Skin Deep by T. G. Ayer Page B

the torment and if we force him, his soul may be torn apart before he is ready to move on." Her voice undulated, musical, like soft reedy chimes floating softly on the air. So unlike her deathly pale façade.
    Then she shimmered away, dissolving before their eyes until the seat lay bare, and Jess and Logan sat alone with the corpse.
     
    ***
     

Chapter 9
    While police, paramedics and onlookers milled around outside, I remained sprawled on the floor of my stuffy storage closet. I propped my heavy head against the wall, dozing. Pain ate at my shoulder. Vicious, gouging, merciless teeth. Gratitude for my body's ability to regenerate was exceeded only by the accursed agony I endured as damaged nerves and torn flesh reattached deep within the canyon of the wound. As excruciating as the pain of regeneration was, the process of removing the bullet had caused the deepest agony.
    I eyed my friend as he moved restlessly around the small space. The scent of my blood was cloying. Anjelo glanced furtively at me, checking if I'd seen his discomfort. A deep hunger glimmered within his eyes and his throat convulsed. The room was too small with no window to release the seductive perfume, which hovered thick and strong in the air. Our eyes met. Mine wary, Anjelo's apologetic.
    The stuffy, coppery scent of my blood would act like a drug to Anjelo's latent beast. His skin rippled, and his jaw fought to transform. But his own instinct dampened his Change. He was within snuggling distance of a powerful, injured Alpha Panther female. He wouldn't dare engage in a losing battle. Anjelo's jaw clenched as he turned his head away from me, trying to keep his hunger in check. The wait for me to recover some semblance of strength might prove to be his undoing.
    Red light peppered the wall behind me, mottled my cheek. The wild spinning inside my skull faded, replaced by an intense awareness of our proximity to the cops combing the garden. An awareness which gathered my energy and forced me to make an effort to extract both Anjelo and myself from this mess. I dared not linger, dared not endanger my ally. Guilt doused some of my adrenalin. This young Panther followed in my footsteps, whether I liked it or not. I should be setting an example. Perhaps it was a good thing he was my conscience.
    Would I manage without his reluctant help?
    Fat chance.
    "We have to get out of here." The words scraped out of my throat in a husky sob.
    " You have to get out of those clothes." Anjelo scanned my blood-soaked garments with a raised eyebrow. "We don't need that kind of attention."
    Strength ebbed slowly into my flaccid limbs and I soon regained enough to stand. At the best of times, I hated being helpless. This was by no means a good time. While I sat on the floor, my wound had continued to bleed slow and steady. The wound had leaked blood down my arm, onto my fingers and dripped unnoticed to the floor, collecting beneath me. I'd been sitting in a pool of the stuff, oblivious even when it soaked into my pants.
    Before I'd gotten myself shot, I'd intended to return to my office and change out of my black camo. I usually wore high-necked tops anyway to hide my panther birthmark, which marked my spine and neck. All Alpha's bore the deep, dark tattoo-like mark of the nature of their animal, but most were fortunate enough to have them in places easy to hide.
    I only needed Anjelo to help me remove the wet, sticky clothes. Poor guy . He left me with a wad of wet towels to clean up, each square about the size of my palm. Anjelo paced while I cleaned.
    I helped him clean blood off the door handle to the storeroom after achieving a fairly blood-free state with a blanket of forcibly induced calm thrown in for good measure. Thankfully, the rest of the room looked clean. It dawned on me then, more like a lightning bolt straight into my brain, my office lights were on. Voicing my concern to Anjelo made it worse.
    "If we switch it off, someone might notice and get suspicious." Anjelo