing flow. But my team leaders are all RCMP agents who have no idea that I'm a Hairy Coo shifter who can literally take a bullet and walk away without becoming ground beef. Injured, to be sure. But I definitely won’t be steak tartare anytime soon.

  "Thanks, Meg. But I just need a minute. Cuff her." I gesture to a still very demure Sveta.

  My shifter blood is already healing the hell out of my wound, and it's not as bad as it was a few minutes ago. It'll be tender for a day or so, since an artery was definitely nicked, but I’ve definitely survived worse in my time.

  "Here," Mila says, helping me up with her slender shoulders. "You're kind of kooky, you know that?" she adds, shaking her head. "You're not as straight-edged as I originally thought. Diving for bullets and all."

  * * *

  "What's going to happen to me?" Sveta asks as her hands are cuffed behind her back.

  "Well, I'm guessing more time will be added to your sentence. For the escape and maybe for the death of your accomplice."

  "What's a few more years to a thousand-year sentence?" She shrugs.

  She's not wrong. She was given over a thousand years behind bars. It was a gesture the judge posed for the victims' families.

  "Mila," she says, "my head is a little b
it confused. I think... Wait, are you still in school?"

  "No," Mila answers sadly. "I graduated a little while ago. I became a professor. Remember?"

  "Oh." Sveta nods. "Oh, yes. That's right."

  But it's written all over her face that she isn't sure what year it is or even where she is. Mila leads her mother to one of the police cruisers and tucks her inside.

  "I'll be right behind you," Mila swears. "This time you’re headed to a FUC prison. They'll know how to help you. Just... be good, okay? Listen to the officers."

  "Mila..." Sveta shakes her head. "I have work to do. I need more test subjects."

  "Okay, Mom," Mila answers. She closes the door and turns back, her shoulders slumping way down.

  I limp toward Mila, ignoring Meg, who is clamoring for me to get checked by the medics.

  "Hey." I drape an arm around her. "You'll be okay."

  "Yeah," she whispers. "Better than you. You took a bullet for me." Mila's voice is nothing but a whisper, and I know she’s being brave. My wound is healing, but it might take a while to get past this for her. I took the bullet for her, but I would take the emotional hits if I could.

  "It was pure instinct," I tell her. We both look down to the wound that has mostly stopped bleeding. "I wasn't going to let you get it."

  "I'm a shifter, too." She furrows her brow. "I would heal just as fast as you."

  "Impossible woman." I laugh. "Can't you just thank me for being noble?"

  Mila rolls her eyes. "Oh, sure. You're noble as fuck for jumping in front of a bullet." She leans up, one of her small hands running against my furry cheek. Her soft lips brush against mine in an impossibly sweet kiss. "Thanks, T," she whispers against my lips.

  It's not enough.

  Cupping the back of her head, I press her closer to me and bring my own mouth to hers. This time, when our lips meet, there is no sweetness, only an uncontrolled burn.

  I can pretend that I'm kissing her because I'm happy to be alive. I can lie and say that kissing her is a lapse in judgment because I was afraid I’d die.

  But I'm not a liar.

  I'm kissing her because I need to. It feels like this has been destined to happen since the second I walked into her lab as Mila chatted up a pile of bones.

  I run my tongue along the seam of her mouth, and on a sigh, Mila lets me explore her mouth.

  It's like sipping fire.

  It goes straight to my cock, deep in my heart. I should have known that Mila would be the most potent force in the world.

  "What is happening?" Mila asks, pulling away from me.

  "Well, I was giving you some of my best work," I tease, needing to bring some levity into the lust-filled atmosphere.

  "Huh." She shrugs. "Good try."

  Is she serious? There is no way she didn't feel the intensity of that kiss.

  The glint in her impossibly blue eyes and the deep blush of her cheeks tell me that she is just as affected as I am.

  Mila is such an intense livewire, smart as hell, strong as alloy steel, and she's without a doubt the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I should be so lucky as to get her affection.

  "I'm sorry if I just mauled you." My voice comes out raspy and low, belying my words. I'm not sorry. I'm tucking the memory of that kiss deep into my heart, and I'll replay it over and over again.

  "Don't be sorry, T."

  Mila runs her lips against mine, drops a quick peck, and hugs me close.

  "Thanks," she whispers. "I don't think I could have gotten through the last twenty-four hours without you."

  I hold her close to me. "I'm the one who should be thanking you. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't have found her so quickly. She didn't put anyone else in danger."

  Her eyes go to Oscar, her cheeks blanching.

  "He made his choice when he decided to help her escape from prison. You can't feel guilty about that."

  I tuck her long hair behind her shoulder before placing my hand there.

  "I have to pretend to go to the ambulance and get checked out before my team leaders figure out something is off about me. Hang tight, and we can go see your mom. Make sure she's getting the right meds."

  Mila nods her head. "I should call my dad and let him know that he's safe. That he can go back to his place." She bites down on her lip, and before I can even react, her lips find mine. She wastes no time demanding entrance into my mouth. Our tongues tangle and rub in a passionate embrace. Mila moves her hands through the hair at the back of my neck, across my shoulders, down my chest, her fingers trailing little paths along my skin.

