CHAPTER 7 OZ #2
“So for Cora’s cancer, you...” I trailed off. He was swaying on his feet, and his eyelids were drooping. Fuck. My questions could wait. “You know what? Never mind. Let’s get you to bed.” I still had hold of his hand, so I led him out of the kitchen, heading for his bedroom.
He pulled me to a stop. “I meant to ask, who made that quilt? It’s gorgeous.”
“My grandma.” I smiled, admiring the way the different textures and colors of the fabric were set off by the neutral tones in Manny’s couch.
“She made it before I was born, but I’ve always loved it.
” I shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious.
“I’m not sure why I brought it. It’s not like a soothing item or anything. ”
Manny put an arm around my waist. “It doesn’t matter why you brought it. I love it. You can leave it here as long as you like.”
“Thanks.” I gave him a little squeeze then got him started toward the bedroom again.
He showed me where he kept the wig when he wasn’t wearing it, and I helped him out of his jeans, leaving him in his boxer briefs and a t-shirt.
I kept my eyes on his face, but my fingers dragged against the smooth skin of his thighs.
I was grateful our connection was too new to convey the jolt of lust I felt at the contact.
When he was in bed, I pulled the sheet and blanket over him. “I’m going to walk the fence outside, but otherwise I’ll be on the front porch if you need me.” The porch was elevated, giving it a better line of sight to the street than the car. He made a mmm-hmmm noise, and then he was out.
Three hours and one grocery delivery later, I had my mom’s stew simmering on the stove and two sticks of butter in the freezer ready to make biscuits once Manny woke up.
I went outside and did another perimeter check.
Nothing alarming in the backyard, though the hammock was calling my name.
Maybe if Manny and I started dating, he’d lie down in the hammock with me while Harrison or someone else kept watch out front.
The street was clear except for some neighbors who Roman had photos of in our shared drive.
The notes said one or two of them were magic carriers, but they hadn’t approached Manny or any of the wolves, so we hadn’t approached them.
Roman had checked their backgrounds, and while they were into some shady shit, working for some mob-type organization, they didn’t have anything to do with Wonder trafficking.
When I went back into the house through the front door, Manny was standing in the living room, staring toward the kitchen. He rounded on me. “You cooked again! You don’t have to, you know. You’re not the hired help.”
I cocked my head and regarded him. He’d put his jeans back on, but no shoes. He had an indentation on his cheek from his pillow, and his eyes were puffy, but his magic was brighter. The rest had done him good. I walked over to him. “First of all, I’m technically on duty, so I am the hired help.”
He flushed. It was adorable. “You know what I mean.”
I smiled. “I appreciate your concern. I’ll let you know if I ever feel taken advantage of. But second of all, I cooked because I wanted to, not because I thought I had to. I thought, if you’re willing, we could have a sort of date. Um, here.”
That got me several blinks. “A date?”
Oh, shit. What if he didn’t want to date? I steeled my spine and nodded. I didn’t even have to try to talk to know my voice was gone.
Before he could respond, gunfire erupted out on the street. I covered Manny with my body and took us to the floor. Squealing tires and returned gunfire sounded. This time I could triangulate better. Down the block to the east.
After sixty seconds of silence, I stood, putting my hand out to indicate Manny should stay where he was.
I flicked off the burner on the stove and ran for the front door.
I stopped and turned to Manny, who was—of course—only a few feet behind me.
I mimed a gun, and he gave me a thumbs up and raced off to the bedroom.
Reassured that he’d be armed, I headed outside.
The streetlights didn’t do much to illuminate more than directly below them, so I was glad for my half-shifted sight.
Most of the neighbors were staying indoors, though curtains were twitching up and down the block.
The few people visible were clustered in the middle of the street five houses down, near one of the black SUVs that were always parked along the curb.
They were looking down at the ground. Not good.
Behind me, the front door opened and shut. Fuck. I shot Manny an irritated glance over my shoulder, but he just smiled sunnily back and lifted a large first aid kit in one hand.
Suppressing a sigh, I positioned him directly behind me before exiting the gate.
Another SUV squealed to a stop near the crowd, and a man—a magic carrier—hopped out of the passenger side.
“Andrew! No!” His voice had a bit of a Latino accent, a little heavier than Manny’s.
