Razor had only a split second to react as soon as he saw the pale glow of light inside the bullet ripping toward him. He dodged out of range, feeling the bullet scorch his bicep as it tore past him and narrowly missed. He went airborne, pouncing on the human gunman in a flash of movement. His talons shredded flesh and bone as the rest of the assailants opened fire with standard rounds.
He took a few hits in the seconds it cost him to twist the UV weapon’s muzzle into a pretzel. The fresh bullet wounds were merely an annoyance in the face of his concern for Willow’s safety.
The cacophony of more gunfire filled the air. One of the intruders in black shouted to another. “Get the woman!”
He abruptly fell silent. Razor slashed the man to pieces in one swipe of his talons. Then he ran through a third in the next instant, reveling in the blood and gore that painted the walls because it meant there were only two assholes left with a chance to get near Willow.
He would have liked nothing more than to coat the whole damned townhouse with these assailants’ lives, but impatience got the better of him. Retracting his talons, he grabbed one of the dead men’s semiautos and fired twice—a lethal round for each of them.
The attack was over almost as quickly as it began.
Bloodied corpses littered the sitting room and hallway outside, the carnage cloaked in gun smoke and sudden silence. Razor pivoted, his gaze searching out Willow.
She ran to him on a jagged cry, wrapping her arms around his torso. She looked him over in a frantic rush, choking on a sob. “Razor . . . oh, fuck. You’re bleeding. How many times were you hit?”
“I’m okay.” Better that he was sporting several gunshot wounds than reduced to ash by a single UV round. He hated to think how close he’d come to that. One lucky shot would have ended him and sent Willow into enemy hands. He smoothed her mussed hair, one arm looped around her. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll heal. Are you all right?”
“Yes.” She gave him a wobbly nod, then turned her head and sucked in a breath. “Oh, no. Madame Gauthier . . .”
Razor hadn’t been the only one struck in the attack.
An ugly, growing bloom of blood covered the shelter director’s chest. Her face was slack and pale, her lips turning bluer by the second. She was mortally wounded, fading fast.
Willow pulled away from Razor’s loose embrace to go to the woman.
“Willow, we should go,” he cautioned her. “There’s no time to waste.”
“No.” She swung a hard look at him. “She had nothing to do with this. You heard her confusion, Razor. She’s innocent. I can’t let her die in front of my eyes.”
On the stairwell leading to the second floor, the pair of Breedmate girls crept down from their room. They screamed and burst into tears as soon as they saw the carnage, and their beloved director lying lifeless on the sitting room floor.
Razor cursed, moving to corral them before they came all the way down. “It’s all right. It’s over now. You’re safe.”
They broke into hysterics, both of them inconsolable. Given little choice, he tranced the girls with a light touch of his palm to their foreheads then sent them back upstairs to bed. By the time he returned to Willow’s side in the other room she was already at work trying to heal the fallen director.
Razor watched, amazed at Willow’s calmness and care. Her hands rested on the gaping gunshot wound, a warm glow building beneath her palms. Being near so much human blood was a torment to his Breed senses, but he couldn’t tear himself away from Willow’s side if he tried.
Gradually, the stain that had been growing on Madame Gauthier’s torso slowed, then stopped spreading. Her face, which had been going from pale blue to ashen white, began to regain a little color. Her breathing increased, lifting her chest as she started taking in more air. Her eyes flickered beneath her closed lids, then blinked open.
Sucking in a sharp breath, she attempted to sit up. She saw the blood covering her body and the large hole in her blood-soaked clothing. Her eyes went wide. “I’ve been shot. Those men with guns—”
“They can’t hurt anyone now,” Willow gently assured her. “You’re safe. We all are, thanks to Razor.”
“My girls.” Madame Gauthier levered herself up from the floor. A jagged cry tore from her mouth as she quickly scanned the aftermath of the attack. “I have two residents upstairs. I need to make sure nothing happened to them.”
“The girls are fine,” Razor interjected. “They’re back in their beds, sleeping peacefully. I tranced them just a minute ago. They won’t wake up until morning.”
Willow glanced at him, sympathy shining in her tender gaze. “This is going to haunt them for the rest of their lives. They’ll never be the same after what happened here.”
Razor could hear the regret in her voice, and he knew she spoke from experience. He wished he could erase her memories of the violence she’d endured at an even younger age. Too much time had passed for him to help Willow, but he could offer some small mercy to the Breedmate girls upstairs.
He reached out and caressed her cheek. “I’ll see to it they don’t recall any of what happened here tonight.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, leaning into his touch for a brief moment before returning her attention to Madame Gauthier. “Are you in any pain?”
“N-no.” The woman glanced at her healed wound in disbelief. “I don’t understand. I was sure I felt my life slipping away.”
“Willow brought you back,” Razor said. “I hope you won’t make us regret it. Who were those men?”
