Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Lydia’s fingers are gentle but thorough as she probes around the wound. “It looks like the bullet grazed her,” she says, sounding relieved. “But the fur is so thick, it's hard to tell exactly where it hit.”
It makes sense. The bullet likely skimmed across Nikita’s side, slicing through fur and skin without fully penetrating. The impact would have been enough to cause pain and bleeding but not the catastrophic damage I feared. Her fur, matted with blood, hides the exact entry point, making it difficult to see the full extent of the injury.
Lydia does a quick assessment. “She’s breathing fine, but she seems like she’s in pain.” Her hands are steadying now as she gently presses around the area. “We need to get her to the vet to make sure there’s no deeper injury. Let’s get her to the vet, Viktor.”
I have to make a choice—vet for Nikita or safety for Lydia.
“You to safety first, then the vet.”
Lydia is crying, swiping at her eyes. “She was defending us.”
“She’ll be fine,” I say, hoping that if I say it enough times, it’ll become true.
Lydia looks up, her eyes lighting up. “Harper said Vera got in last night. My sister will know what to do. Even though she deals with human patients, a lot of her knowledge should transfer to pets.”
“Where is she?”
“At your mom’s.”
“Let’s get her to come to our place. We shouldn’t move Nikita too much. Let’s bring her there.”
She makes a call. “Please, have Vera come to Viktor’s.”
We load Nikita into the back of Aleks's car. I sit beside Aleks while Lydia holds Nikita's head in her lap. She strokes her beautiful black fur and wipes her eyes.
As we drive, Lydia keeps Nikita’s head in her lap, stroking her fur and whispering reassurances. Every so often, she glances at the wound, trying to see if there is more we can do. But the graze, while bloody, seems to be just that—a surface wound that hasn’t penetrated deeply.
I hope.
“I hate him,” Lydia whispers. “This is part of his game, isn’t it?” she says, her voice trembling. “Any new developments, Aleks? Give me something to decipher, for fuck’s sake.”
“This is the first one,” Aleks says. “Aria will send local blueprints. Might be able to find where the sniper was hiding.”
She shakes her head. “Fucking bastard, he’s such a coward. I hate him.”
“Me too.”
By the time we get back to the house, Nikko is on the phone. “We are ten minutes away. Anything else we need to know?”
“Her breathing is shallow,” Aleks says. “I can’t see where she was injured, but there’s blood on the seat. She doesn’t look good.”
Lydia doesn't let go easily. She’s messed up. So am I, but damn it. Was she shot? She had to be.
Back at my house, we get Nikita situated on the couch. Lydia sits with her head in her lap, and Nikko and Vera arrive.
“Vera,” Lydia says. When she blinks, fat tears roll down her cheeks. Poor girl. She’s traumatized by this. And, of course, she gets one look at her sister and her wild emotions surface. Who can blame her?
Vera walks in, all business. Her hair is tied up in a crazy knot on the top of her head. You can barely tell they’re sisters. Lydia is all curves and feminine allure, while Vera has an intelligent grace about her, different from Lydia. But Lydia’s eyes are wide and wet, and there’s a little dimple on both their chins. The intelligence in their eyes and freckled noses tell me they’re sisters. Vera runs to Lydia, wraps her arms around her, and gives her a fierce hug.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t come sooner.”
“You were in Alaska,” Lydia says, smiling. “I’m just glad you’re here now. This is Nikita.”
When Vera kneels in front of Nikita, Nikita growls at her. She’s afraid, poor thing. I kneel beside her and stroke my thumb over her pretty head. “It’ll be okay, girl. She’s gonna take care of you. It’s gonna be okay.” As I gently stroke her head, Lydia begins to cry.
Vera takes her vitals. “Let’s take a look. You think she was shot?”
She carefully cleans the wound, searching for any sign of a bullet fragment. “It’s tricky,” she says, frowning. “The fur is thick, and the skin is tough. It looks like the bullet just grazed her, but I can’t find an entry point either.”
I watch as she works, my heart still pounding with worry. Nikita lies still, her eyes closing in exhaustion but her breathing steady. The wound, hidden by her thick coat, is minor compared to what it could have been. But the uncertainty, the not knowing, gnaws at me.
“We’ll take her to the vet,” I say firmly. “Make sure there’s nothing we’ve missed.”
Vera frowns. “Agreed. I’m trained in medical science, specifically for trauma response,” she tells me. “I don’t know much about veterinary care, but I’ll do my best to stabilize her. We need to get her to a veterinary hospital immediately.”