On it. I looked across at Ashworth. His face was a mess of small cuts and smears of blood, and his expression was pinched with pain. Then I saw why—his right arm was so badly broken that I could see a bloody shard of bone.
How in the hell was I going to get him out without causing more damage?
He obviously guessed my thoughts, because he said, “Lass, let me worry about the arm.”
“But—”
“Ignore it,” he growled. “My seat belt is jammed so you’ll need to cut me out. And you’ll need to do so before that gas catches or the bastards gather their courage and come back to finish us off.”
It was this thought that had adrenaline surging. I stretched a hand over my head, shoved my backpack out of the way, and spread my fingers against the roof to brace myself. I hit the seat belt release and crumbled down, then shoved the door open, grabbed my pack, and scrambled out. The truck had come to rest upside down at the base of the hill; a quick look up revealed a trail of truck bits, flattened grass, and barely missed rock outcrops, all of which told the story of just how lucky we’d actually been. The surrounding area was still and quiet—there was no sound of approaching vehicles, either on the road or in our field. The hunters, it seemed, had fled.
But we weren’t alone. Lying on a flat stretch of ground not far away from Ashworth’s truck was the wolf.
Why would the hunter leave their prey behind when it would have only taken minutes—if that—to throw the body into the back of their truck?
It didn’t make any sense.
How about you take care of the living before you start worrying about the idiots behind these kills? Belle commented. I’ve already called the ambulance—you want me to call the rangers?
I’ll do it. I ran around to the driver side of the vehicle and, after a number of tugs, forced the crumpled door open. Sweat mingled with blood on Ashworth’s face now, and his eyes were little more than narrow slits of bright silver. But his lips were moving and magic stirred, briefly caressing my skin even as it tightened around Ashworth’s body. Or, more specifically, his arm. He was immobilizing it magically.
He tied off the spell and then glanced at me. “Right—cut the damn belt.”
I swung my pack around, grabbed the knife, and quickly sawed through the belt’s webbing. He fell awkwardly and jarred his arm. His curses flowed thick and fast, but he nevertheless twisted around and pushed his way out. I helped him up and then, with his good arm wrapped around my shoulders for support, we walked away from the truck.
Once we were a safe distance away, I lowered him onto the ground and then grabbed my phone out of the pack and called the ranger station. I had no idea who was on call over the next few days, but the stubborn—Belle might have said unreasonable—part of my soul didn’t want to call Aiden direct.
Several clicks ran down the line and then an all-too-familiar voice said, “Ranger Aiden O’Connor speaking—what’s your emergency?”
“Ashworth’s truck rolled, and our hunters have claimed another prize.”
“Lizzie? Are you okay?”
My heart warmed at the urgency in his tone. “Bruised and a little bloody, but otherwise, yes, I am. Ashworth has a broken arm.”
“Where are you?”
I told him the road we’d been on, described the area and the gate, and then said, “You’d better get Ciara here, too.”
“Is this victim skinned?”
“No. We got here in time to at least stop that.”
“And I’ll be wanting a full explanation as to why neither of you called me first.” His voice was tight. Angry. “It’ll take us forty minutes to get out there—are you both going to be okay?”
“Ashworth might be a screaming mess of pain by then, but otherwise, yes.”
“The ambulance will have to come from Creswyn, so it’ll be no more than fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll head up the road and flag them down, then.”
“Don’t touch anything around the body until I get there.”
He hung up. I put the phone away and glanced at Ashworth. “I’ve Panadol in my first aid kit if you think that would help.”
He snorted. “That’d be like trying to hold back a flood with a feather. Help me up.”
“The less you move—”