A Perfect Blood

Wayde all the more, his scent lifting from his canvas coat like sweet water, smelling of damp woods and moss. Why did Weres have to smell so good?
    “Hey!” I yelped when he jumped, settling me firmly on his shoulder before he started down the stairs, his boots making a harsh, hurting pace. “Let me go!” There were pixies in my hair, and I’d about had it. There were probably three ways I could get out of this, but all of them would seriously hurt him. With the loss of my magic came the loss of finesse. It was all or nothing, and I was starting to get mad at myself. God help me, I was stupid. I was relying on Wayde when one splat ball would have ended it.
    “I’ll let you go as soon as you’re in the car,” Wayde said. “Your alpha asked me to bring you to him, so shut your yap, okay?”
    “You son of a bitch!” I yelled, furious that David was in on this.
    “Like that’s a surprise?” Wayde said, laughing as he found the bottom of the stairs and waited for the pixies to open the door for him. Ivy and Jenks were nowhere to be seen, and my face burned. They knew full well what was going on, were probably willing to let us work it out on our own. “Face it, Rachel. I’m better than you think I am. You owe me an apology.”
    “We’re not in the car yet!” I exclaimed, not wanting to be carried out the door like this, but not wanting to hurt him, either. “Put me down, you son of a bitch!”
    But he didn’t, and I kicked and squirmed, unable to take a clean breath of air with his shoulder shoved into my gut. His grip on me was tight, unbreakable—the strength of a wolf pinning his prey. All right. He was good. But this wasn’t encouraging me to trust his abilities. It was pissing me off. “I’m warning you, Wayde!” I exclaimed as the door creaked open and a cool wash of damp air blew in.
    “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said, and he shifted my weight until my breath huffed out.
    “Put me down!” I shouted, and Wayde jerked to a halt at the soft scuffing on the stairs.
    “Ah, this isn’t what it looks like,” Wayde said to someone, and I squirmed, twisting awkwardly, and saw Trent standing on the steps, his car running at the curb in the rainy night. Trent’s eyes were as wide as mine, and in a sudden burst of motion, he flung out his hand.
    “Obstupesco!” he exclaimed, turning from businessman to assassin as he crouched on the stairs, his long coat furling, and I shrieked, covering my head with my arms and ducking back behind Wayde.
    The spell hit Wayde square on, and I cried out again when he shuddered—and then dropped like a stone.
    The world spun. I felt Trent almost catch me, dragging me from Wayde in such a way that only my hip hit the cement stoop. Pain shot all the way to my skull.
    “Trent! Don’t hurt him!” I said, dazed, as I spit the hair out of my mouth, Trent’s arms under my armpits as he struggled to lift me. Wayde was out cold, and I found I didn’t care as much as I thought I would. “He’s my bodyguard!”
    Trent’s weight shifted wildly as I struggled to get my feet under me, the smell of wine and cinnamon becoming strong as he grappled for control, his dress shoes slipping on the wet cement. “My God, I forgot how heavy you are,” he said, practically shoving me up and away. “I know he’s your bodyguard. What is he doing carting you out of your church over his shoulder?” Glancing down at Wayde, he tugged his long coat straight, grimacing. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I interrupt some sort of dominance foreplay?”
    His tone was rude, and I leaned against the church’s open door and caught my breath. “No,” I said, frowning at the pixies giggling out of sight. “What are you doing here?”
    Shifting from foot to foot, he tugged his coat straight, trying to find his usual aplomb, but after three days in a car with him, I could see right through to his creased brow and finger twitch. “HAPA is harvesting witches with elevated levels of Rosewood enzymes,” he said, appearing oblivious to Wayde. “Excuse me for being concerned. I thought you should know before you try to apprehend them. Maybe if you returned my calls I wouldn’t have to drive out here.”
    Guilt pricked at me, and I bit back my next tart reply. Whispers of pixies drifted at my back, and the damp night brushed my cheek. Two steps away, Trent stood awkwardly in the mist, rubbing his hand and waiting for my response. It was the one that Al had ripped the fingers from, and it probably hurt