  I wish we weren't in the middle of a crime scene, surrounded by agents. I wish that we had met under better circumstances.

  What I want is to lay Mila on the softest, most luxurious bed and make her come until the only thing she can say is my name. Over and over again.

  Those are hardly the kinds of thoughts I should be having right now.

  "T," she whispers, "you need to go tend to your wound, but just so you know, if you were to ask me out, I'd say yes."

  "Fair," I respond before diving back for her lips, because I can't help myself. "Mila," I say between more searing kisses, "let me take you out to dinner."

  "I didn't mean right now." She smirks.

  "I have no game when it comes to this kind of thing. I like you. Let me take you out."

  "Only if you take me someplace where we can share steak tartare."

  My eyes go wide, and she giggles. "I'm just teasing, T-Bone. Go." She pushes me toward the ambulance. "Pretend you're a hurt human."

  She watches me as I sit in the back of the rescue vehicle, being tended to by a very confused paramedic. Once I'm properly cared for, Mila retreats to the SUV to call her father.

  The last day plays over in my mind. I can't believe I've only known Mila for such a short time.

  Maybe it was the intensity of our mission, or maybe it's the way we balance each other out, but all I know is that if she is offering to spend time with me, I'll take it.

  I'll always choose Mila if she lets me.

  14

  T-Bone

  The glass walls of the sub-basement lab aren't really undulating with the thumping of Mila's music, but I swear the god-awful noise is so loud it makes my teeth rattle.

  The woman responsible for said racket is leaning over a shiny metal worktable, a pile of bones in front of her and a pair of magnifying glasses hiding half of her beautiful face.

  I knock on the door, hoping to catch her attention, but of course she doesn't hear me.

  "Oh, that must have hurt," she tells the remains. "Sorry about that."

  I barely hear her words as I search for the remote. It's fascinating that her workspace is a mixture of cleanliness and organization while her desk is a pile of stuff taken directly taken from my nightmares. I almost wish I could organize all of it for her. But Mila would have my ass for even trying that.

  I spot the remote on the corner of the precarious pile of papers and hit Pause.

  Mila jumps at the sound of silence and turns to face me.

  "Hey, if it isn't my favorite crime-solving partner." I can't help but smile at her.

  Her shirt reads Forensic Anthropologists - Will Date Anything with a large smiling skeleton under the writing. The tee is black, of course, as are her leather pants. They could be painted on, showcasing all of her curves.

  I've missed her, and I want to hold her body close to mine and kiss her painted red lips. We haven't actually seen each other since Sveta was brought to the FUC prison. It's been a crazy two days, between filling reports and getting my superiors to agree that Sveta had her place in the shifter prison.

  I was lucky to get Carlyle, the warden of the prison Sveta's escaped from, on my side. He was kind enough to state that he didn't feel his facility was equipped to deal with a person of Sveta's capabilities.

  The last kiss Mila and shared was in the FUCNA parking lot when I dropped her off. She's been prancing in my mind since then.

  Eve
rything Mila does is either cute or sexy as hell. Even now, she looks adorable, with her magnifying glasses sliding on her nose as she looks at me. Her lab coat drops off her shoulders as she places the spectacles down.

  "Please do not tell me you're here to ask my help with another case. My mother better be solidly behind bars."

  She cocks an eyebrow with a smirk on her beautiful face.

  I would say that I don't know how Mila ended up being so sweet and caring when she has Markov for a mother, but the truth is she came by those attributes all on her own. Sure, she had a good dad who was there to support her and help her navigate her new world when Sveta was arrested. Mila could have gone in a million other directions, but she chose forensic anthropology to seek answers, not just for herself but also for the families of all of Sveta’s victims.

  "I got that promotion I was after. I wanted to thank you. Without your expertise, I never would have caught Markov." I purposefully distance her from the deranged serial killer.

  "You know I was just doing what needed to be done. There's no need to thank me. Besides, if it weren't for the escape, I wouldn't have met this really cool guy."

  I arch an eyebrow. "A cool guy?" I echo, but she doesn't bite.

  "Wait, a promotion? Does this mean that you've finally achieved the ultimate Thrussell family goal of making superintendent?"

  "Oh, no. I was offered something different. I realized I wasn’t ready to give up the field. Besides, I don't think that the titles are as important to me as they are to my father and grandfather.”

  “What job were you offered?”

  “Furry United Coalition agent,” I say with a sly smile.

  Mila’s jaw drops, but only for a few seconds. The smile she flashes me is resplendent.

  "Look at you, breaking from family tradition. You really are a rebel."

  She laughs, and I join in. She's entirely too far from me. I take a few more steps toward her. Her smell, the sweet scent of orange blossoms, fills my head with all kinds of ideas.

  "Does this new job have anything to do with why you're here?" she asks. Mila flips her hair back, but as she has the habit of doing, she flicks a section through her fingers, twirling the length nervously.