Myra had cordoned off the scene of the crime, stringing yellow police tape like a particularly industrious spider.
My job was to try to keep the werewolves and vampires from killing each other.
Rossi and Granny both held tight to their human forms, so much so that I almost didn’t notice Rossi’s red or Granny’s hot silver eyes.
When the wolves had arrived, in wolf form, a wall of gray and black and mottled brown, heavily furred, some big, some lean, but all of them killers, defenders, brothers/sisters/pack, I’d let them surround Jame.
Yes, it meant there was probably going to be a loss of evidence with the wolves walking through the blood and gravel.
But I’d dare anyone to stand in the way of a pack that wanted to get to their fallen brother.
I just hoped Ryder’s pictures would give us what we needed to find the bastard who had done this.
Rossi had had the sense to back off a little ways while the wolves circled Jame, whining, growling, trying to lick, but wincing from the taste of the blood while snarling with ears flattened and tails tucked.
Granny Wolfe wasn’t the biggest wolf of the pack, but there was no doubt she was the alpha. Her fur was black with streaks of gray, and she sniffed around Jame, bared her huge teeth, then paced over to Rossi and stopped in front of him.
She shifted from wolf to human so quickly, it looked fluid and painless, like her bones and body hadn’t just gone from one state to another in a painfully fast three seconds.
Then she was standing there, naked, in front of Rossi, fury on her face, her hands at her sides in loose fists, like she was trying to keep her claws from popping out.
Short, naked, and petite, Granny’s body didn’t show her age. She radiated power. Her body was lean and lightly muscled beneath tanned skin that seemed painted on over sinew and bone.
Rossi’s eyes never left her face. He pulled off the loose sweatshirt he was wearing, revealing the plain black tank top beneath. His muscled arms were swoon-worthy if one was into ancient ex-soldier vampires. He held the sweatshirt out to her.
She stared at him, never deviating her gaze to the proffered sweater.
She crossed her arms, making it loud and clear that she’d rather stand there naked in the rain, than accept a piece of clothing offered by a vampire.
Crap. The last thing I needed was the uncertain peace between the vamps and weres to turn into a certain war.
“Granny?” Myra walked up to the pile of wolves and around them, giving enough room so they only followed her with their eyes instead of lunging toward her. “I brought you a blanket.”
Granny took the blanket from her, not looking away from Rossi.
“You dare think you can claim one of mine?” she snarled.
The blanket hung from her hand, and every muscle in her body was bunching up. Twitching, coiling with the need to attack.
“I have claimed no one.”
A shift of shadows behind Rossi, and there were now twenty or so Rossis glaring at her and her pack with eyes that somehow managed to look hungry for blood, but bored that all they’d have to do to get it was kick werewolf butt.
Nope. This was not going to come down to a fight. Not on my shift.
“Ben’s missing,” I said.
Rossi didn’t look away from Granny. “Yes,” he said.
“And Jame’s been bitten by someone or something that isn’t Ben. Not one of yours. Not a Rossi.”
“Yes.”
Granny jerked at that, then finally broke the staring contest to glance at Jame. Her nostrils flared and she sniffed the air.
“We need to get Jame to the hospital so he can heal,” I went on. “Tell a few of your pack to help us get him on the stretcher, Granny.”
Mykal, an EMT and vampire, had wisely remained by the ambulance.
