Spirit

The kitchen was clean, no food left on the counters.

But no sign of struggle or distress, either.

Then again, the cars were gone and the power dead. The Merricks weren’t here, but he had no idea whether they’d left voluntarily.

Kate pointed to the refrigerator.

Hunter eased it open.

Empty. Completely empty.

The breath left his chest in a whoosh.

Empty. If they’d been chased from the house, or kidnapped, or whatever, they wouldn’t have emptied the refrigerator.

Hunter was completely unprepared for the crushing weight of disappointment and loss. It socked him in the gut and made it hard to breathe. He’d known they were planning on leaving—had actually counted on it—but he hadn’t expected them truly just to ditch him here without a word.

He dropped into one of the kitchen chairs and rubbed his hands over his face.

“There’s no one here,” he said. “They left.”

God, he sounded pathetic.

Kate dropped into the chair beside him. She didn’t say anything.

She was probably thinking he was such an idiot for trusting them. Or maybe he was the one thinking that.

He wondered if they’d been planning this all along. Throw a party, distract him, get him to hook up with Kate—

Wait. It had been his idea to leave.

For god’s sake, though, he’d stood outside and listened to Michael’s bullshit last night, and they’d been planning to walk out on him.

He’d felt guilty about the fight with Gabriel. About letting Nick down.

He wanted to put his fist through this table. Casper thrust his nose into Hunter’s hand, and he patted the dog absently.

“I’m sorry,” Kate said quietly.

He lifted his eyes to find hers. “I knew it was coming.”

She inhaled like she was going to say something—but must have thought better of it.

Instead, she reached out and put her hand over his.

And that meant more than any other way she’d touched him.

He turned his hand and caught her fingers, then squeezed.

Her phone beeped, and she jumped.

“Silver?” he said.

She glanced at the screen and shoved it back in her pocket. “No. Battery died. All that Internet searching.”

Hunter straightened. “If they’re gone, they’re safe. Let’s grab my files and get out of here.”

He shoved the gun into his waistband, pulling his shirt loose to hang over it so it wouldn’t be seen.

Pretty stupid, he realized later, since they walked back out the front door without any of the caution they’d used going in. He carried one box, and Kate carried the other. Their hands were occupied. Casper jogged out the door ahead of them.

Then a gun went off, the sound cracking from somewhere between the trees.

And before Hunter could even get it together to draw his own weapon, Kate went down.

CHAPTER 27

Hunter got Kate back through the door. He hollered for Casper.

His dog was barking somewhere in the yard. Hunter yelled for him again.

Another shot hit the siding on the front of the house. Hunter flinched and dragged Kate farther along the slate of the entrance hallway. They got to the rear of the foyer, to where he could see the front door, but they were partially obscured by the stairwell.

“I’m okay,” she said. “I’m okay.”

She was not okay. Blood was everywhere, a long streak on the floor, a spreading stain on her jeans, a lengthy smear along his forearm.

“Jesus,” he whispered.

He pulled his sweatshirt off and balled it up. “Where are you hit?”

“Hip,” she said, and he heard the strain in her voice. “I think it’s just a flesh wound.”

He couldn’t tell—too much blood. He shoved the sweatshirt where most of it was. He would totally give anything for Hannah to walk through the door right now.

Another gunshot. Hunter jumped. Somewhere outside, Casper yelped, then whined.

Hunter struggled to position Kate more upright, to get her heart above the wound. “Casper!” he shouted. “Hierr!”

Then he held his breath. Kate held hers.

He heard nothing.

“Damn it!” he cried. “Casper! Hierr!”

Nothing.

“Casper!” His voice was breaking.

“Cops,” said Kate. It sounded like she was speaking through clenched teeth. “Call the cops.”

He could barely get the phone out of his pocket. His fingers were sticky with her blood and his brain wouldn’t stop thinking of Casper bleeding just like this, somewhere in the yard.

The touch screen didn’t want to work and his breath wouldn’t stop hitching.

“Casper!” he yelled again, and he heard the desperation in his own voice. He was ready to punch a hole in the floor.

Finally, the phone gave in to his panicked swipes. He dialed 911.

The line rang forever.

Someone was out there shooting. Calla? Silver? He had no idea.

The car was at least thirty feet from the front door, and Kate couldn’t walk. It wasn’t like this person was firing a musket. Hunter couldn’t exactly wait around for a reload so he could carry her to the jeep and back down the driveway.

And he couldn’t leave Casper.

Casper.

Casper. Casper. Casper.

The dog had been licking his hands a minute ago, and now he was—

Stop.

He had to stop. He had to focus. Or none of them would make it out of this alive.

Finally an operator picked up. “Nine-one-one emergency, do you need police, fire, or ambulance?”

All the words fell out of Hunter’s mouth in a rush. He sounded about twelve years old.

It wasn’t until he started speaking that he realized he was crying.

“Someone’s shooting at us. I need the police. I need—”

The front door started to move.

Hunter dropped the phone and had the gun in his hand.

