“Damn it,” I said, my vision dimming at the edges. The world began to spin, but I gritted my teeth. I was a goddamn vampire, and I was absolutely not going to pass out. Not after chasing a murderer and taking a bullet for my Master.

“It looks like I took another bullet for you,” I said.

Ethan grunted, ripped off the bottom hem of his shirt, and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He folded and pressed the handkerchief to my arm, then used the hem to secure the handkerchief in place and create a make-do bandage.

“Ow,” I said when he secured it a little more snugly than he should have. Fast healing was one of our better biological advantages, but we still felt pain, and this hurt like a son of a bitch.

“You did that on purpose,” I said as he tucked the ends of the fabric into place.

“You did that on purpose. It’s your fault you got shot.”

“Technically, it’s the vampire’s fault. And I’d still rather be shot than listen to Luc harangue me because I let you get shot.”

Ethan just growled. He was so adorable in ultra-alpha protective Master mode, with his blond hair and green eyes, and a slightly murderous expression on his face.

I frowned. “I think blood loss is making me loopy.”

“Well, this isn’t exactly how I thought the evening would go, either.” The bandage assembled, he sat back on his heels, brushed the hair from my face. “Could you try not to get shot again? I believe this is your third time.”

“Fourth,” I said, wincing as pain waved across my arm. “And I promise to try not to get shot again. Because it really does hurt.”

He leaned forward, pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “Steady on, my brave Sentinel.”

Brave . . . and slightly bullet-ridden.

•   •   •

Ethan grabbed water and aspirin from a corner store, which he administered as well as any experienced nurse.

We waited until my dizziness had passed; then we walked back toward the alley. Mallory and Catcher stood beside a peeling pier that supported the tracks, staring down at the body. Humans had already begun to gather on the sidewalk, trying to get a glimpse of the man on the ground.

Catcher’s eyes narrowed in concern at my bandaged arm. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Vampire, Trans Am, handgun.”

“He shot you?” Mallory said, horror on her face.

“That was the handgun part. And I’m fine. Nurse Sullivan fixed it up.” Nurse Darth Sullivan, I thought, wondering if he’d pulled the fabric tight enough to cut off my circulation completely. But since I didn’t think I was playing my best snark game at this point, I kept the insult to myself.

“Are you all right?” I asked her.

She showed me her skinned elbow. “And sore rump, but otherwise fine. It’s not every day you get elbowed by a murderer.”

“He got away?” Catcher asked.

“That was the Trans Am part,” Ethan said. “I can describe the vehicle, but it didn’t have plates, so there won’t be much to go on. And we didn’t get a good look at his face. White male, probably six feet tall. Slender. Dark hair, thick beard.”

Mallory must have noticed my worried expression. “You sure you’re all right?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” I assured her. Or would be, as soon as my arm began to heal. The pain had already changed, from a sharp-edged sting to a throbbing, dull ache.

We turned our attention to the man on the ground.

Shifters could heal human injuries if they shifted into their respective animal forms. If they were capable of shifting. I guessed the victim hadn’t been able to manage it.

“He wasn’t here very long before you left,” Catcher said. “He was still warm.”

“I felt some kind of magic,” Mallory said, looking down at him. “I don’t know what it was, but there was something here.”

There was no outward sign of magic here—just the shifter and the vampire. Ethan looked at her quizzically. “Have you ever felt anything like that before?”

She shook her head, blew out a breath through pursed lips. “No. Never. And I gotta say, it’s freaking me out a little bit. I’m not sure I want to be the girl who can suddenly sense death.” She put a hand on her chest, her mouth screwed into an “O” of horror. “Oh my God, what if I’m the new Grim Reaper?”

“You aren’t the new Grim Reaper,” I said. “And not to be more grim, but there are a lot of people on the planet, and I’m pretty sure someone is always dying. Can you feel anybody else?”

Mallory blinked. “Well, no, now that you mention it. Which is a relief.”

“So you felt it because of this shifter’s proximity,” Ethan said, “or his magic.” He glanced at Catcher. “Did you feel anything?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t. But she’s more sensitive than I am that way. Which is fine by me. We called Chuck,” he added.

My grandfather, Chuck Merit, was Chicago’s supernatural Ombudsman, a human who acted as a liaison between the Chicago Police Department and the city’s magical populations. Catcher was one of his employees, as was Jeff Christopher, a tech-savvy shifter and mostly white-hat hacker.

“We called Gabriel, too,” Catcher added. “That seemed like the best thing to do, all things considered.”

Ethan nodded. Gabriel Keene was the Apex of the North America Central Pack of shifters. This shifter was in his territory, so he was most likely one of Gabe’s people.