Chapter 327
Tristan stopped the bike in a clear area and sat there for a moment, his chest heaving inside the leather jacket, probably catching his breath, probably realizing what he’d just done. What he’d just survived.
Then he reached up and pulled off his helmet.
His dark hair was stuck to his head with sweat and there was a cut above his eyebrow, probably from debris kicked up during the race. But he was grinning, that wild, fierce grin that made my heart stutter.
He started to get off, swinging his leg over the bike.
That’s when I saw Vic.
Still on his bike. Still moving. Coming up fast behind Tristan who was getting off and didn’t see him.
Everything slowed down.
I could see it all with horrible clarity–Vic’s face twisted with rage through his helmet visor, his bike speeding up instead of slowing, Tristan with one leg still over Derek’s bike, off–balance and vulnerable.
“TRISTAN!” I screamed but my voice was lost in the crowd noise, in the celebration that hadn’t noticed the danger.
Orion saw it too. “NO!”
He was already moving, already trying to run toward Tristan, but the crowd was too thick, too many bodies between them.
Derek saw it and started shouting, waving his arms, but Vic wasn’t stopping.
Tristan heard something, his Alpha senses picking up on the engine noise or maybe just instinct, and turned.
Too late.
Vic’s bike slammed into him at full force.
The impact lifted Tristan off his feet and threw him backward. His body hit the ground hard, his helmet, which he’d just taken off, flying from his hand. His head cracked against concrete with a sound I’d hear in my nightmares for the rest of my life.
hit.
He rolled three times before stopping in a heap near the wall.
Vic’s bike went down too, sliding sideways in a shower of sparks before crashing into Derek’s parked truck.
Everything stopped.
The crowd went silent. Even the engines that were still running seemed quiet.
Tristan wasn’t moving.
“TRISTAN!” I was running before I knew I’d moved, shoving people aside with strength I didn’t know I had, using elbows and hands and not caring who I
1/2
1:25 pm
Chapter 327
My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat and my vision was narrowing, focused only on Tristan’s still form.
Orion was faster, he cut through the crowd like it wasn’t there. Derek was right behind him.
I pushed through the last line of people and dropped to my knees beside Tristan, and oh god, there was so much blood.
It was pooling under his head, spreading across the concrete. His left leg was bent at an angle that made my stomach turn. His leather jacket was shredded on one side, showing road rash underneath.
Tristan,” my hands hovered over him, afraid to touch him, afraid I’d make it worse. “Tristan please.”
His chest rose. Fell. And rose again.
He was breathing.
Thank god, he was breathing.
“Don’t move him, Derek said, his phone already out calling for an ambulance, his voice trying to stay calm but his hands were shaking. “His back might be injured. Skull fracture possible. Jesus Christ, where’s all this blood coming from?”
Orion was checking Tristan’s pulse, his face pale, and I could see his other hand trembling as he held it against Tristan’s neck. “It’s strong. Steady. His
bad, this is really bad.” Alpha healing should already be working but this
“How bad?” I asked, and I didn’t recognize my own voice.
“Head trauma, possible internal bleeding, definitely broken bones,” he said. “He’ll heal but…”
“But what?”
‘But he needs to survive the next few hours first.”
Across the track, Vic was getting up from his crashed bike. His friends were helping him, and I could see him testing his arms and legs, checking for
injuries.
He had some road rash, maybe a twisted ankle from the way he was favoring his left leg, but he was walking. Conscious.
And he was looking at Tristan with satisfaction, not concern.
Something hot and violent exploded in my chest, something primal and protective that I’d never felt before. It was more than anger, more than rage. It was the fierce, terrifying instinct of a mother protecting her young, even though those young were barely formed, barely real yet.
“You tried to kill him,” my voice came out wrong, too calm, too quiet, and I stood on shaking legs.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
