Angel Blood

37- Come Home

Oliver curses, dropping the child so abruptly that she falls to the floor with a grunt.

"Brace yourself," he says as he staggers upright.

My body is already twisted toward the direction of the door, my feet prepared to push myself through the chaos surrounding us, but the warning makes me pause. "What do you—?" I yelp as strong arms scoop under my knees and haul me over a broad back.

Oliver is already pushing past the panicked crowd to make it through the exit before I can protest.

"My legs work just fine," I say, the terrified chatter of people nearly drowning out the words completely. I intend for the words to emerge far more venomous, but they fall flat as icy terror settles into my veins.

They've found us. Found me. I would never imagine the angel bloods to expose themselves to the public eye—especially not with a new member. A child. Her face will be plastered over headlines for weeks, law enforcement searching for the small girl with a thirst for blood.

It's all far too reckless. I've never seen them more hungry to kill.

"My legs are longer than yours," Oliver says. "And this way I can make sure you get out in one piece." True to his word, he pushes through the frightened mass of humans and emerges through the doorway with both of us disheveled but unharmed.

He keeps running. Neither of us says a word. He's right—I'm relatively quick myself, but his long strides prove more effective than mine.

It doesn't take long for them to push through the door, their heads frantically whipping around to catch sight of us. They find us almost immediately. This block is practically a straight line of shops and restaurants, not a single escape route in sight.

It's just our luck that we parked a few streets away. It's only a few minutes to walk at a somewhat quick pace, but now it just might mean our death.

I breathe a long string of curses as they begin to start toward us. The glint of metal reflects off their hips as a few of them pull their weapons out and take aim.

They fire. The shots are messy and uncoordinated from being shot so far away and whilst on the run, but the pained grunt and faltered step that emerges from Oliver alerts me that one of their bullets may have hit true.

"Shit," I breathe, doing my best to scan the back of his body at such an awkward angle. "Did they get you?"

"Don't worry about it," he says, the words strained. He somehow manages to flip me from his shoulder to his arms, supporting the back of my knees and torso and he clutches me to his chest. Probably to keep my head and other important body parts out of range from their bullets.

"Where?" I narrow my eyes as he stays silent, his pace slowing and his mouth screwing into a pained line.

Fuck. If my assumption is right then one of their lucky shots could very well mean our death. "It's your leg, isn't it?" I can slowly see their heads nearing closer with each passing second over Oliver's shoulder.

He's silent, then murmurs a displeased, "Yes."

"Put me down."A sharp hiss escapes his clenched teeth as I wiggle in his arms. "I'm serious. You shouldn't strain yourself with carrying me. The less weight, the better."

He grits his teeth for a long and stubborn moment, then nods his head and drops me so suddenly I nearly tumble onto my ass.

"Jesus." I don't have time to send him a dirty look so instead I quickly right myself against him and shove my arm under his shoulder. "Put some weight on me."