Pierre tossed him a pair of gray sweats. “Pants on.”
He stumbled into the sweats and headed for the door.
His twin grabbed his arm, pulling him up short. “Get a hold of yourself.”
He snarled at his brother, but Pierre’s grip was firm.
“Louis, stop. Others will have heard the alarm. You can’t barge out there half-shifted. Someone will see you.”
He glanced down at the dark hair creeping across his bare chest, and the claws punching through the tips of his fingers. Pierre was right. He pushed his wolf down deep, ignoring its fury that someone may be hurting his mate. Their mate.
Signs of his beast retreated. “Let’s go.”
He yanked their door open. He caught the scent of Mr. Patel behind his closed door, too frightened to open it. It wasn’t his alarm. Louis raced down the corridor. Joe, from apartment thirty-three, stood in his doorway looking pale and unnerved in a pair of spotty boxers. There was only one other apartment on this floor.
“Get back inside, Joe, and shut the door. We’ll deal with this.”
“Shall I call the police?”
“No,” he snapped.
“We’ll take care of it.,” said Pierre from behind him. “It’s probably a false alarm.”
Louis didn’t stick around to watch the guy retreat into his apartment. He was at Melinda’s door, pushing it open. The deadbolt had been picked, and someone with a lot of expertise had disabled the alarm, maybe even jammed the cell signal. Skilled, but not good enough. They’d not known about the second alarm.
Louis, with Pierre hot on his heels, tracked the scent of an unfamiliar male and the distinctive odor of gun oil through Melinda’s apartment, the darkness no hindrance to his enhanced vision. In the doorway to the second bedroom, Melinda’s fear hit him with the force of a freight train. Her whimpered pleas sent daggers of ice into his entrails.
Louis barreled into the armed figure standing in front of the built-in closet before the intruder had even clocked his presence. There was a muzzle flash and a pop of air as the gun went off and he slammed the man into the wall. Rage like he’d never before experienced gripped his wolf.
If his shot was true… If he’d hurt Melinda…
Another muzzle flash and Louis couldn’t hold his wolf back. He part shifted, the fear in his prey’s eyes gratifying, his weak struggles to free himself from Louis’ grip useless. Before the shooter could make a sound, he lunged, ripping through the man’s throat with his teeth as easily as he would a croissant. A gurgle and the coppery taste of blood in his mouth had Louis wanting to howl his triumph. He contained himself and dropped the dying man to the floor. Heels beat a muted staccato on the carpet and hands clutched at a ruined throat, but it was too late. The intruder’s life force was draining out.
Melinda scrambled for the door, screaming and sobbing. Pierre scooped her up, wrapping her in his arms and pressing her face against his chest. Louis leaned into the closet, pulledthe cover off the control panel hidden there and ripped out the backup battery.
Blessed silence descended, except for Melinda’s soft sobs and Pierre’s soothing reassurances they were here now. That she was safe.
“Putain,Louis.”
Louis turned to his brother. “Is she hurt?”
“The shots went wide, but…” He glared at the body on the floor. “Forfuck’ssake. This is a mess. Clean yourself up. I’ll take Melinda back to our place and call Gabriel.”
Louis stared at the body of the intruder. Yes, it was a mess. No doubt Joe with the spotty boxers and the skinny white legs would have called the police, but Louis wasn’t sorry. The man had broken into Melinda’s apartment intending to kill her. If he had his chance over again, he wouldn’t hesitate to make the same decision.
Louis kneeled beside the man. Who was he? Why was he here? With night-vision goggles and a Nighthawk pistol, he wasn’t your average burglar. He took in the room, the mess of screens and computer towers. A burglar wouldn’t have destroyed Melinda’s computers, either.
Louis dug through the dead man’s pockets. Nothing. No wallet, no keys. Either he had used the Tube, or he had a driver waiting on the street. Not good. He ripped off the night-vision goggles. He didn’t recognize the man. If he’d cased the building, he’d been discreet.
Well-equippedandhighly trained.
Louis leaned closer, spotting the edge of a visible tattoo on the side of the man’s neck. He tugged at the shirt collar, pulling it away to reveal a familiar image. Louis gritted his teeth. An F, decorative and adorned with crossed swords.
Fucking Faucherians.
Chapter Nine
Pierre sat on the hideous sofa in their apartment, their mate in his arms, her body shaking. Pressed between them was her laptop. The key to finding Cordelia. But all he could think about right now was that someone had tried to kill his mate. Had nearly succeeded. As fucked up as this situation was, as the scene was in Melinda’s second bedroom, he couldn’t fault Louis. Had they been a split second later, they would’ve been too late. Louis had saved Melinda’s life.