He drew back the hammer. “Freeze or I’ll shoot.”

In that instant, he meant it. If that door moved half an inch, he was pulling the trigger.

The door didn’t move. Nothing moved. Hunter was acutely aware of his breath echoing in the air around him, of Kate’s blood, a warmth that was slowly seeping into his own jeans.

The shooter’s gun went off, splintering the door and sending a round into the floor at Hunter’s feet.

He swore and jerked Kate back, trying to pull her toward the kitchen and keep his gun pointed at the same time. She cried out.

Then she said, “The address. Say the address.”

His phone was on the floor five feet away, but the display was lit up. The call was still live.

“Chautauga,” he called. He didn’t know the street number.

“Blue house at the end of Chautauga Court. Just off Ritchie—”

Another shot came through the door.

It killed his phone.

Hunter fired back. It hit the upper left quadrant of the door and took out a good chunk of wood.

But he didn’t hear anything. Kate was shaking against him.

Hell, he was probably shaking against her. His pulse was a thunderous rush in his ears, and his mouth had gone completely dry.

He kept the gun pointed, waiting for movement. Sound. Anything.

There.

He pulled the trigger.

The gun clicked empty.

Impossible. He’d only fired once. He pulled the trigger again. The hammer slammed into place, making a loud metallic click.

No spark. No kick in his hand.

No bullet flying out to stop their opponent.

The door swung wide, and Hunter gathered Kate, intending to bolt into the kitchen.

If he could even make it that far.

She felt limp in his arms, and he wondered how much blood she’d lost. It wasn’t pooling on the ground, but his sweatshirt looked like it had soaked up quite a bit.

“Freeze,” said a voice thick with an accent. “Or not. I can shoot you while you move just as easily.”

Hunter kept his gun up, because it looked better than nothing. “I can shoot you back.”

Silver raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you having some difficulty with the ignition? Funny when the spark just won’t happen, isn’t it?”

Hunter stared at him and didn’t want to lower the weapon—was Silver saying he’d done something to prevent the gun from firing? That would take an insane amount of control, especially from this distance.

“Go to hell,” rasped Kate.

“I gave you a chance, Hunter,” said Silver. “One chance. And while you were allowing known Elementals to escape, I was doing a bit of research about you. Turns out your father wasn’t quite the man I thought he was.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Hunter said. He didn’t care, either, but talking meant no one was dying.

“I think you know what he did. You’re living proof.”

“Shoot him again,” Kate breathed. “Just . . . try.”

Hunter cocked the hammer, but now that Silver was talking, he didn’t really want him to stop.

Silver didn’t look concerned. “You both know what I came here to do. You know and you chose the wrong side. You both know the penalty.”

Then he drew back the hammer of his gun.

“Wait!” cried Hunter.

“No.” Silver’s finger pulled back on the trigger. But the shot went way off target.

Because Casper was just there, tackling Silver in a snarling hundred-pound mass of muscle and fur and teeth. Silver went down. The dog’s jaws locked around his forearm, and the gun went skittering across the foyer floor.

The man was swearing, trying to get free, but Casper was a trained police dog.

Taking down a man with a gun was something he knew how to do.

Hunter felt giddy with relief.

“Run,” whispered Kate. Her fingers were clutching Hunter’s. Her lips were pale.

Then Hunter had her in his arms, and they were bolting past Silver and through the door. Sirens were screaming somewhere down the street.

He wondered if Casper could hold Silver off long enough to wait for the police—because Kate sure needed an ambulance.

But then Casper yelped, and Silver was stretching for his firearm.

Hunter all but flung Kate into the passenger seat, practically throwing himself in after her. “Casper!” he called. “Hierr!”

Then he had the ignition started and the car in gear.

No way he could go down the driveway; the street would be packed with cops in a second.

Thank god he had a jeep. He slammed his foot into the accelerator and the car shot forward into the backyard.

“Casper!” he called again.

The dog came galloping around the side of the house, tearing through the yard. Hunter hit the brakes and the dog leapt through the window, barely avoiding Kate.

Silver came flying around the corner next.

Hunter floored it. A gun fired. The jeep took a hit but kept moving.

Almost as an afterthought, Hunter ducked, grabbing Kate’s shoulder and shoving her down. The car barreled over rocks and underbrush, and he aimed for the widest opening between the trees.

The sirens were practically on top of them; they had to be coming up the driveway. Hunter hit the accelerator again, juggling the clutch as best he could as the car rocked and slipped over uneven ground.

He knew these woods, this path. He’d just run this trail with Gabriel a few days ago. As long as he could keep the jeep moving forward, he’d come out to the main road without anyone being able to put him at the Merrick house.

“How you doing?” he said to Kate.

“Oh, I’m swell,” she murmured.

“Hospital?” he asked.

“You’re crazy. He’d find us and shoot us in the waiting room.”

Her words were slow and almost slurring. Hunter ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t know where to go. He didn’t know who would help them. Everyone he knew was a target—or had left town.