The first thing he saw was her leg stretching past the end of one ivy-covered crypt. The black leather boot on her foot was muddy and torn, as though the fight had been long and rough. A rip in her pant leg showed a bloody gash from knee to ankle, laid open so wide the shocking white of bone showed through.

The sight was enough to make bile rise in his throat. When she’d attacked him outside the coffee shop, she’d seemed invincible. Now, Bella had been reduced to a broken heap of ruined parts.

Whoever had done it was still there, breathing heavily, just out of sight. Max tore around the corner of the crypt and stopped dead in his tracks.

It took him a moment to recognize the monster looming over her was Nathan. When the sick comprehension dawned, Max couldn’t move to draw his weapon. The creature that used to be his best friend turned, face bloody from feeding, and snarled at him. Instead of charging, though, it looked at the lightening sky and took off, leaping to the top of a mausoleum, then disappearing behind it.

Max put his hands on the lip of the stone, preparing to chase after the beast, then heard Bella moan. If he left her where she was, someone might find her. The caretaker would probably be in to open the gate and would likely have a look around to make sure there hadn’t been any shenanigans overnight. But Max didn’t know anything about werewolves, and couldn’t be sure she would survive that long without help.

Fuck her. She tried to kill you, he reminded himself. If she’s dead, she’s one less thing to worry about.

But he didn’t work that way. He wished he did.

With sunrise just minutes away, he had no time to hunt for Nathan. To do so would probably only get them both killed. And werewolf or not, Bella was a fellow Movement assassin. He couldn’t let her die.

Cursing her stupidity good and loud so she could hear it even if she’d already shrugged her mortal coil, he bent and lifted her limp body in his arms. “You better pray Nathan’s got a primo fucking first aid kit back at the apartment, or you’re in real trouble, lady.”

It took some maneuvering to get her over the wall without breaking her neck, but the classic fireman’s carry came through in the pinch. Max wrestled her into the car and positioned her head against the window so she would appear to be sleeping and not mortally wounded. “If you bleed on the seat, you’re off my Christmas card list.”