Read Online Alpha & Omega by Patricia Briggs - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Patricia Briggs
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could go to the zoo,â she suggested. âThis time of year itâs pretty deserted, even with the kids out of school for Thanksgiving.â
He turned his head and started to speak when something in a window caught his attention. He grabbed her and threw her on the ground, falling on top of her. There was a loud bang, like a backfiring car, and he jerked once, then lay still on top of her.
C HAPTER 3
I T had been a long time since heâd been shot, but the sizzling burn of the silver bullet was still familiar. He hadnât been quite fast enoughâand the crowd of people made sure that he couldnât go after the car that had taken off as soon as the gun had fired. He hadnât even gotten a good look at the shooter, just an impression.
âCharles?â Beneath him, Annaâs eyes were black with shock and she patted his shoulders. âWas someone shooting at us? Are you all right?â
âYes,â he said, though he couldnât really assess the damage until he moved, which he didnât want to much.
âStay where you are until I can get a look,â said a firm voice. âIâm an EMT.â
The command in the EMTâs voice forced Charles to moveâhe didnât take orders from anyone except his father. He pushed himself off of Anna and got to his feet, then leaned down and grabbed her hand to pull her up from the frozen sidewalk.
âDamn it, man, youâre bleeding. Donât be stupid,â snapped the stranger. âSit down.â
Being shot had enraged the wolf in him, and Charles turned to snarl at the EMT, a competent-looking middle-aged man with sandy hair and a graying red moustache.
Then Anna squeezed his hand, which she still held, and said, âThank you,â to the EMT and then to Charles âLet him take a lookââand he was able to hold back the snarl.
He did growl low in his throat, though, when the stranger looked at his wound: never show weakness to a possible enemy. He felt too exposed on the sidewalk, too many people were looking at himâthey had acquired quite an audience.
âIgnore him,â Anna told the EMT. âHe gets grumpy when heâs hurt.â
George, the werewolf who owned the restaurant, brought out a chair for him to sit on. Someone had called the police; two cars came with flashing lights and sirens that hurt his ears, followed by an ambulance.
The bullet had cut through skin and a fine layer of muscle across the back of his shoulders without doing a lot of damage, he was told. Did he have any enemies? It was Anna who told them that heâd just flown in from Montana, that it must have been just a drive-by shooting, though this wasnât the usual neighborhood for that kind of crime.
If the cop had had a werewolfâs nose, he would never have let her lie pass. He was a seasoned cop, however, and her answer made him a little uneasy. But when Charles showed him his Montana driverâs license, he relaxed.
Annaâs presence allowed Charles to submit to cleaning and bandaging and questioning, but nothing would make him get into an ambulance and be dragged to a hospital, even though silver-bullet wounds healed human-slow. Even now he could feel the hot ache of the silver as it seeped into his muscles.
While he sat beneath the hands of strangers and fought not to loose control, he couldnât get the image of the shooter out of his head. Heâd looked in the window and saw the reflection of the gun, then the face of the person who held it, wrapped in a winter scarf and wearing dark glasses. Not enough to identify the gunman, just a glimpseâbut he would swear that the man had not been looking at him when his gloved finger pulled the trigger. Heâd been looking at Anna.
Which didnât make much sense. Why would someone be trying to kill Anna?
They didnât go to the zoo.
While he used the restaurant bathroom to clean up, George procured a jacket to cover the
He turned his head and started to speak when something in a window caught his attention. He grabbed her and threw her on the ground, falling on top of her. There was a loud bang, like a backfiring car, and he jerked once, then lay still on top of her.
C HAPTER 3
I T had been a long time since heâd been shot, but the sizzling burn of the silver bullet was still familiar. He hadnât been quite fast enoughâand the crowd of people made sure that he couldnât go after the car that had taken off as soon as the gun had fired. He hadnât even gotten a good look at the shooter, just an impression.
âCharles?â Beneath him, Annaâs eyes were black with shock and she patted his shoulders. âWas someone shooting at us? Are you all right?â
âYes,â he said, though he couldnât really assess the damage until he moved, which he didnât want to much.
âStay where you are until I can get a look,â said a firm voice. âIâm an EMT.â
The command in the EMTâs voice forced Charles to moveâhe didnât take orders from anyone except his father. He pushed himself off of Anna and got to his feet, then leaned down and grabbed her hand to pull her up from the frozen sidewalk.
âDamn it, man, youâre bleeding. Donât be stupid,â snapped the stranger. âSit down.â
Being shot had enraged the wolf in him, and Charles turned to snarl at the EMT, a competent-looking middle-aged man with sandy hair and a graying red moustache.
Then Anna squeezed his hand, which she still held, and said, âThank you,â to the EMT and then to Charles âLet him take a lookââand he was able to hold back the snarl.
He did growl low in his throat, though, when the stranger looked at his wound: never show weakness to a possible enemy. He felt too exposed on the sidewalk, too many people were looking at himâthey had acquired quite an audience.
âIgnore him,â Anna told the EMT. âHe gets grumpy when heâs hurt.â
George, the werewolf who owned the restaurant, brought out a chair for him to sit on. Someone had called the police; two cars came with flashing lights and sirens that hurt his ears, followed by an ambulance.
The bullet had cut through skin and a fine layer of muscle across the back of his shoulders without doing a lot of damage, he was told. Did he have any enemies? It was Anna who told them that heâd just flown in from Montana, that it must have been just a drive-by shooting, though this wasnât the usual neighborhood for that kind of crime.
If the cop had had a werewolfâs nose, he would never have let her lie pass. He was a seasoned cop, however, and her answer made him a little uneasy. But when Charles showed him his Montana driverâs license, he relaxed.
Annaâs presence allowed Charles to submit to cleaning and bandaging and questioning, but nothing would make him get into an ambulance and be dragged to a hospital, even though silver-bullet wounds healed human-slow. Even now he could feel the hot ache of the silver as it seeped into his muscles.
While he sat beneath the hands of strangers and fought not to loose control, he couldnât get the image of the shooter out of his head. Heâd looked in the window and saw the reflection of the gun, then the face of the person who held it, wrapped in a winter scarf and wearing dark glasses. Not enough to identify the gunman, just a glimpseâbut he would swear that the man had not been looking at him when his gloved finger pulled the trigger. Heâd been looking at Anna.
Which didnât make much sense. Why would someone be trying to kill Anna?
They didnât go to the zoo.
While he used the restaurant bathroom to clean up, George procured a jacket to cover the
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