Broken Heart 08 Must Love Lycans by Michele Bardsley Read Free Book Online Page B

hurried into the living room, bumping into the various tables and chairs positioned just so around the ornate fireplace. Above it was an abstract painting of red slashes and purple spatters, which lifted to reveal the flat-screen TV hidden behind. I had only flipped on a couple of the numerous lights available in the cavernous space, so I was maneuvering (ineptly, of course) through the shadowy recesses.
    Despite bruised shins and one stubbed toe, I made it to the door. I grasped the knob and hesitated. I was not gonna be the too-stupid-to-live girl (er … again), so I pressed my ear against the thick wood and strained to listen.
    I heard rhythmic thumping, a series of noises that sounded like … okay, like light sabers clashing, and then … hoooooooowl!
    “Shit! He’s going for the doc,” yelled a woman’s voice. “How the fuck did he find her?”
    “Goddamned werewolves.” Sven! He sounded pissed off. I mean, more so than usual. And werewolves? Really? I’d never be able to help Damian if people catered to his delusions. “Dante will strip our hides if this ass-hole gets close enough to touch her.”
    I had a terrible moment where I almost yanked the door open and demanded an explanation. I managed not to turn the knob, though my fingers were trembling with the urge to follow through.
    I heard shouts, pain-filled cries, bangs, and thuds.
    And then there was nothing but an awful silence.
    Something large smacked into my locked front door. I bounced off and stumbled back, heart thudding as I heard ominous splintering sounds. I stared at the cracking, buckling door in horrified awe. I had automatically put up my mental shields, so I had no empathic sense of who was trying to get in … but I knew anyway.
    I wouldn’t open myself up to him—keeping myself as closed as the door. I knew too well the mistake I’d made last time and what it had cost so many.
    I wished I could say that I did something sensible, like run away, or lock myself in the foyer closet, or grab something with which to defend myself. But since it was me, and not someone with common sense, I stood there like my feet had been glued to the floor.
    The door snapped in the middle and the man on the other side grabbed the pieces and yanked them out, tossing them into the hallway beyond.
    Damian crouched down, naked and bruised and furious. His nostrils flared, his eyes narrowed, and even through my psychic shields, I felt the sudden, brutal shift of his anger into fierce, ugly need.
    “Mine,” he growled.
    Then he leapt through the door, howling in triumph.
    My fight-or-flight impulse finally kicked in. With my heart trying to claw its way outta my throat, I spun around and darted back through the living room.
    Damian followed. Sorta. I heard the whumps of his feet hitting the couch cushions and the crash of items he knocked off tables as he cut across the area I’d avoided. Just as I got to my open bedroom door, he landed in front of me, crouched on all fours, his head cocked as he studied me.
    Why the hell was he naked again? And what could’ve possibly triggered his need to go into werewolf mode? I noted a small circular burn on his shoulder. What weapon in Sven’s arsenal made that sort of wound?
    Oh, God. What had Damian done to Sven and the security team? Had he killed them? Nausea roiled and I pressed a trembling hand to my stomach. What on earth had made me believe that I could help this man? That I could help anyone? I’d demanded Damian be assigned a room because I wanted to believe he wouldn’t hurt anyone. I’d made a terrible mistake. Again.
    I had no idea what to do now. I wasn’t anywhere near a panic button, and there were several located within the apartment. Just how many homicidal maniacs did a girl have to face in one lifetime? Granted, this situation was different from the one with Robert, except that I still didn’t have a clue how to handle myself. I had no weapons, no clever ideas—just a terrible, numb sensation