Fair Game

desperation to satisfaction. They didn’t see him change his grip on his gun, drop down on one knee, and fire almost in the same single motion. Charles had seen it, but there was nothing he could do without risking Travis shooting Anna, and he wouldn’t do that.
    “Get down. Get down now,”
shouted Goldstein, but Les Heuter was already on the ground. “Flat on your face and lock your hands behind your head.”
    Les had already done it before Goldstein had gotten out a word. The human’s reactions were too slow. Now Les was harmless and killing him would be more difficult. Had Charles had a gun at that moment, he would have killed Les anyway, because although Heuter had shot his uncle, it hadn’t stopped Travis Heuter from pulling the trigger. Travis Heuter, with a bullet hole right in the center of his forehead, had still managed to squeeze off a shot before he died.
    Anna had collapsed in a heap on the bottom of the cage.
    He’d hit her in the thigh and her blood pooled around her like a redblanket. Her nose was bent and swollen; Travis had broken something when he’d hit her with the stick.
    “It wasn’t my fault,” said Heuter. “It was my uncle. He made us do it. He was crazy.”
    Anna whined, and Charles quit hearing Les Heuter try to blame the dead for his crimes.
    Charles wrenched the doors of the cage apart with his bare hands, not even realizing that he’d become human again until it registered that he had opposable thumbs to grip the skin-burning silver. He’d never been able to change that quickly before.
    And he stank of fae magic. He jerked his eyes to Beauclaire, and the old fae, standing in the doorway next to Isaac, gave him a nod. Later, Charles would wonder at that; he didn’t know that there was a way for a fae to affect the change of a werewolf.
    But Anna was hurt and there was no time to worry about what Beauclaire was right now. No time for the blind panic he felt or the way he wanted to tear into Travis Heuter’s dead body. He had to make sure that Anna would survive.
    “…stop the bleeding until we can get an ambulance out.”
    Charles growled because Goldstein had come too close to his injured mate. But Isaac stepped in before Charles was driven to act.
    “Leave him alone; you don’t want to be anywhere near them right now.” Smart wolf, that Isaac. Too young or not, Bran had been right to leave him in power. Charles would have killed anyone who got too close.
    Threat to his helpless mate averted, Charles mostly ignored the words going on behind his back as he checked Anna over with gentle thoroughness.
    “Why is he wearing deerskin and beads?” “Shut up and stay there until we get some cops in to read you your rights.” “I mean, he’s Native American but how are we going to explain—”
    When Charles changed without thinking, when he changed from wolf to human too fast, sometimes his clothes forgot what century he was supposed to be in. The soft deerskin felt comforting and familiar as he touched Anna’s poor nose. She licked his fingers nervously because he was hurting her.
    First, the bleeding.
    He reached down and ripped Travis’s sleeve off his arm, ignoring the squawk from the feds as he did so. But Anna growled when the makeshift bandage came close to her, so he dropped it. It made sense that she wouldn’t want his scent on her, but Charles’s buckskins wouldn’t work, leather not being absorbent at all.
    “I need—” He didn’t get the words all the way out before Isaac said, “Catch,” and tossed him one of the huge first aid kits all of the packs kept in their cars on Bran’s orders. Just because you could heal fast didn’t mean you could heal fast enough, the Marrok liked to say.
    Charles banished his da’s words, wishing the ghosts of them didn’t linger in his ears. There was no reason to panic. She was bleeding freely, but the bullet had gone right through and was embedded in the floor, and there was no sign of arterial bleeding. But Brother Wolf wouldn’t be happy until she was well.
    Once he had the bullet wound under control, he took a second good look at Anna’s head.
    He bent down to touch his lips to her ears and asked her, “I can do it now, or you can wait until later. Their drugs don’t help much and they’ll have to rebreak…”
    Now.
Her voice was clear as a bell in his head—and he realized that their bond was open and strong.
    For a moment he was breathless. When had that happened? When he’d accepted his role as