“This doesn’t bode well,” Brax muttered when they entered Ms. Grant’s apartment. The living room was in shambles—chairs overturned, the sofa out of place. He walked quickly to a partially open door along the hallway off the living room. “Damn,” he spat out when he stepped into the room. “She’s alive, but barely,” he said, kneeling beside Ms. Grant to press his fingers to the artery in her throat.
Kyle hurried to join him. She was unconscious and obviously been beaten and cut, just as Kyle had been. “Russo’s work,” Kyle said angrily.
Brax was already on the phone. When he hung up, he said, “I have a friend who runs a clinic for our kind. He’s willing to help, even though she’s human.” He gave Kyle the visual, then carefully gathered Ms. Grant into his arms. Seconds later, they were in a w
