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"Take. Me," he started, each word punching out of his throat as though the seizure was h.e.l.l-bent on stopping him from communicating. "To. Elektra."
Her mind was racing, trying to grasp the instructions that seemed to contradict her human instinct to rush him to the hospital. We aren't human. Doctors can't save us. She reminded herself, as she realized he was headed for dire straits.
Was Brandon dying?
Coming to her senses and thinking fast, Gwen muscled her arms under Brandon's neck and legs, hoisted him up with a grunt, and started for the elevator then stopped. She turned. The window. She'd never flown in her life, and certainly not from a perch fifty stories high, but she couldn't waste time doing things the human way.
In a flash, she was at the window, Brandon in her arms, kicking at the gla.s.s that had to be at least three inches thick. These were not the kinds of windows that opened and she would have to break through the gla.s.s.
She delivered her fourth kick and the windowpane cracked. Then with the fifth kick a web of cracks splintered radially, and by the sixth hard slam, sole-to-pane, she shattered the gla.s.s that rained down in shards, silent and deadly through the dark night.
As she leapt from the edge, taking flight, Gwen had one thought in her head: It was her turn to save Brandon's life.
NEXT: PRIMAL DARKNESS.
end.
