Chapter Twenty
Andre's head pounded as his eyes opened. It took a moment for him to remember what had happened–he and Mary were meeting with Zoe, and she was going to give them papers that would get them to Europe. Then Paul Locke had shown up and killed her. Pain shot like jagged lightning from various parts of his body as he shifted.
Right, he had been shot.
A long, slender hand shot out and pressed against his cheek. "Andre? Are you okay?"
"I'll be fine." He winced. "Bears heal fast. It's difficult for us to even scar."
He focused on her. She was naked, her beautiful voluptuous body covered in blood, both dry and dripping from the puncture wounds in her neck. Her normally alabaster skin was a sickly yellow-green color, and a sheen of sweat coated her. She shook, her gaze forward, but shifting in and out of focus.
"Pull over," Andre said.
"No, we have to get to the hospital."
A spike of panic drilled itself through Andre's head. Who would be waiting for them there? "Stop the car!"
Mary stomped on the gas. They skidded to a stop, the seatbelt snapping against Andre's chest. The movement made stars explode in front of his eyes and he bit his tongue to keep himself from crying out in pain. Moaning, he reached over to shift the car into park before he turned the heat on full blast. Even using his uninjured arm made his shoulder burn and he gasped for breath.
"What's wrong?" Mary's voice was higher pitched than normal.
"We can't go to the hospital. That's the first place that your father will come looking for us."
Mary closed her eyes and she swayed. He reached for her instinctively, and it felt like he was being shot again. He gasped and her eyes snapped open again. She leaned forward.
"What do I need to do?"
"Cigarette lighter. Get it hot so we can cauterize my bleeding." Andre leaned back, closing his eyes as waves of nausea threatened to take him.
"No, you need to be in a hospital so you can heal properly. You still have a bullet in your knee."
Andre growled in frustration. "He'll find us there."
"He's dead."
Andre opened his eyes.
"I killed him," Mary whispered. "I shot him. He's dead."
A rush of emotion left Andre breathless.
Dead. For three years he had dedicated his life to this moment, when Paul Locke would be dead. Ever since Paul Locke and his two oldest boys had brutally murdered his wife, Isadore and his daughter, Eve, right in front of him It had been his mission to kill him. Andre had painfully turned away from retribution when Mary came into his life, choosing her over revenge.
Now that Paul Locke was dead, there was a sense of relief he hadn't anticipated. He would never be tempted to turn away from her in order to kill her father.
But Mary did it. That was something he never wanted. Moving slowly to avoid making the pain worse, he put his hand on hers.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered.
"He's dead, that means that he won't be coming after us. We're going to a hospital."
"Wolves never hunt alone. And even if he came by himself, the others won't be far behind. They'll be able to smell what happened. We can't risk it."
Mary turned her face away. "What are we going to do then?"
"We're going to cauterize my wounds and see if there is a first aid kit to take care of yours," he frowned. "How bad are they?"
"I, uh… I'm not bleeding very much anymore. But between us we've lost a lot of blood. I don't think it's too much, if Bears heal as fast as Wolves then we should be okay… I think. But infection is something else and your knee—"
"Don't worry about my knee."
Mary activated the cigarette lighter. Andre leaned his head back, breathing deeply to prepare himself.
"I've done this before," he assured her. "I can handle it. Like I said, Bears heal fast enough that we don't usually scar."
"Where did this come from, then?" Her fingers touched the curved scar on his cheek.
"We don't scar, except when we make ourselves."
"Why would you make that happen?"
Andre didn't open his eyes. She didn't know the full story of what happened when Isadore and Eve died–he hadn't told her who had killed them. His lips parted to tell her that her father and brothers were responsible, but the words died in his throat. Not now. She's in shock. Allow her some time to grieve her father at least.
"I got it when Isadore and Eve died. I made sure it scarred so that I would be reminded."
Mary bowed her head.
Andre took a deep breath. Right now they needed to focus on what to do.
