Dustin parked in front of his room a couple doors to the right. His black sports car skidded to a halt while the rumbling engine cut off in the same second. Idiot probably spent more on that car than she made in three years. It was hot as fuck, though.
When Dustin stumbled out, holding his neck, Emma gasped. In the illumination of the neon motel sign, dark crimson was streaming through his fingers.
“Oh, my gosh,” she murmured, but couldn’t hear herself, so she bolted for the charger where her hearing aids were nestled inside. With trembling fingers, she placed them in her ears and then grabbed her phone. She dialed Winter on reflex, but on second thought, she hesitated connecting the call. Winter and Logan were Blackwings now while Emma, Dustin, and Beast were still rogue. It shouldn’t have mattered, it really shouldn’t, but to Emma, it did.
She shoved the cell deep in her back pocket, snatched her key card off the table, and then bolted for Dustin’s room. Beast was still gone, shifted into his animal deep in the woods somewhere, so he wouldn’t be any help. Besides, that shifter couldn’t control himself around other males with injuries. One whiff of the blood streaming out of Dustin’s neck, and he would attack. He wouldn’t be able to help himself. His animal was broken just like the rest of them.
Emma slammed her fist against the door, but it gave under her force. Frowning, Emma pushed it open to find a bloody shirt had propped the door open. She kicked it out of the way, then clicked the door closed behind her.
Dustin stood across the room at the sink, snarling. “Get out, Emma.” His eyes glowed eerily, one ocean blue and one seafoam green. His shoulder-length hair was matted with blood, and there were open gashes all over his bare torso. He had a roll of toilet paper against his neck that wasn’t going to do anything but keep Dustin’s blood from staining the white porcelain sink.
“I’m going to get some first aid,” she said in a much steadier voice than she felt.
“No, don’t come back in here. Emma!” he yelled as she bolted for the motel office.
John was working tonight, and he would have something for her. He was a helpful soul, and they talked whenever she needed anything. He’d told her he’d bought a bigger first-aid kit for the motel after Winter had come in injured. Logan had clawed her arm all to hell, and John had been nice about it. He hadn’t even kicked the shifters out of his motel, just prepped for more bloodshed. Smart man.
“Hey Emma,” John said from behind the computer desk where he was flipping the pages of a sexy bodice-ripper romance. John was straight as a nail, but he liked reading the dirty scenes. Sometimes she raided his sexy book stash when she was bored.
“Hey John, you know that shifter first-aid kit you ordered?”
His dark, bushy eyebrows arched up high. “You need it?”
“I need it fast,” she punched out, doing her best to enunciate her words. The hearing loss made it hard to talk clearly sometimes.
Saying something she couldn’t understand, John bolted for the back room. He repeated when he came out again. “Do I need to call an ambulance?”
“No! No, it’ll be fine.” No more police, or Dark Kane definitely wouldn’t let the rest of the D-Team into his crew. She took the large plastic box by the handle and forced a smile. “Thanks, John, I’ll bring this back.”
“Good luck,” he said, worry wrinkling his forehead.
Emma sprinted back across the parking lot. For as much as Dustin had yelled at her not to come back, he was waiting at the door for her. “I can’t get it to stop bleeding,” he said low enough she barely caught it.
“Talk louder,” she demanded, shoving him back into the room. She bullied him into the bathroom, and for as strong and powerful as the werewolf was, he allowed it. Usually Dustin fought everything, so he must’ve been bad off.
“Let me see,” she said, shoving the soaked red roll of toilet paper away from his neck.
Something had damn-near ripped his throat out, and now Dustin was pale as a ghost and averting his gaze away from her, a weak human, as though he was ashamed.
“Who did this to you?” she demanded. “Who?” She shoved him hard on the shoulder. “Did some of the A-Team escape? Did they do this?”
No answer.
Emma yanked a towel off the rack by the shower so hard the fabric snapped at the end. She pushed it against his neck, dug through the first aid kit, and pulled out the packs of sterilized, curved stitching needles and sutures. “Thread this, I’m calling Kane.”
“No! You can’t call him. Please. Don’t call anyone. This is…this is my own thing.” Dustin hadn’t ever gone this long without joking, and now he was begging her to keep his secrets. Something big was happening. Something bigger than both of them. But he looked so desperate, so serious, and she’d never seen him like this.
Emma blew out a steadying breath. “Dustin, you still have to thread the needle. My hands are shaking too bad.”
Dustin frowned and dipped his gaze to where she clenched her trembling fists at her sides. His fingers were streaked with dried blood, but she didn’t flinch away when he squeezed her hand. “Okay, I will. Hold the towel.”
Emma held it to his neck as he moved them slowly to the counter. He turned, giving her his back—brave for a wolf to do that when he was injured—but Emma was no threat to a man like him. He could snap her neck before she even had the thought to hurt him.
Something rattled just on the edge of her hearing, and she could feel it in the air, some vibration she didn’t understand. Carefully, she rested her free hand on the muscular planes of Dustin’s back. He was growling, softly. So softly her hearing aids hadn’t helped her pick it up.