The small crowd opened up, probably to show him this Andrew lying on the ground.
I lost sight of him, but he wailed, “No, no, no!” and vowed retribution on “Tanner”.
Someone must’ve called 911 because I heard a dispatch operator asking for information about the injuries. At least the guy wasn’t dead.
I debated leaving them to handle the situation on their own, but if someone was shooting at people near Manny’s house, I needed to know as much as I could to keep him safe.
I must’ve slowed down while I was weighing whether to get involved, because Manny started walking next to me instead of behind. Dammit.
I forced my partial shift down, my badger chittering unhappily about not being allowed to protect Manny. Same, dude, same.
We didn’t hide our approach, and two men detached themselves from the group to block us, each with a right hand behind their back, no doubt holding a gun.
Manny held up the first aid kit. “I live down the street. I’m a nurse. I can help until the ambulance gets here.”
The men glanced at each other, and one of them stepped back into the circle around the person on the ground. He leaned over, and the man who’d gotten out of the SUV said, “Yes, please, yes.”
The group of people—seven men standing—spread out so Manny could get to the injured guy.
They were all wearing cheap suits and had bulky muscles, a combination that gave off “mob enforcer” vibes to me, but I was no expert.
I was allowed to stand behind Manny as he dropped to the ground, but one of the others positioned himself behind me.
The guy who’d been shot was a magic carrier, and he was wearing a blood-soaked button-up shirt and jeans.
Based on how slowly his magical core was spinning, he didn’t have much time left.
One of the enforcer types had wadded up his suit jacket and was pressing it to the magic carrier’s side.
The other magic carrier, the one who’d gotten out of the SUV, held the injured guy’s hand.
He narrowed his eyes at me, examining my magic, before he stared longer at Manny.
His suit had to be expensive, but it was ruined now due to the pool of blood he was kneeling in.
Manny ignored the blood. “I’m Manny.” He knelt down and opened the first aid kit, pulling out some gloves. “What’s your name?”
The injured guy opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Expensive Suit Guy said in a broken tone, “Andrew. His name is Andrew. He was shot, I believe with a hollow point bullet. I am on the line with 911 but an accident on I-45 is delaying the ambulance.”
Manny nodded. He looked back at me. “Oz, can you please shine your light here?”
I pulled out my phone and leaned over to direct the flashlight where he was peeking under the bloody suit jacket at the injury.
All I could see was blood. Manny took over pressing the fabric against the wound and tilted his head toward the phone on the ground by Andrew’s head. “Could you please mute that?”
Eyebrows high, Expensive Suit Guy did as he asked.
Manny leaned over Andrew. “Andrew, can you understand me?” His eyes were closed now, and he didn’t respond, so Manny turned to the others. “Who’s making medical decisions here?” I was sure he could guess, but I appreciated his professionalism.
As expected, Expensive Suit Guy leaned forward. “I am. My name is Ramon Fortuno.” The name might be familiar to the Houston Police Department, but I hadn’t heard of him.
“Right.” Manny glanced around. “I need to talk about this.” He pointed at Andrew’s magical core and indicated Fortuno’s as well. “Is everyone here in the know?”
Fortuno nodded. “I trust them with my life. With Andrew’s life.”
“Okay. Andrew’s bleeding out. Even if the ambulance got here right now, they wouldn’t be able to save him.”
Fortuno made a keening noise. The connection between him and Andrew was romantic, but not terribly strong. A new relationship, maybe?
Manny went on. “But I can heal him. You see my magic? It’s different than yours. I’m a healer. I need your permission though.” Fuck I hoped he had enough magic to get through this healing without passing out.
Fortuno gaped at him. “Healing is not a talent supported by our magic.” Then he slashed the air with his free hand. “Never mind. Do it. We don’t have a choice.”
Manny turned his head. “Oz? Can you get the scalpel out of my kit?” Shit, he was going to use blood.
I crouched down and he directed me to where it was.
He jerked his chin at the guy who’d been staunching the wound when we’d arrived.
“You, can you take this over again? Press like this though. Right, good.”
He scooted over to kneel next to Andrew’s head, and I followed with the scalpel. Stripping the glove from his left hand, he said, “Mr. Fortuno, I’m going to feed him some of my blood, so I need you to hold his mouth open, okay?”