My saying wasn’t as well-known, though. That must have been why Morgan didn’t know it was poor form. Or she really didn’t give a shit.
As Kimberly was busy escorting my bewildered guests out of the ballroom, I looked up to see one of the members of Lucas’s pack, a young man named Ewan, trying to guide Morgan from the room.
I hadn’t had time to process what Desmond had said, about Lucas expecting Morgan to be the one who broke the news to me, but seeing her argue with Ewan, the revelation came back to me.
Morgan knew I was going to be stood up, and she hadn’t told me. But why?
“No.” She jerked her arm away from Ewan and shoved him. “He wasn’t supposed to be here.” Her voice sounded high-pitched, edging on crazy. Guess she couldn’t let me be the only drama queen in the room. “He ruined the whole fucking plan.” This time she pointed at Desmond.
I was too muddled and too broken to really pay attention to her, until I heard Mercedes say, “What does she think she’s doing?”
Morgan had clambered up onto one of the chairs, out of Ewan’s reach. My first thought was, Why is she climbing on the furniture? But that was quickly pushed aside to make room for the more pressing, Why is she pointing a gun at me?
Mercedes said aloud what my brain was thinking. “What the fuck?”
Desmond and the girls all looked up, but it was the werewolf lieutenant who responded fastest. Morgan pulled the trigger, and Desmond threw himself on top of me. Mercedes was hollering at Owen for her purse, and the remaining guests were screaming. Some ran for the exit while others hit the floor.
The weight of Desmond’s body pinned me to the wooden floor, so my interpretation of what was happening was based entirely on what I could hear. I tried to reach the hem of my dress, instinct telling me I needed to get the gun I’d strapped to my thigh.
Leary had thought I was nuts for wanting to wear a gun under my wedding dress. Turned out it really was always better to be safe rather than sorry.
“Desmond, get up. I need to get my gun.” Funny how the sound of one bullet being fired could snap me back to my senses. This wasn’t the time to be a sad, wilting girly girl. Right now I couldn’t be the jilted bride.
Right now I needed to be the killer I’d been before love had gone and fucked me up.
Desmond didn’t move.
His weight felt heavier than it should. Limper.
“Desmond?”
The front of me felt warm. Warmer than I would expect from just the heat of his body. I snaked my arm around him, my fingers sliding over the pebbled roughness of the leather jacket until they met something wet, warm and sticky.
I didn’t need to see it to know what it was. I was very familiar with blood.
“Oh, God. Desmond.” I shook him. “Desmond? Desmond.”
Someone lifted him off me, and he went too easily, none of his limbs resisting. I tried to hold on to him, but soon he was lying on the floor beside me, unmoving, his eyes closed and his skin much, much too pale.
I didn’t notice myself being pulled away until Tyler had me halfway across the platform. I shook him off and stumbled, crawling across the stage to where Desmond was lying stock-still. “I can’t leave him.”
Tyler grabbed the laces of my dress and yanked me backwards, hard and almost violent. “He took that shot to save you. You’re not doing anyone any good if you die. Especially not him.”
I was stronger than Tyler and I debated knocking him out, but now that I was on my feet I could see what had unfolded while I was under Desmond’s body.
Morgan was no longer on the chair. She had Kimberly in a chokehold and was using her as a shield while she kept her back to the wall and her gun aimed at me. Mercedes had gotten her purse from Owen and was training her gun steady on Morgan, waiting for a clear shot.
She wasn’t the only one.
Tyler had pushed me behind him, and he, Keaty and Shane all had their weapons drawn and leveled on the werewolf. Even Eugenia was preparing herself, muttering words in La Sorcière’s strange French, her right hand glowing bright red.
But Morgan wasn’t stupid—she hadn’t come alone, either. Three men and a woman were spread through the
ballroom with their own weapons drawn and aimed at my friends.
I’d never been in a Mexican stand-off before.
Holden was tucked into a corner near the entrance, but I knew better than to think he was hiding. He was unarmed, but his focus never left Morgan.