Titus stilled, even his beast going quiet.
“Do you know how much you’re worth, Cupcake?” he said intimately against the side of her face. “Isn’t that right, Gerald?”
“Fuck off Nathan, she’s my assignment,” Gerald sneered. “You gave me a bad tip.”
“Ourassignment, but did you really think I would share the fee?” Nathan began to back up. “You’re the diversion, you fucking idiot.”
Rae grunted, crimson beginning to dribble down her delicate throat, the knife biting into her flesh with every step.
“I told you,” he said, nuzzling against the side of her face. “I’d make you pay.”
Titus hadn’t even realised he’d lifted his arm, not until he’d pulled the trigger. There was no hesitation, not when he never missed.
Rae didn’t flinch when blood splatted across her face. “Ti!” She shoved back, Nathan collapsing with a hole between his eyes.
He heard her voice seconds before a sharp sting throbbed through his thigh. With a grunt he turned, catching Gerald before he could run. Rearing back his fist, his knuckles connected with a crack. The witch slumped, and Titus dropped him to the hard concrete.
Rae stepped over, blood adding to her freckles. Ripping the bottom of her t-shirt, she tore the fabric into strips before using them to wrap around his wound. His blood pumped dark, almost black, soaking the fabric within seconds.
“Fuck, it’s bad.” She looked up, a panicked edge to her expression.
He knew it would heal, could already tell the bullet had gone clean through. His eyes dipped to the cut along her throat, a growl rumbling up his chest at the sight. Rage pulsed violently through his body, hardening every beat of his heart. The wound wasn’t deep, and had already stopped bleeding, but he couldn’t stop himself from pulling her closer, wiping the blood from her face, fingers featherlight along her neck. It smeared when she looked down at the snake shifter, a frown marring her brows.
“They were after me, not you.”
Titus couldn’t find his voice, not while he was fighting the black magic steadily growing inside him, along with the pressure of his beast. He could feel them both, two entities at war with one another, and neither with any hope of winning.
Rae lifted her gun, aiming towards Gerald. “Fucking –”
Titus caught the barrel. “No,” he said, his beast projecting a deep rumble.
Her expression was calm when she faced him, waiting.
“We need him alive,” he managed to push out. “You can’t kill him. Yet.”
* * *
Titus watched with amusement as Rae shoved her car door open, a frustrated sound leaving her lips.
“You shouldn’t have driven,” she said for the thousandth time. “You’ve bled everywhere.”
“We stole the van, and that’s what you’re worried about?” The wrap had loosened, but he could already tell it was beginning to heal. The skin was itchy, tight.
Rae’s scowl didn’t fade. “Stay here, I won’t be long.” Slamming the door shut before he could respond, he watched her walk towards the entrance to the shop, his grip on the steering wheel tightening when a man stopped her.
He didn’t need to hear the conversation to know what he’d said, his smile sleazy as he took in Rae’s short skirt, and bare midriff from where she’d torn her shirt. His beast pressed against the inside of his skin, pushing near to his limits. He hadn’t shifted since before the Rite, and he wasn’t sure how much longer his beast would give him before he forced his way out.
Even from that distance, he could see Rae’s reaction, her head held high as she replied with something harsh enough the man’s smile slipped, expression tightening.
Smirking, Titus released the wheel, the leather wheezing. His thigh ached, and he made a mental note to make sure he repaid the same injury to Gerald before he killed him. Resting back in his chair, he tried to stretch his leg, but even with the seat pushed back to its furthest point there wasn’t enough room.
They needed to interrogate the witch, and though he was no longer at risk, until they knew exactly the extent of the hit against Rae, they couldn’t stay in one place too long.
A knock on the window, Rae gesturing for him to get out. He slipped from his seat, testing his bad leg on the solid pavement. The muscle protested, but was able to hold his weight just fine as he followed her to the back, and opened the doors.
Gerald lay folded uncomfortably, face pressed against the back of the seats with a sheet covering his body. They’d found plenty of stuff to tie him up with, considering it was a painter and decorator’s van. Including a few dirty rags that went straight into his mouth.
“Sit,” she demanded with a tone that made him want to bend her over and decorate her perfect arse with his handprint. “Please,” she added through gritted teeth.
