Chapter 26

Doug knocked Leigh to the ground and covered her with his body. He knew he was no good shield against flying bullets, but he was better than nothing. His eyes were already wandering, trying to locate Jamie among the mass of screaming and cowering individuals that dotted the living room. She and Porter were huddled in a little nook beneath the stairs—better situated than anyone else in the room.

Doug blamed himself for his lack in judgement. They were all sitting ducks. He should have known Rollson was smarter than that. The call this morning—it had been made to alleviate Doug. Rollson had made it to keep Doug from becoming suspicious of what Rollson knew. And like an idiot he'd fallen for it.

Leigh bucked him off and rolled on top of him. He protested and tried to shield her again while she was busy rummaging through her pocket. Leigh would not be deterred. She pulled out the vial of TryptoKeri and downed the whole thing in one gulp.

"Don't be an idiot," her voice grated. "You're the one who's vulnerable right now."

She downed the TrytoKeri only a moment too soon. Another volley of gunshots cut through the house and riddled her body. Leigh leaned forward into him, coughing up blood all over his white tee-shirt.

"Leigh!" He yelled.

She didn't respond. Doug took a firm hold on body and began to inch along the ground, backing away from the shattered French doors. If Leigh was dead, he would personally destroy Rollson himself.

He slipped along the dining room floor, wincing sympathetically as a man screamed out from the living room. He nudged Leigh's head to the side because it was covering half his vision. He couldn't help it—he had to watch. The man who'd been shot was leaning against the wall adjacent to the French doors. Blood was pouring from a wound in his stomach. Slowly, flesh crawled over the opening, leaving a purple bruise on the man's stomach. The blood began to recede from where it rested beneath the skin. In moments, it looked as though the bullet had never been there at all.

Doug shook his head in amazement. This was his first real encounter with TryptoKeri. He knew some slayers from the west coast who encountered it regularly. It was an amazing substance—made 'wolves darn near indestructible. To his surprise, almost all the 'wolves in the room had downed their TryptoKeri. The empty vials that littered the floor were indication of this. The figures were moaning now, but in minutes they'd be in top shape.

Doug inched his way into the kitchen. Here he would have an extra set of walls surrounding him. He dared to sit up, placing Leigh gently on the cool linoleum. He kissed her slack lips and brushed the hair back from her forehead.

Oh god, let her be all right. Please let the TryptoKeri work faster than the silver. He ran his hand along her stomach, where most of the silver bullets had exited. Her blood soaked the front of her shirt. Her precious leather jacket was in ruins. He knew how much Leigh would hate that if she were awake—if she were alive.

He pulled back the fabric covering her midriff to inspect the wounds. His eyes met clear and unblemished skin. He sighed with relief, closing his eyes briefly. She had already healed. He pulled her to him and leaned against the cupboards for support. His worry had just taken up too much energy. He just needed a moment to gather his bearings. He sat there, stroking her hair absently.

The shots continued to rain against the side of the house. From his vantage point, Doug could just barely see the wall that contained the destroyed French doors. From what he saw of it, the house was not worth salvaging. The whole wall was littered with bullet holes, like a piece of paper that had been attacked by a hole puncher. The sun's afternoon light streamed through the hundreds of holes, casting beams across the room.

They had to run out of ammo eventually. Until then, the inhabitants of the house could wait it out.

Leigh began to stir within his grip. He tried to pull her even closer to him—although, he wasn't sure if that was virtually possible. If they got out of this alive, he didn't know if he could let her leave his sight.

"What's going on?" Leigh groaned, trying to stretch within his grip and failing miserably. "You're squeezing my ribs."

"Sorry. Do you hurt at all?" he asked. He loosened his grip on her.

She blinked at the question. "No," she answered finally, then realization began to dawn in her eyes. She must have forgotten the past couple of minutes, Doug decided.

Leigh sat bolt upright, worming out of his grip.

"Everyone! They're getting shot—"

"They're fine," Doug assured her, hoping he was completely correct. "They took the TryptoKeri—just like you."

The dining room window shattered and Doug pulled her back down again. It wasn't a moment too soon. The bullet would have gone right through her skull. Instead, it had punctured the oven door and embedded itself into the back wall.

Leigh looked a little sick.

"That would have hurt," Doug stated his nose only inches from hers. He smiled crookedly at her. "Maybe you should stay down here."

