I saw the blood before I rounded the corner of the building.
Then I saw the werewolf. Not just any werewolf: Jame.
“Shit,” Ryder whispered.
Jame was mid-shift, lying on his stomach, his body lengthened and nude and mostly human, but his face elongated, hands and feet sharp with claws, face fully fanged and dark fur covering most of his body.
“Is he a...is that a...”
I shot Ryder a look and he shut his mouth.
“Jame,” I said soothingly, “it’s Delaney. You’re hurt. I need to see how badly you’re hurt, okay?”
He was breathing too hard, his back rising and falling as he panted, growling as his ribs, lumpy and looking to be broken, shifted.
“Call 911,” I said to Ryder as I eased my way forward. “Request Mykal Rossi and only him. We need an ambulance out here.”
Jame growled, but it ended in a low whine, as if even that took too much effort.
Ryder hadn’t moved, probably still trying to decide if werewolves were as easy to accept as vampires, or if they fell under the unbelievable like gods.
“Reserve Officer, Bailey,” I said. “Now.”
He snapped out of whatever trance he’d been in, and pulled his phone, quickly dialing and reporting the details.
I scanned the scrubby area and looked into the trees, wondering if Ben was anywhere near. I thought they’d told me they were going on a fact-finding mission.
Crap. They probably had done that.
This was the result.
“Jame, I’m going to touch your shoulder, then your head.” I stopped beside him, then crouched down. He hadn’t moved except for breathing.
The smell of mud and rain, motor oil and blood filled my nose.
I reached out and put my fingertips on his shoulder.
An angry werewolf had reflexes like lightning and could tear a person’s arm out of the socket with one swipe. Jame felt hot to the touch, his fur thinned so I could feel the flesh beneath. It was sticky with blood.
“You’re okay. It’s going to be okay.” I touched the back of his head and winced at the give of his skull. Something had hit him hard enough that it was probably only his werewolf healing ability that was keeping him alive.
“Don’t move, we got you.”
“Ambulance is on the way,” Ryder said. “Shouldn’t we be applying pressure to his wounds?”
“Nothing big enough I can see to cause all this blood,” I said.
We’d need to turn him over and make sure he wasn’t gushing out of a gut or chest wound.
“Help me roll him over.”
Ryder walked to the other side of Jame, who opened his eyes—gold and hot—and snarled at me.
“It’s Ryder. He knows. He’s safe. Trust me.”
Jame’s eyes clouded with pain and his mouth opened in a silent whine.
“This is gonna hurt. But we got you. Ready?” I glanced at Ryder.