They didn't have the information they needed to move onto the next step of their escape from the United States. They had planned to leave, Andre so that he would never again be tempted to choose revenge over his love, Mary so that she could never be taken back to the hellhole she was raised in. Now with the Wolves hunting them, they had nowhere to go.
"Zoe?" he asked.
"I'm so sorry… she died."
"You left her back there?"
"Yes." Mary's voice trembled and she choked back a sob. "Even if you weren't so badly wounded, I wouldn't have been strong enough…"
Andre opened his eyes again. He tried to smile at Mary. Tears coursed down her plump cheeks, and he longed to wipe them away. But the cigarette lighter was ready, and he didn't want it to cool. This was going to be painful enough without having to do it twice.
Zoe dead. Her contact information gone. They could return to the strip club where Andre first met her, but that was too close to the werewolf community that Mary grew up in, and there was no assurance that they would meet any other Bears there.
What were they going to do now?
***
There had been a first aid kit in the trunk of the car, along with several blankets. For once, Mary was grateful for the harsh winter conditions in the Rocky Mountains that made such precautions necessary for everybody who drove anywhere when snow was on the ground.
They stopped at a rest area, and luckily found toilets with running water instead of outhouses. Andre stayed in the car, a blanket tucked around his chin to hide his bloody clothes while Mary slipped into the bathroom and washed and bandaged her neck before ripping a hole in the middle of one of the blankets to wear.
When she returned to the car, Andre held a small black cell phone in his hands. He stared at it with a hungry, frustrated expression.
"It was Zoe's," he muttered. "But there aren't any contacts or a phone log in it."
"Maybe somebody will phone us," she said. If they don't, what will we do?
"Maybe."
***
Though neither of them felt secure about it, they decided to spend the night in a cheap motel in a tiny town. Mary needed rest, and Andre was in no shape to drive. They needed space to properly take care of their injuries, anyway.
The town was nothing more than the motel, a bar, a gas station, and a convenience store that doubled as a grocery store and pharmacy. It also sold a small selection of clothing, and Mary bought two t-shirts in their largest sizes.
She helped Andre into the motel, glad that nobody was around to see the state he was in. She quickly returned to the car and flipped a blanket over the blood-stained seat, and slipped back to Andre.
The shirt was too tight on Mary, pushing her breasts flat and stretching over her stomach, making her curvy body look more like a pumpkin than the hourglass it was. She didn't care, as long as she was covered. Her blanket would serve better as a skirt than a dress, at least.
"We have to do something about that knee," she said, not looking at his face as she wrapped fresh bandages around his shoulder.
He was no longer bleeding, but she couldn't imagine the pain he was in. She helped him tug the shirt into place. It was snug on him, almost too tight. There would be no hiding his blood-soaked pants, no matter how hard she scrubbed them.
"No pants right now," he panted. A sickly sheen covered his face.
Mary bit her lip and blinked back tears.
Hot hands closed around hers. "Mary. I'm going to be fine."
She let out a shaky breath. "I know. I know you are. It's just… so much has happened…"
All she wanted was for him to hold her in his arms and never let go. For him to tell her that she didn't have a choice, that she did the right thing. But the question she wanted to ask kept getting stuck in her throat and she didn't know what to do.
"Andre…"
"You need to go Mary."
Shock rippled through her. "Wh-what?"
Did he blame her for what had happened? Or worse–did he want her to leave so that he could face her family, when they found him, on his own? But he couldn't! He would die.
"I need to take the bullet from my knee." He pressed a kiss to her palm. "I don't want you to watch."
Her stomach twisted, and just the thought of what he was about to do made bile rise in her throat. She met his eyes, and he smiled as he held up his hunting knife. His gaze was steady and confident, and she knew that she couldn't argue with him.
"I'm going back to the drugstore," she said. "How long should I be gone?"
"Try for an hour."
She felt lightheaded and nodded.
Andre caught her hand as she stood. "I love you."
It was difficult to smile at him, but she somehow made it. "I love you, too."