Leigh nodded. She suddenly seemed to be aware of how close their faces were—of how close they were. She moved back a small distance and the cold air came rushing in to remind Doug of where her body had once been. He wished he could tug her back to his side, but Leigh would probably have hit him. He wouldn't blame her, either.

He thought he understood why she had been so aloof around him before the shooting started. It was probably because he was acting so warm and cold around her. She had let him know how she felt about him—and since then, he had been struggling to keep his hands to himself. But he could imagine how it looked from her point of view: like he was playing with her.

Maybe it was better like this. If she disliked him, she wouldn't be so hurt by his rejection. And this way, she wouldn't end up getting close enough to him to get hurt even more.

The shooting seemed to have stopped. Doug rose slowly to a sitting position. This was just too easy. They must still have something up their sleeves. He sniffed the air, and sure enough, he caught a whiff of gasoline—probably laced with a silver and gunpowder concoction.

There must have been some runners who had gotten close enough to the house to douse it in gasoline. They were trying to burn the 'wolves out. That meant they were almost out of ammo. They would use the last couple of rounds on whoever managed to escape the fiery silvered blaze.

The attackers probably wanted to get out of the area pronto. The neighbours had likely called the police by now. Rollson's men could easily defeat the police—but not without destroying Rollson's cover. They would run.

Doug couldn't hear any sirens as of yet. But they'd be here soon. If they didn't come soon—he'd have to go out there and disarm the enemy. That is, if he could manage it.

"Leigh, listen to me," he said on a breath of air. "Get out of here. Make a run for it. And if you get riddled with a few bullets, you'll be fine. It won't kill you. You don't want to stay here."

Leigh raised her eyebrows, sniffing the air. Understanding dawned on her face. She wasn't stupid. She knew what was going on—or at least Doug thought that she had some idea. She was quickly calculating the situation.

The sound of crackling flames hit his ears, followed by a few, minor gunpowder explosions. The drapes in the dining room had caught fire, crackling merrily. The house was likely being consumed at an exponential rate from the outside. Doug couldn't see from his vantage point, but he could see the effects. Smoke was spilling into the house, making the living room inhabitants cough loudly. He hoped they were all right.

"What about you?" Leigh asked.

Doug snorted derisively. He knew he didn't have much chance anyway. He was part 'wolf at the moment, but he doubted it would be enough to save his skin.

"I'd rather face the blazing fire than the flying bullets," he responded. "I think I have a far better chance of survival. At least I can wait out the fire for a while—the shooting…well I couldn't. If I got shot, that's it."

"I'm not leaving," Leigh said stubbornly, hands on her hips. She sat in front of him cross-legged, her knees touching his.

"Leigh—" he began, ready to argue this point to the death.

"Save the oxygen," Leigh snapped in return, cutting him off. Her expression showed that she had her mind made up—and that she was too darn stubborn to listen to what Doug was telling her. "You're going to need it later."

Doug groaned in frustration.

He looked at her for a moment, trying to surmise her reasons. "It'll hurt," he warned her. "Slow burning is a lot worse than a quick bullet."

Leigh shrugged. "Either way I'll survive. Someone's gotta stay around to make sure you don't kill yourself. The moment I leave, you'd probably go and try to do something heroic…and get yourself killed in the process."

Doug groaned. That had been the farthest thought from his mind—at least he thought. Well, if he couldn't convince her then he might as well stop trying.

He let off a curse, smiling because he was at a lack for a better facial expression. He was feeling reckless—almost drunk. Heck, if he was going to die within the next couple of minutes, what did it all matter anyway? All his reservations left him.

He looked at Leigh. Her blue eyes turned from stubborn to confused. He knew she was trying to read him and failing. Well, he'd show her what he was thinking.

He got to his knees and leaned toward her. Her eyes widened as he took her by the waist and pulled her to him. His mouth covered hers. She responded after the initial shock, kissing him back.

He cupped the back of her neck and kissed her again, zings of energy crackling through him. She was so close he wanted to taste her. He moved to deepen the kiss, but a pair of hands landed on his chest, pushing him back.

His eyes widened as he looked down at Leigh's hands to find they were pressed against his chest, holding his mouth an inch away from hers. He hovered there for one moment, not quite sure how to react.

"Leigh…"

"Amber would be hurt," she said, her voice cracking slightly.

Oh.

Doug almost didn't hear the sirens arriving from the distance. No, Amber wasn't the one who was hurt. She was. He could see the tears pooling in her midnight blue eyes. She brushed them away angrily.

It made his heart ache just looking at her.

How was he going to make her understand?