Pushing from the seat with his powerful feet, he
soared toward the surface.
A paw broke through to the cool night air, and his wolfish head
followed. Gasping, he eyed the shore, sniffing. No mortals in the vicinity.
Kicking his legs, which were encumbered by the mortal pants that hadn’t fallen
away, the werewolf instinctually shifted as he knew he wasn’t designed to swim
in this shape.
Sinking in the murky depths, Hart quickly reverted to were-form
with a howl that drank in the dirty Seine. Breaststroking, he swam toward the
surface and, by flinging himself halfway onto the sanctity of a hard surface,
landed on the cold sidewalk.
He lay there panting, spitting out the disgusting water,
wincing when he realized his left ankle had been twisted and broken during the
crash. Already healing, the knitting bone and sinews hurt like a mother.
“Longtooth,” he muttered, then lifted his head to scan the
river. “Where did you go?”
He suspected vampires were better swimmers than werewolves
simply because they didn’t have to deal with any shifted body parts, but he
watched the deceptively calm surface, mirrored with frail moonlight, for a long
time. Nothing broke the water, nor did he spy anyone surface across the other
side, or down as far as he could see. They’d plunged in at city’s edge. Hell, he
suspected it would be a while before rescue vehicles got the call someone had
driven into the river.
“One dead vampire is no skin off me,” he muttered, then slapped
a palm to his aching neck. And yet... “She bit me.” He could still feel the open
wounds, which meant it was deep, because a small injury should have healed
within moments.
If she hadn’t surfaced, she must be dead, Hart decided. On the
other hand, drowning wasn’t going to kill a vampire. And something he’d seen
while struggling with the crazed vamp returned to his thoughts.
“That tattoo,” he murmured. But a flash second had shown him
the detailed and finely wrought words: come what
will .
Hart lifted onto his elbows and fiercely stared toward the spot
where he presumed the vehicle had settled. She was down there. Alone. A just
punishment for what she’d put him through.
Shaking his head like a dog to whip the water from his short
hair, he growled and smashed his fist against the sidewalk. She was alone . And the tattoo bothered him. Recent? Some weird
part of him answered, yes, it’s new ink . Which
meant...
Hart stood and dove into the water.
*
Danni struggled with the steel pipe that pierced her gut
and pinned her like a giant bug to the back seat of the submerged SUV. Upon
descent, she’d instinctually started breathing through her nose. She couldn’t
think how wrong it was she was still alive and struggling. Yet another cool
thing about vampirism she had never asked for.
No matter how she tried, she couldn’t dislodge the pipe, which
had come from the rear cargo area and had wedged in the dashboard. Stuck here
forever. Literally.
When would she die? God, she didn’t want this. She’d never
asked for any of this! The idea of tears made her choke on the water and she
wished she could drown and get it over with and done.
When she felt the hand on her leg, she kicked, but instantly
regretted the move. Help? Yes, please!
The hand returned and moved along her leg, groping over her
limbs. Even with her heightened vampire sight she could only make out shadows
and the tiny LEDs on the dashboard. When the hand moved over her hip and slapped
against the pipe embedded in her body, she knew whoever it was had determined
her dire situation. She landed her hand on his face, stroking her fingers down
the side of his jaw and neck, where she felt the serrated skin.
It was him, the werewolf who had condemned her to this watery
grave.
You did too, eh, Dan the Man? Would have
never landed in the river if you hadn’t bitten him .
He tugged at the pipe, and each jerk felt as if her insides
were being rearranged by a flunky surgeon. He
soared toward the surface.
A paw broke through to the cool night air, and his wolfish head
followed. Gasping, he eyed the shore, sniffing. No mortals in the vicinity.
Kicking his legs, which were encumbered by the mortal pants that hadn’t fallen
away, the werewolf instinctually shifted as he knew he wasn’t designed to swim
in this shape.
Sinking in the murky depths, Hart quickly reverted to were-form
with a howl that drank in the dirty Seine. Breaststroking, he swam toward the
surface and, by flinging himself halfway onto the sanctity of a hard surface,
landed on the cold sidewalk.
He lay there panting, spitting out the disgusting water,
wincing when he realized his left ankle had been twisted and broken during the
crash. Already healing, the knitting bone and sinews hurt like a mother.
“Longtooth,” he muttered, then lifted his head to scan the
river. “Where did you go?”
He suspected vampires were better swimmers than werewolves
simply because they didn’t have to deal with any shifted body parts, but he
watched the deceptively calm surface, mirrored with frail moonlight, for a long
time. Nothing broke the water, nor did he spy anyone surface across the other
side, or down as far as he could see. They’d plunged in at city’s edge. Hell, he
suspected it would be a while before rescue vehicles got the call someone had
driven into the river.
“One dead vampire is no skin off me,” he muttered, then slapped
a palm to his aching neck. And yet... “She bit me.” He could still feel the open
wounds, which meant it was deep, because a small injury should have healed
within moments.
If she hadn’t surfaced, she must be dead, Hart decided. On the
other hand, drowning wasn’t going to kill a vampire. And something he’d seen
while struggling with the crazed vamp returned to his thoughts.
“That tattoo,” he murmured. But a flash second had shown him
the detailed and finely wrought words: come what
will .
Hart lifted onto his elbows and fiercely stared toward the spot
where he presumed the vehicle had settled. She was down there. Alone. A just
punishment for what she’d put him through.
Shaking his head like a dog to whip the water from his short
hair, he growled and smashed his fist against the sidewalk. She was alone . And the tattoo bothered him. Recent? Some weird
part of him answered, yes, it’s new ink . Which
meant...
Hart stood and dove into the water.
*
Danni struggled with the steel pipe that pierced her gut
and pinned her like a giant bug to the back seat of the submerged SUV. Upon
descent, she’d instinctually started breathing through her nose. She couldn’t
think how wrong it was she was still alive and struggling. Yet another cool
thing about vampirism she had never asked for.
No matter how she tried, she couldn’t dislodge the pipe, which
had come from the rear cargo area and had wedged in the dashboard. Stuck here
forever. Literally.
When would she die? God, she didn’t want this. She’d never
asked for any of this! The idea of tears made her choke on the water and she
wished she could drown and get it over with and done.
When she felt the hand on her leg, she kicked, but instantly
regretted the move. Help? Yes, please!
The hand returned and moved along her leg, groping over her
limbs. Even with her heightened vampire sight she could only make out shadows
and the tiny LEDs on the dashboard. When the hand moved over her hip and slapped
against the pipe embedded in her body, she knew whoever it was had determined
her dire situation. She landed her hand on his face, stroking her fingers down
the side of his jaw and neck, where she felt the serrated skin.
It was him, the werewolf who had condemned her to this watery
grave.
You did too, eh, Dan the Man? Would have
never landed in the river if you hadn’t bitten him .
He tugged at the pipe, and each jerk felt as if her insides
were being rearranged by a flunky surgeon. He
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