8. The Russians are here

The universe is a strange, cruel thing. It shows us things we do not want to see- the way it shows the child the monster lurking in the shadows as soon as the lights are out and the bedroom door shut firmly behind the parents. When the child's wildly vivid imagination is at its worst.
It gives us a little taste of what we fear, right before bashing our heads into the full plate. Like the unease we feel crawl up our spines, the dread that twists our gut into a hundred knots when a tragedy is near. And sometimes, sometimes if it's feeling especially cruel, it even tampers with time a bit. Slows down the seconds so they stretch on and on so we can only watch as the horror unfolds, every single detail vivid. Carving themselves into our memory like the words on a tombstone.
In this case I was experiencing just that, stuck in a front row seat the universe had gleefully strapped me in. Staring as the Russians raised their guns- the air suddenly heavy with the scent of silver- and began firing indiscriminately. I watched helplessly as the werewolves darted for cover from the deadly bullets, watched Kane shove Helen behind a blue Sedan. I watched as the troll attempted to cover his face from the assault, the bullets riddling through him alarmingly, watched the anger change to annoyance right before he began to turn. To run.
I watched helplessly as Ian turned to look at me while his only cover from the bullets fled. His smile, always as bright as the sun- my sun, was wane.
I can't walk.
I breathed out.
And I was ripping at the binds, no longer a spectator, but a girl running with everything she had. I heard a shout from behind me- Aster. Metal scraped my cheek, my sneakers pounded against the asphalt, slowing when something pierced through my leg. Picking up speed again when I heard my name growled out. Then I was right among the flying bullets- but so was Ian. The troll jumped off the side of the bridge and into the water with a humongous splash.
Cold, paralyzing pain in my left leg and arm, my body heaved, my feet suddenly moving through murky mud instead of plain air. I kept going- refusing to stand by and watch. And it was while I was dragging myself forwards, breath coming out in heaving gusts, eyes wide and locked on my goal that I saw Ian go down.
I screamed.
Rough hands around my waist, pulling me backwards. A heartbeat later I was no longer standing on the bridge but at the entrance where Ian and I had parked earlier. For a fleeting moment I thought the whole thing had been a dream and I was just waking up from it, I would turn my head and find a grinning Ian beside me.
When I did turn, there was no Ian. Only crowds. The people who had been guided off the bridge, at least five police cars parked further down, yellow tape closing off any other approaching cars. Paramedics were attending to the wounded, the ones unharmed and coherent were giving reports to the police.
Not a dream.
But of course, why else was this burning in my flesh so painful? The headache hammering at my skull, the sticky burning of my skin, all because of the silver. The bullets.
Shaking my head, I set off for the bridge, my leg and arm dead weights I didn't want to think about. I didn't pause to wonder how I'd gotten off the bridge in the first place, with that speed, not until Jett stepped into my path. His left eye, the one that had been black, glowed a deep crimson, the other the familiar amber of werewolves.
Hybrid.
The realization turned my legs to jelly, the cement suddenly looming before me. The air swooshed in my ears- someone swung me into their arms. Head lolling, I blinked up. Darius smiled down at me.
I groaned, shoved at his chest but he held on fast. "Put me down."
"No can do," he replied easily.
I rolled my head around to look at Jett. "You're a hybrid. You're fast, take me back."
He shook his head. "I'm to prevent you from harm."
"I'm already hurt," I snarled weakly.
He didn't move an inch. "From further harm."
"Fine," I grunted, moving my fist over my injured arm. "Either take me back or I'll hurt myself."
He snatched up my hand. "Stop that."
I studied those strange eyes, saw a predator lurking in them. A threat, but not to me. I knew when someone wanted to harm me, dozens of fists fights taught me that for sure. This man didn't.
"Take me to Ian or I'll bite off my tongue," I said levelly.
"Have you always been this crazy?" Darius asked.
I ignored him, watched Jett watch me. Speculating, weighing my conviction. I opened my mouth-
"I'll go get him," he said, releasing me. He disappeared.
I sighed, relieved. "Put me down," I told Darius.
"And pass up the chance to protect the beautiful damsel in distress? I think not."
"I hate you," I spat. The healthy dose of fear and silver I was currently on seemed to have smashed all the walls I always kept up to smithereens. "Now put me down, you swine."
His chest vibrated against me. He was laughing. Douchebag.
"I'm very certain you'll be falling again if I do what you say. Then Kane will have my head when you get a concussion. I've had enough black eyes for tonight."
I squinted. He did have a black eye, and not from the troll, obviously.
He smirked as if the purple bruise on his face was a trophy he was showing off. "That would be for the joke I pulled in the restaurant. Haven't seen him that angry in a while. Good fun."
Kane punched him?
"I'm taking him to the hospital nearby."
As if summoned from the shadows, Jett appeared silently. He nodded at me once and I only caught sight of Ian's mane of blonde hair before he vanished again.
I sniffled.
"You can trust Jett," Darius said, voice surprisingly soft. "Your friend is in good hands."
"Shut up," I mumbled, closing my eyes. I wanted to gather my emotions but instead felt the waves of sleep pulling at me. Reluctantly, I let them carry me away.