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His bleary eyes darted around the room. “Wh-where?”
The jaguar let out a fierce cry—an unholy, deep, rolling roar of sound that seemed to shake the house.
Right there. And he’s really, really pissed off.
Her head was spinning. Miranda worried that she’d pass out at any moment. I can’t. Not until I know Cain is safe, and Paul isn’t a threat any longer. I can hold it together! I can!
The jaguar circled the vampire. Paul staggered but held up his claws. “I’m…stronger…than you,” he managed, panting.
Not from where she stood.
“I’ve…got…her blood.” He seemed to straighten a bit, and Miranda tensed, worried that Paul was faking weakness in order to lure Cain in closer to him. “And…soon, I’ll…have her.”
Cain sprang forward.
“Cain!” Her warning came too late.
The vampire leapt aside, raking the jaguar’s back with his claws, before driving them deep into the black fur. Then Paul was running. He jumped through the window and fled into the night.
The cat’s muscles tensed. His gaze locked on the window. Then shot to Miranda.
In those wild, golden eyes, she saw his fury. And his fear. For her.
“I’m all right,” she whispered because she really couldn’t manage much more than a whisper. “Go! Finish…it.” She didn’t want to spend another night fearing an attack would come from the vampire.
The jaguar’s head moved in the smallest of nods. The bright light shone down on him, and Miranda had one thought as she watched him.
Beautiful.
He was the most beautiful animal she’d ever seen. Dark fur. Powerful muscles. Eyes so wise and mysterious.
She’d thought him completely black the first time she’d seen him. Now, in the light of her home, she could make out the pattern of markings on his body. Large rosettes lined his fur, and the designs encircled smaller dark spots.
Absolutely beautiful.
His claws dug into her floor. His back legs curled, and he leapt through the broken window, charging off to track the vampire.
Miranda sucked in a hard breath. Cain could more than take care of himself. He was a shifter. A freaking jaguar, but he was her shifter, and she was worried.
From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Sam’s gun. Her hand flew forward, only to be caught in a surprisingly strong grip.
Her gaze lifted. Met Sam’s.
“Cain.” Not a question. “That was…?”
She gave a slow nod.
He flinched. “I…don’t need…this shit.”
And now really wasn’t the time for explanations.
“Take…it.” He released her, and his hand rose to his throat. He touched the jagged wound and winced. “Make…certain…Cain gets the b-bastard.”
She would.
Using the wall for support, she climbed to her feet. She was still dizzy, woozy as hell, but the dancing black lights were gone from her vision. And she wasn’t going to give in to the numbing lethargy sweeping through her body. Not yet. Not until she made certain Cain was safe and that the devil was dead.
When her hand rose, she realized she’d left a bloody handprint on the white paint. Miranda swallowed and curled her fingers around the gun. Aim and shoot. That was all she’d have to do.
