Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Wheeler darted forward and caught the pixie-like woman before she'd have hit the ground. Heat rushed through him as he made skin-to-skin contact with the vixen. For a moment, he worried he'd somehow harmed her or that actual flames might ignite between them.

But none did.

Lifting her higher, he dipped his head slightly, inhaling deeply. He let the seductive smell of her blood ease over him, igniting a hunger in him he wasn't sure he'd be able to quench anytime soon. If he'd had any doubts that she was the owner of the voice that had guided him in the dark, they were removed as he confirmed her blood was the same blood he'd scented in the abyss.

He wasn't sure when he'd last fed. He did know from the feel of it, it had been days—at least. Blood was something he required on a daily basis. Often, he could get by with pig's blood in a pinch, but human blood was eventually required, or weakness would set in. And when he was weak, he was vulnerable to his gargoyle side taking over. It made the vampire portion of him look like a fucking fuzzy child's toy.

The need for blood beat at him, nearly permitting the darkness he tried to keep locked down to rise. If he allowed it to get free, there was no telling what it might do. Since he clearly had a vampire hard-on for the smell of the woman's blood, he worried he'd drain what little she had remaining. Heaven only knew what the gargoyle portion of him might try with her.

He didn't want to think on it.

"Feed later. Worry about her now," he said to himself between clenched teeth as he stupidly took another deep breath of the female in his arms. His cock picked then to try to spring free from the top of his unbuttoned jeans.

It was damn near successful.

He held his breath, as if that might make his erection die down. He hadn't expected it to work.

It didn't.

All it did was make him feel like an idiot. He began to breathe normally once more. That was an even dumber plan since it gave him another whiff of her sweet smell. The effects of her scent made him wonder if his cock had indeed reverted to stone.

Talk about an erection.

Somehow, he doubted anyone could do much about a stone penis. It wasn't as if he could head into a local emergency room complaining his erection lasted over four hours. He'd be on his own.

That would be just his luck.

And there was no way in hell he'd go to a clinic that was aimed at his kind. News of his stone penis would be through the grapevine of his friends in seconds. He'd never live it down.

He'd been alive long enough to know the Ops never forgot a thing and weren't above mocking one another heavily.

An actual stone penis would make him the talk of the supernatural town.

"Nope," he whispered.

The throbbing in his shoulder grew, reminding him that he'd been staked by the beauty in his arms. He couldn't exactly blame her. She didn't know if he was friend or foe, and he'd heard the threats the men had made to her.

He had to hand it to her. She had great aim and a good deal of strength in a small package. He'd taken on a group of hybrids without so much as a scratch to himself, only to have the pint-size chick nearly do him in. Plus, it was ironic that she'd staked him, of all things. He always thought his end would come by way of a bullet to the brain or being hacked into a bunch of pieces by his own government, to study. He wouldn't have picked "hot girl staking him" as a possible way.

Good thing she'd missed his heart, or it would have been.

Ignoring the pain and the wound, which was bleeding steadily, he focused on her. She'd lost a lot of blood; his vampire side could sense as much. His gaze lingered over her before moving to the men who had caused her to be in such a state.

Part of him wished he could bring them back to life just to torture them and prolong their deaths for the fear they'd caused in her.

Fear that was palpable.

Whoever she was, he seemed attuned to her in a way he'd never been to another person before. It was if they were synced in some manner.

The pain in his shoulder increased, a sign he required blood to kick-start his healing abilities. But he could hear the woman's heartbeat slowing, and concern for her safety outweighed any he had for himself. He'd feed soon enough. Right now, he needed to get her help.

A quick glance around the room—which looked a lot like a warehouse of sorts—proved the enemy was no longer an issue. He'd made short work of them.

When the magik holding him in stone form gave way, Wheeler had burst free, partially shifting forms, the need to kill anyone and everyone who had dared to put the woman in harm's way guiding him.

And that was what he'd done.

He'd been vicious.

Animal-like even.

But it had been called for.

They'd dared to harm his woman.

My woman?

The thought jarred him enough to get additional control over his bloodlust.

The woman needed help. He'd make sure she got it.

Staring down at her, he put a face with the voice.

And what a face it was.

Like an angel.

Her skin was so pale that he worried about the amount of blood she'd lost. Then again, there was something about her complexion that told him she was always pale. Her long hair was dark brown but had strands of deep red running through it. She had delicate features, yet he'd seen just how fierce she could be. Then there was the fact she'd staked him. That spoke volumes to just how much moxie she possessed, size be damned.

He should have been annoyed at least at being staked.

He wasn't.

In all honesty, he found the fact she'd rammed a piece of wood into his chest oddly endearing.

Cute even.

It was why he'd called her Buffy, after the fictitious vampire slayer pop culture lovers knew well.

Clearly, being turned fully to stone left his brain damaged and his cock possibly stone. As true as that all might be, it was hard to shake the feeling the woman was important somehow to him.

Very important.

Not to mention, he found her to be the single-most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes upon.

Her heartbeat slowed more and concern for her gave way quickly to panic. The idea that she might not make it struck him hard, leaving his body heating and anxiety racing through him.

He fought the urge to squeeze her tighter and take off into the night. That wouldn't do anyone any good. Losing his shit was a bad idea. He needed to focus and think clearly despite being injured and in need of a feeding.

First off, he needed to figure out where in the hell he was. From there, he'd get her to help. Then he'd find out who the dead men were and why they'd come for him.

Had the government begun actively hunting the Outcasts once more? It wouldn't shock him; after all, they'd invested billions in the creation of super soldiers. Men who were more than human and genetically engineered in labs to be the ultimate fighting machines. At least that had been the goal to start with.

The reality was far different.

Failed tests and broken test subjects were all too common.

The general public had no idea the testing even took place or that supernaturals were real. That was for the best. Humans couldn't handle much. He had to laugh slightly at the idea of this woke society getting a real wake-up call, should they learn the truth of what was living among them.

They'd shit themselves.

And he'd have a beer and a good laugh when they did.

Who was he kidding?

He'd spend all his time helping to clean up the aftermath. It was simply who he was—a fixer.

And most days that sucked.

Pun intended.

He couldn't think about all of that right now.

Wheeler went for a closed door, wanting to avoid taking her out into the night just yet until he knew more about where he was and what might be waiting out there. Carefully, he opened the door and found himself standing in a hall with offices to both sides. A door marked "Restroom" was at the end, along with another door. The office to his right smelled heavily of the female, making him think it might be hers.

She stirred slightly in his arms, a sign she was a fighter.

Good.