As he approached the police car parked at an angle with its lights flashing, hindering access, two uniformed officers stepped forward. "Sir, this area's off limits."
"My fiancé lives in 4B."
The cop on the left pressed his shoulder mike. "Sir, I have the vic's fiancé here."
"Roger that..."
The rest of what was said was gobble, Sean's mind having taken a binder on hearing Von referred to as the "vic." Terror, unlike anything he'd ever known, struck him right in the heart, weakening his knees and racing his heartbeat. Sweat broke out over his body. A slight breeze arose, and he scented the faintly metallic odor of blood. A lot of it.
"Sir, you can..."
Sean pushed past the officers, jumped up and slid over the hood of the cruiser, landed and went sprinting toward the stairs. Curious bystanders loitering, the Crime Scene Unit’s Van, EMT and Fire vehicle with their engines idling, all a blur. A few feet short of his goal, an officer tried to stop him. Sean darted around him and in seconds, was over the crime scene tape. Another misfortunate officer made the mistake of seizing Sean by the arm. Instinct and training kicked in and without a thought, and Sean flipped the guy into air and was moving before his body landed.
The angry shouts of men simply an annoying buzz in his ear, he kept his eyes and mind focused on reaching Von.
“Stop!”
“Somebody get him!”
A body tackle from behind brought him down.
Sean rolled and came to his feet with a feral growl, ready to take out anyone or anything trying to keep him from his mate. He crouched, arms hanging loose and ready. Several officers moved to surround him. He turned so that he could keep everyone within sight.
"Stand down!" The order was barked out.
"But he assaulted an officer..."
Through the haze covering his vision, Sean noted the weapons drawn, pointed at him. He growled again and felt the first painful flickers of the shift hit his body. His beast wanted out.
"I said, STAND DOWN. That's an order! Bentley and Cruise, hit the streets. You’re not needed here. Anderson and McKinsey, back to your position. I'll handle this.”
There were murmurs and grumblings as his order was obeyed. Weapons were lowered but not holstered.
In the waning sunlight, the flashing red, white, and blue lights created a strobe effect that hurt his eyes. Out of his peripheral vision, Sean caught movement. He seamlessly altered his position to meet this new threat, a low, ominous growl vibrating almost continuously from his chest.
“Steady, son. You don’t want to let him out. Not here, not now,” he stated in a low, quiet voice. The man moved, taking slow, measured steps, his hands outstretched in a non-threatening manner. Sean mirrored his movements, and gradually they pivoted until the wind was in his face.
The scent of Lycan, of the brotherhood rode its subtle wave. It was enough to confuse his beast, make him hesitate. The cop was quick to make note of it. “That’s right, son. I’m family. Trust me.”
“Mate?” It came out guttural.
“She’s hurt but she’s safe. We got the man who hurt her. He won’t get to her again.”
Sean slowly uncoiled from his crouch. The change retreated enough for him to think.
The cop kept talking. “She was beaten pretty badly. The EMT’s are with her now. I know you want to be with her but I need you to wait until my team does its job. Let them gather the evidence they need.”
“Who?” did this, his mind finished, but he was still locked into one-word responses. His beast prowled just beneath the surface like an unreachable itch.
The cop’s radio crackled. “Sarge, we got another guy at the gate claiming to be the vic’s fiancé. A Derrick Wilkins Junior. Let him in?”
At the name Sean fell into a crouch again, and his gums tingled as his fangs lengthened. His fingertips ached as his nails hardened and grew.
“Negative. Deny access.” He released the button and sighed. “Son, we gotta work on your control. How long since you were changed?”
Sean shook his head hard, fighting to subdue his beast. He had better control than this. “A few months.”
“You’re not local.” It was a question disguised as a statement. Sean focused on the cop’s voice.
“No, sir.”
“What’s your name, son?”
Sean had to force himself to concentrate, to push past the distraction and think. “Master Sergeant Sean Jacobson.”
“Army. Stationed here at Fort Stewart?”
“No.” Sean’s gazed strayed toward the apartment and he tensed, the desire to be with his mate once again overwhelming him.
“Look at me, son.”
The command in the older gentleman’s voice could not be denied. Sean brought his attention back to the cop.
“Your mate, what’s her name?”
“Von Washington.”
“Good. Good. You and Von, you been mated long?”
“No, sir.”
“That explains the other fiancé,” he mumbled to himself.
Again his gaze strayed to the windows of the apartment where he could see lots of movement.
The cop laid a hand on Sean’s arm. “On me, son. On me.”
Sean looked at the hand, then the cop’s face.
“You were here, earlier?”
Right then, EMTs pushing a gurney came rushing by shouting orders. They loaded a male into the back of the Rescue unit and took off, lights flashing, siren wailing.
The cop shook his head. “The bastard might make it, but it’s doubtful. The cousin pumped him full of bullets. Be a miracle if he doesn’t bleed out on the table.”
Sean really didn’t give a damn. He wanted to rip the man who’d dared to hurt his mate apart with his bare hands. He took a step forward.
The cop smoothly moved into his path. “Uh-uh, son. Focus on me. Forget about him.”
When Sean settled, he said, “Back to my question. You were here earlier?”
“Spent the night. Left. Needed clothes, gear.”
“So you went back to the base.” Sean gave a short nod. “About what time?”
“Hour and a half, maybe two hours. Picked up movies. Food.” Both of which were sitting in the truck. “Shouldn’t have left, should have made her come with me.”
“So, she was alone when you left?”
“Yes.”
“Was she expecting anyone?”
“No. Maybe. She said she was calling her cousin.”
Another group of EMT’s came down the stairs with another strapped down body—Von. She was already hooked up to an IV and one of the medics was working on her. “Multiple facial and body contusions; bruised, possibly broken ribs; probable internal bleeding. Her BP’s all over the place...”
Sean didn’t hear the rest of the litany. When the gurney hit the pavement, he was beside it, keeping pace.
“Sir, we need you to back away.”
“How is she? She’s going to be all right?”
When the doors to Rescue opened, Sean made to climb inside with the others. The cop appeared by his side, blocking him. “You don’t want to do that, son. No telling how long you’ll be stuck at the hospital with no transportation. Go get your vehicle and follow.”
Sean didn’t waste any time arguing. He heard the cop explaining to the EMTs as he ran off, “The fiancé.”
The sour scent of pain, anger, despair, and disillusionment along with the chemical smells of disinfectant, medicine and other nameless odors hit him in the back of his throat the minute the glass doors swooshed open. The waiting room was packed, as was the case with most county hospitals, with the men, women, crying babies and quarrelling children. Sean ignored all of it, his attention focused on the sign, INFORMATION DESK, straight ahead.
“Von Washington. Rescue just brought her in.”