Fast.
She screamed.
Or maybe he screamed.
Perhaps it was both of them.
He started running again, but he felt so far away from them, and when her body disappeared behind the rows of containersbetween his position and hers, Blade kept waiting for the sickening sound of her body hitting the concrete.
Instead, he heard Thunder’s oomph as he must have gotten to her in time to catch her before she could slam into the ground.
“We got her, Blade.” He heard Voodoo’s reassuring words, but nothing was going to make him believe that she was alive and in one piece until he could get eyes on her.
Seconds later, he rounded the corner, just in time to watch Thunder kneel, setting Whitney down as Voodoo knelt on her other side. She wasn't moving, but he didn't think she could have injured herself in the fall, although there was, of course, a chance that she’d struck her head or another body part on the containers as she dropped. Just because he hadn't heard it didn't mean it hadn't happened, because he’d been too busy focusing on each beat of her heart to process anything else.
Skidding to his knees at her side, he dragged Whitney into his lap, cradling her like she was the most precious thing in the world.
Because she was.
“She’s breathing right?” he asked as Voodoo pressed fingertips to her neck.
“You can hear her breath,” his friend reminded him.
“No. I can't. What the hell?” The only thing Blade could hear right now was his own pulse rushing in his ears like a waterfall.
“You don’t need to hear, all you need to do is feel,” Voodoo said gently, reaching out to pick up his hand and place it on Whitney’s chest right above her heart.
Where he could feel each steady beat.
Each bump against his palm calmed him a little more until his own breathing slowed, and his hearing returned. Then he could hear her measured breaths. Slow and even. She wasn't dead, and she wasn't breathing like she was injured. She’d just passed out. Her overloaded system was probably checking outas she plummeted toward the ground, likely with no idea that Thunder was there to catch her.
“Thank you,” he said, voice rough as he looked up at Thunder, who had stood and was standing, weapon aimed, at attention, just in case there was another threat out there. If it hadn't been for his friend using his enhanced speed, Whitney would have hit the concrete. Could be dead right now instead of just unconscious.
“Course, man, she’s family,” Thunder said like it was no big deal, but it was a big deal.
The biggest.
“She injured?” he asked, shifting his gaze to Voodoo, whose hands were skimming across Whitney’s too still body.
“Dehydrated, hypothermic, bruising, but she’s going to be okay,” Voodoo assured him, and as Blade let out a breath of relief, his fingertips brushing across petal-soft skin, it registered.
Whitney was half-naked.
All he’d been focused on when he first saw her and then spotted her abductor rushing toward her was the fact that she was in danger. Then all he’d cared about was whether he was still going to lose her, even though he’d eliminated the threat. But now he realized that she wasn't wearing a top, and he remembered what Dragon had smelled.
Sex.
With Whitney in his arms, he could see that bruises weren't the only thing covering her skin. There was dried semen all over her, and a roar rumbled through his chest, bursting out into the night like a living, breathing creature.
How dare Terry Richards put his hands on her.
If he could, he’d climb up there, bring the man back to life, and then kill him all over again. The kind of death he deserved this time around. In fact, he had half a mind to ask Voodoo ifhe could revive Richards, even though he was pretty sure his friend’s amazing skills didn't go that far.
“Relax, B, you're scaring her,” Voodoo said gently, empathy in his eyes as he rested one hand on Blade’s shoulder, the other smoothed down Whitney’s hair.
Blinking away as much of the rage as he could, he focused instead on his girl, who was whimpering, shifting in his hold, her eyelashes fluttering on her cheeks as she slowly swam back to consciousness.
“It’s okay, darlin’,” he crooned, forcing himself to relax because it was obvious Whitney was feeding off his emotions.
