"07 - Burnt Offerings 4.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hamilton Laurell K)

A man wearing green surgical scrubs went flying through the air from around that
wall. He smacked into the opposite wall, slid down it heavily, and lay very
still.
The nurse with me ran towards him, and I let her go. What lay beyond, what was
tossing doctors around like toys, wasn't a job for a healer. It was a job for
me. Two more figures in surgical scrubs lay on the floor, one male, one female.
The woman was awake, eyes wide. Her wrist was at a 45 degree angle, broken. She
saw my ID clipped to my jacket. "He's a shifter. Be careful."
"I know what he is," I said. I lowered the gun just a touch.
Her eyes flinched, and it wasn't pain. "Don't shoot up my trauma center."
"Try not to," I said and moved past her.
Zane stepped out into the corridor. I'd never seen Zane before, but who else
could it be? He was carrying someone in his arms. I thought at first, a woman,
because the hair was long and shining brown, but the exposed back and shoulders
were too muscular, too male. It had to be Nathaniel. He fit easily into the
taller man's arms.
Zane was about six foot, stretched tall and thin. He wore only a black leather
vest on his thin, pale upper body. His hair was cotton-white, cut short on the
sides with the top long in moussed spikes.
He opened his mouth and snarled at me. He had fangs, upper and lower, like a
great cat. Sweet Jesus.
I pointed the gun at him and let out the air in my body until I was still and
quiet. I was aiming for a line of shoulder above Nathaniel's still form. At this
distance I'd hit it.
"I'll only ask once, Zane. Put him down."
"He's mine, mine!" He took striding steps down the hallway, and I fired.
The bullet spun him halfway around, and staggered him to his knees. The shoulder
I'd hit stopped working, and Nathaniel slid out of his arms. Zane got to his
feet with the smaller man tucked under his good arm like a doll. The flesh of
his shoulder was already reknitting, rebuilding itself like a fast-forward
picture of a flower blooming.
Zane could have tried to rush past me, to use his speed, but he didn't. He just
came walking towards me as if he didn't believe I'd do it. He should have
believed.
The second lead bullet took him square in the chest. Blood exploded out of his
pale skin. He fell onto his back, spine bowing, struggling to breathe with a
hole the size of a fist in his chest. I went for him, not running, but hurrying.
I walked wide around him, out of arm's reach, and came up a little behind him,
and to the side. The shoulder I'd shot was still limp, his other arm trapped
under Nathaniel's body. Zane gasped up at me, brown eyes wide.
"Silver, Zane, the rest of the bullets are silver. I'll make it a head shot and
blow your freaking brains all over this nice clean floor."
He finally managed to gasp out, "Won't." Blood filled his mouth and spilled down
his chin.
I pointed the gun at his face, about eyebrow level. If I pulled the trigger, he
was gone. I stared down at this man I'd never met before. He looked young,
nowhere close to thirty. A great emptiness filled me. It was like standing in
the middle of white noise. I felt nothing. I didn't want to kill him, but I
didn't care if I did. It didn't matter to me. It only mattered to him. I let
that knowledge fill my eyes. That I didn't give a damn one way or the other. I