Page 28 of Paw Inspiring (Paranormal Dating Agency #86)
TWENTY-SEVEN
“ G et away from him!” Meara charged forward, finding strength she didn’t know she had. But Miguel caught her, throwing her back with savage force. Pain exploded through her side as she hit the cabinet again. Something cracked—the wood, or maybe her ribs.
Still, she scrambled up, desperate to reach Frenchy. He lay pinned under the overturned table, genuine fear replacing his usual dramatic flair. Paint splattered the floor around them like evidence of violence—crimson and obsidian stains that would have been beautiful in any other context.
The main door nearly flew off its hinges. Artek filled the frame, Trey and more security personnel behind him. The sight of him—powerful, focused, radiating protective fury—stole Meara’s breath for reasons that had nothing to do with pain.
Blood trickled down her temple where she’d hit the cabinet, and her split lip throbbed. She pressed a hand against her aching ribs, her fingers coming away stained red from a cut she hadn’t even felt.
Artek’s nostrils flared, catching the scent of her blood. His expression transformed from anger to something far more dangerous—raw, primal rage. His eyes, already shifting to bear-gold, locked onto her injuries.
A low growl rumbled through the room as he took in the scene—the destruction, her wounds, the way she huddled against the wall. Something lethal flickered in his eyes when they met hers, a promise of retribution that should have terrified her but instead sent heat coursing through her veins.
Trey moved to assist the downed security guards while Artek zeroed in on Miguel, who still advanced on Meara and Frenchy. “Touch her again,” Artek growled, the sound barely human, “and it’ll be the last thing you do.”
“Big words.” Miguel’s lips curled. “But this isn’t your fight, Riggs. Unless...” His gaze darted between Artek and Meara, understanding dawning. “Ah. Found yourself a mate, have you? Too bad she won’t live to?—”
Artek’s roar shook the cabin’s foundations. He lunged forward, his shift rippling through him like a wave. Muscles bulged, features sharpening into something between man and bear. He caught Miguel’s arm mid-strike, yanking him away from Meara with terrifying strength.
The fight turned savage. Miguel landed a blow that drew blood, but it only seemed to fuel Artek’s rage. When Miguel grabbed a broken easel leg and lunged for Meara, something snapped in Artek’s control.
His next strike proved lethal. Miguel crumpled, the threat ended with brutal finality. Silence crashed down, broken only by harsh breathing and the distant lap of lake water.
Meara sat frozen, back pressed against the wall. She’d never witnessed death up close—had never imagined seeing it from someone she cared for. Her heart hammered so hard she felt lightheaded. But beneath the shock, another emotion surged: raw appreciation for Artek’s power, for the way he’d defended her without hesitation.
“Oh. My. God.” Frenchy crawled out from behind an overturned chair as Miguel’s remaining men either fled or surrendered to the security team. He smoothed his rumpled shirt with trembling hands. “That was... I mean... Holy mother of—I need a drink. Several drinks. And therapy. But mostly drinks.”
Artek’s features smoothed back to human as he caught his breath, and sweet heaven, the partial shift had left him... Meara’s mouth went dry. His shirt hung in tatters, revealing muscles that belonged in a classical sculpture. Sweat gleamed on his skin, highlighting definition that made her artistic fingers itch to trace every line.
His eyes found hers, concern replacing fury. “Are you hurt?”
She tried to stand and gasped as pain lanced through her side. Artek crossed the room in two strides, kneeling beside her. His hand on her shoulder radiated warmth and safety, but she couldn’t stop trembling.
“You’re going to the clinic,” he said, voice brooking no argument. “Our healers need to check those ribs.”
“But the workshop?—”
“Will wait.” His thumb brushed her cheek, surprisingly gentle for hands that had just demonstrated such deadly force. “Please, Meara. Let me take care of you.”
“Fine, but only if Frenchy comes too. He needs checking out, and possibly sedation.”
“I resent that accusation,” Frenchy sniffed, then immediately ruined it by jumping at a noise from outside. “Though I wouldn’t say no to something for my nerves. And maybe a massage. Preferably from whoever got Artek into that kind of shape, because damn, honey.”
A laugh bubbled up despite everything, though it turned into a wince.
“Trey,” he called over his shoulder, “coordinate cleanup here. I’m taking them to the clinic.”
“On it, boss.” Trey directed security personnel to handle the aftermath while eyeing Frenchy with barely concealed amusement. “Need help with your friend there?”
“I can walk perfectly fine,” Frenchy declared, then promptly stumbled over a fallen easel. “Maybe not.”
“Don’t even think about walking,” Artek growled softly, gathering her into his arms. He lifted her with exquisite care, cradling her against his chest as if she weighed nothing. The remains of his shredded shirt did little to hide the warm skin beneath her cheek.
“I can walk,” she protested weakly, even as she curled into his embrace.
“Humor me.” His voice rumbled through his chest, a gentle contrast to his earlier fury. “You’re hurt, and I need—” He paused, pressing his face briefly into her hair. “Just let me take care of you.”
As they approached his SUV, Meara caught his knowing look. “What?”
“Your friend,” he murmured, somehow managing to open the passenger door without jostling her, “is something else.”
“That’s one way to put it.” She watched Frenchy dramatically accept Trey’s assistance to the back seat, already critiquing the vehicle’s interior design choices despite his obvious shakiness. “But he’s loyal. And brave, in his own way. He tried to defend me with a paintbrush.”
Artek settled her into the passenger seat with gentle precision, his hands lingering as he buckled her seat belt. His fingers brushed her cheek, carefully avoiding her injuries. “You’re both brave. Reckless—” His thumb traced her jawline. “But brave.”
Artek’s expression turned serious as he started the engine. “You both could have been killed.”
“But we weren’t.” Meara reached for his hand, squeezing gently. “Because of you.”
His fingers interlaced with hers, warm and strong and steadying. As they drove toward the clinic, Meara realized something had shifted between them—like paint mixing on a palette, creating something new and vibrant and a little dangerous.
In the back seat, Frenchy’s running commentary on bear shifter muscle definition provided welcome comic relief. But Meara couldn’t shake the feeling that while they’d won this battle, the war with the Lopez family had just begun.
She glanced at Artek’s profile, remembered his fierce defense, and thought maybe that wasn’t such a terrible thing after all.