Shattered Circle

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Ahead, the taillights gleamed like eyes glowing red in the night.

Johnny pressed the accelerator and felt the Quattroporte’s engine respond. He was gaining.

Aurelia accelerated, too. She had probably never been a shrinking violet in her life.

Johnny had admired her BMW 650i coupe in the garage at the den. In many ways her two-door was comparable to his four-door. She could go from zero to sixty in 4.3 seconds—a whole second faster than his Maserati—because her car weighed a little less. But that was only useful in straightaways. Here in the rural areas around Red’s house, roads ran straight along the farmed fields for considerable distance, but then abruptly ended or made ninety-degree turns.

He put his windows down halfway, listening as her engine churned. Even over the rushing air he could tell the 650i’s engine note was a low, sultry growl compared to the wildcat scream of the Maserati. The manual transmission was slowing her down. She was good but not adept enough at shifting; it was costing her seconds.

Out here, there was no traffic, no side streets for her to hide in. Not that a sleek red BMW would ever “hide” in this rural area. He kept up easily.

But keeping up wasn’t enough.

He had to stop her. Aurelia had tried to murder Red. She had to be held accountable for that—but his stomach twisted at the thought. No matter how this played out, Evan would never be safe. If he let Aurelia go, she would hold this information over his head forever. If he took her in, the fail-safes she’d set up would reveal the secret. The only way to combat it was to stop being afraid of it and put it out there in the open—his way.

The brake lights ahead brightened, and the 650i squealed into a turn. The Quattroporte made the same turn with much more finesse. The BMW should have been able to corner better. Johnny chalked it up to Aurelia’s unfamiliarity with the area.

Worse, this particular road, he knew, dog-legged. Another sharp turn was coming up fast, and a farmer had knocked down the warning-arrow sign with his tractor.

Oh shit.

Johnny took his foot off the pedal. If he backed off, maybe she’d slow down. Maybe she’d see the turn—

Aurelia was going too fast. She missed it.

There was no ditch—the farmer’s access to his field was right there. The 650i shot straight onto the dirt roadway of the field and bounced along the tractor path. Against his better judgment, Johnny took the Maserati after her.

According to the sound, she was pushing the BMW hard. It wasn’t meant for this kind of terrain, and more important, she needed to downshift. The peals of the engine voiced her desperation.

What if this tractor path merged onto another road?

He gripped the wheel and closed the distance between them. Suddenly the 650i lurched to the right, bobbing and dipping, throwing chunks of dirt as it wobbled hastily onto a paved road. The entrance to the road on this end was fine for a tractor, but hell for luxury cars. Once on the road, the engine revved high and Johnny knew she’d double-clutched it for speed.

Trying to make up precious seconds, he slowed as he neared the dangerous spot and made his reentry to the road as smooth as possible.

He could see her taillights in the distance and gave the Maserati all he could. Surely she was thinking this was her shot at escaping and he needed to catch up pronto.

That was when he saw the eyeshine.

Their reckless driving through the field had stirred up the deer. A group of five—at least—were on the move. He saw them closing in on the road and held his breath.

When they bounded into Aurelia’s path, her brake lights flashed. The car lurched to the left, then right. One deer rolled up the hood and, legs flailing at broken angles, flew over the roof to skid along the road, while a second deer broke through the now-cracked windshield. The car slid from the road, hit the ditch, and began to roll.

Johnny left his vehicle on the road, hazard lights flashing, and raced toward the 650i. It must have rolled eight or nine times; it was deep in the darkened field—the car’s headlamps had shattered. He passed the dead deer; it had been tossed off the windshield as the car spun. He hurried onward, scenting the air, searching for the tang of human blood. All he picked up was damp foliage, metal, and motor oil.

Luckily the car had come to rest right side up, but it was crushed and crumpled. Even as he neared, the motor sputtered and died. His last few steps stalled.

What if she’s dead?

What if she isn’t?

