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angel.
     

CHAPTER FIVE
    John Apostle glared down at the blue, seeping hole in his
shoulder. His four companions hovered nearby, looking on.
    "That bitch fucking shot me," he said, poking a
finger through his sweatshirt. The bluish hue of his skin looked pale against
the darker blue blood that flowed from the wound.
    Exchanging glances, the others remained silent for a moment
until one asked, "Do you think the vampire set us up?"
    Apostle eye-rolled at the guy, his icy-blues filled with a
lot of don't-be-stupid.
    "I was just asking." The other dreck backed away.
    Apostle tossed his long, blue-black hair over his shoulder
so he could probe the bullet-hole with his finger. He grimaced then said,
"No, Tormin, that fuck-face wanted to die. If it had been a trap, he would
have had more than some human bitch with a pansy-assed nine-mil waiting for
us."
    With a pained grunt, he pulled the slug out of his shoulder
and threw it aside. When was the last time he had been shot? It had been a
while, he knew that. And here he had let some weak, human female shoot him.
Damn her. And he had been in such a good mood up until then. That bitch had
robbed him of the joy of killing a vampire. Well, she would pay for that little
misstep once he got better. "I need to heal, goddamn it, but I want that
bitch. You guys find her, but do not fucking touch her. I want to do her good personally. Any of you fuck with me on this, and your ass'll make like a boot cover after I
shove my foot up it. Got me? Find her. Tell me. Don't. Fucking. Touch
her."
    The other four drecks nodded cautiously. No one questioned
the boss.
    "Okay, everyone change back and get outta here,"
Apostle said.
    The five took deep breaths, closing their eyes as the blue
tint faded to Caucasian and their long hair receded to the high-and-tight
man-cuts required in the police force where they all worked. Their faces filled
out, too, no longer taut and hollow. When they opened their eyes, the ice-blue
irises had changed to the human color of their choice. Apostle, aka Officer John,
had opted for brown eyes in his human visage.
    "See you tomorrow," Apostle said, giving each of
his men a hard look to ensure they understood his previous order.
    As they dispersed, John held his shoulder close to his body,
already channeling healing powers to the injury. Blue blood had turned to red,
but it was all just an optical illusion.
    John Apostle was no more human than a zebra could change its
stripes.
    * * *
    Sam had struggled with the man who was in and out of
consciousness, but had finally gotten him to her car, half-dragging him since
he could barely stand or move his feet. She couldn't take him to the hospital.
They would want her name. And she couldn't give her name to anyone, least of
all someone who would put it into an electronic health record for a John Doe.
It would just be a matter of time before Steve saw it in the system and tracked
her down.
    That had left only one other option: Her apartment. Her
tiny, closed-in, can't escape, studio apartment. By the time she reached home,
Mr. Dark and Mysterious had passed out cold and she had to put on her Army hat
to heft him over her shoulder and lug him inside. With a grunt of relief, she
unloaded him onto her bed then stood back and caught her breath as she looked
at him, all wonked out with his gorgeous head of black hair splayed over her
pillow.
    Why did I have to get involved?
    She grabbed her First Aid kit – which was a little more than
your basic First Aid kit, what with her Army history and all – and took another
look at the man who still lay unconscious.
    Mental note: change the sheets and bedspread before
sleeping in the bed again.
    He had been horribly beaten, and his face was a mess of cuts
and bruises. Sam frowned. She could have sworn his face had looked worse just
half an hour ago. There had been a contusion around his left eye that now
looked almost healed. And the laceration to his upper lip looked smaller and
more cleanly