Ellie was walking out of the bedroom when she heard the knock. Curious, she went to the front window and peeked through the curtain.
Carter Stephenson was leaning nonchalantly against the front fender of a black Chevy Tahoe, looking for all the world like he had every right to be there.
Are you freaking serious?
She yanked the door open, “Are you delusional, or just stupid?”
Too late she saw the knuckle-dragger in the cheap suit standing just to the left of the doorframe; his size-fourteen shoe planted firmly over the threshold the second she tried to slam it shut.
“Now, Ellie …” Carter began, that smooth, patient voice she already hated.
She pivoted hard, darting for the side table and the .357 that lived there. She only got two steps before a thick hand locked around her upper arm and dragged her bodily out onto the porch.
Carter looked amused, “Now, Ellie, if you’d just listen to me --”
“Get the hell off our ranch, you dumb bastard!”
He held up both hands in a conciliatory gesture as the thug hauled her across the gravel and planted her in front of him. A second security type climbed out from behind the wheel and took position at Carter’s shoulder.
“Do you kiss your husband with that mouth?” Carter asked, almost fond.
“Funny you should mention my wolf,” Ellie spat, “because if Goon McNugget hasn’t let go of my arm by the time Remy gets here from the barn, he’s going to rip your heads off.”
Carter sighed the long-suffering sigh of a man tired of dealing with unreasonable women, “Yes, little Ellie, I’m sure your big, scary husband is going to absolutely murder two highly-trained former Spetsnaz.” He gestured. “Ivan, please let go of the lady.”
The thug grunted and released her arm.
“Now, Ellie, as I was trying to say earlier … damn it.”
Ellie spun on her heel and bolted for the house. Carter’s face twisted with visible frustration, as he barked something sharp in Russian. The thug grabbed her arm again.
“Ellie, I swear to God, if you don’t listen to me ...”
Remy left the ground at a dead sprint.
He hit the driver in the shoulder blades knees-first with his full two-hundred-fifteen pounds of bone and muscle, smashing the man face-first into the gravel, sliding six feet before Remy’s elbow came down once, hard, into the back of his skull. The thug’s legs went rigid, arms locked in front of him, body vibrating.
The second thug had already let go of Ellie, hands clawing for the gun under his cheap coat, when Remy rolled off the first man, darted past Ellie, caught the gun hand, and used the man’s own momentum to whip him around and off-balance. Then he threw him bodily into the side of the old carport.
The thug hit the century-old lumber with a crash and staggered. Remy was already accelerating -- shoulder down, back leg driving. He went through the Russian like a freight train through a paper wall.
The 2×6 planks exploded in a cloud of dust and splinters, Remy and the thug vanished through the hole. There was a short scream cut off by a wet, final sound like a cantaloupe hitting concrete.
Remy reappeared in the ragged opening, absinthe-green irises compressed into thin gold rings around black pits. Dust and blood freckled his forearms.
“What the fuck?! What the fuck?!” Carter gabbled, staring.
Remy crouched slightly, gaze locked on Carter with pure predatory stillness.
“Ellie ...” Carter started.
“Don’t touch me, Carter!”
Too late. His hand clawed at her sleeve.
Remy moved with savage, liquid smoothness.
Carter turned and ran, whimpering. Remy passed Ellie at a low, predatory lope and dealt Carter an open-handed slap that spun him halfway around and dropped him onto his stomach in the gravel.
As Remy stopped and turned, Carter twisted onto his side, one hand stretched out toward Ellie, terror naked on his face.
Remy dropped, shin across Carter’s back like a steel bar, one hand locking around the back of his neck, the other fisting in the hair at his forehead.
Then he began to pull.
Carter’s neck popped. Pain shot white-hot through the base of his skull. His head was being forced back, back, any second the vertebrae would separate and the back of his skull would meet his spine.
Ellie saw it clearly: He’s going to kill him.
She stepped into Remy’s field of vision, walking slow, hips loose, palms open and empty. Her voice came out soft and clear and absolutely steady.
“My wolf. Please let him go.”
Behind the gold rings she saw faint, crystalline calculations. The request registered as Irrelevant.
She bit her lip once, hard, then stepped as close as she dared.
“My wolf … I’m scared.” The lie tasted metallic, “Please take me away.”
The geometry behind the gold flickered. Something older and deeper than rage recognized Safe / Soft / Mine.
Remy rose in one fluid motion, took her arm with careful, iron gentleness, and began scanning the yard for further threats. He moved her firmly toward the house, then stopped just short of the porch. He placed her behind him, turned back to Carter, and jerked his head once toward Ellie.
A snarl trying to shape itself into human words: “Safe.”
His other hand pointed at Carter, still sprawled and shaking in the gravel; a soft, harsh, barking sound that was almost laughter: If you are still here when she is safe … I will come back and finish you.
Then he turned, shepherding Ellie into the house, gold rings already beginning the slow, pulsing fight back toward green.
I do much better with fight scenes, although this one is a little rough.
After this scene, a desperate Carter moves from trying to talk Ellie into using her influence on her father, to kidnapping her and dealing directly with Alan.
Like I said before: That may sound like a really dumb plan, but idiots have done it before.
Ian
This is why there are 'Second Beatings' because for some people, the first just doesn't take.
I've seen this, coming into the ER ambulance bay. Usually on 3rd shift, weekends. With or without the full moon, although -- and you can ask Ian -- the full moon produces more... action. Frequently, in these parts, attributed to the notorious "Sumdude." The runner-up is "M'ole lady."
Maybe it's age, or upbringing; but when I was a teen there weren't date problems. Because your date's Dad/Uncle/Cousin had kicked the asses of the Imperial Japanese Army/Marines and the Wehrmacht. You weren't going to be a problem for him. And we KNEW it.