She lay very still inside, her head drooped forward. He could not tell if she was breathing.

His fingers tried to curl around the door handle. It had compressed almost flat from the impact. He hurried to the other side. Smashed, but not as much.

Concentrating, he stretched his index finger into a thin claw. This fit under the handle. He lifted and pulled. The door didn’t want to open. Using both hands on the now-raised handle, he yanked with all his might.

When finally the metal screeched and the door scraped open, the dome light flickered on. The scent of blood was suddenly strong. Instantly his beast roared within him and his mouth began to water.

No.

“Aurelia.” He sank into the passenger seat. He looked her over and she seemed to be in one piece, nothing obviously broken. Her purse had fallen to cover her feet. Tentatively he touched her arm. “Aurelia.”

Nothing. He knew better than to move her, but he reached up and pushed her hair from her face. Her nose was bloodied. More of the red fluid trickled down the left side of her neck and he could not tell if it was from her scalp or her ear. He touched her cheek, letting the heel of his hand rest under her nose lightly. He could feel the warmth of a shallow breath on his skin.

She was alive. For now.

Implications bounced around his mind. She was alive, but if injured as badly as she apparently was, would she be able to check in and keep the information about Evan from leaking out? He wondered how much time he had to reveal this news the way he wanted to.

He jerked his phone from his pocket, opened it, and searched through the numbers for Doc Lincoln, the veterinarian who treated wæres. Before he could queue it up, Aurelia moaned. The sound grew into a cry of agony as she tried to lift her head.

“Aurelia, don’t move. Stay very still. I’m calling for help.”

“For help? You . . . you . . . bastard.” Her voice grew louder with each new word.

“What?”

Her head had shaken with her earlier effort but now she was still. “Look what you’ve done!”

“Stay calm. Help will be coming.” I can’t call 911. If they recognized me they’d know immediately she’s wære. They’d let her die.

He pushed the button for Doc Lincoln’s private number.

“Calm? Calm! You want me to be calm?”

“Yes.”

“You’re calling for help. I don’t trust you or your help.”

The phone began ringing. “You’re delirious.”

“You wish. Why don’t you just kill me now and be done with it.”

“I’m not calling for help as a ruse, Aurelia. He’s a real . . . doctor.” Of sorts.

She growled. “Spare me the games. No one would suspect a broken neck wasn’t part of the crash, John. You better do it before they get here.”

Doc Lincoln’s message system picked up. At this hour, he wasn’t surprised. “Doc, it’s John Newman. There’s been an accident.” He left the details as to where. “Please come ASAP.” He shut his phone. “Aurelia, he can help you.”

“Riiiight.” She tried to laugh but it turned into a strangled cough and blood sprayed from her mouth.

The smell was richer than usual, and there was unusual warmth to it. His beast rolled its shoulders and wallowed in that scent. He guessed it was arterial blood. He squeezed the phone in his hand. C’mon, Doc.

It bothered him that she didn’t even try to wipe the blood from her face, but he had told her not to move.

When she’d recovered from the small fit, she said, “I promise you. I will make your life miserable.”

“Aurelia.”

“Even from behind bars, John. I know everyone,” she snarled. “They all owe me favors.”

Her threats were irritating but he kept his voice even. “Seriously, you need to stay calm and keep your heart rate down.”

“Every day, you’ll wonder who around you is spying for me.”

The words stung because they were true. “This isn’t helping you.”

“Every night, you’ll wonder who I’ve asked to assassinate you.”

“Stop it!”

“Every fucking moment, you’ll wonder what I’m plotting.”

“Stop!”

“You’ll wonder if it’s you who’s gonna die or your precious witch.”

He ground his teeth.

“And every goddamned waking minute, you will worry about your son’s safety. Little accidents at first. Not life threatening but painful. Soooo painful. A broken arm here. A leg there. And then . . . ” She laughed a throaty and malicious little laugh. “I can promise you . . . he won’t be safe anywhere.”