My Alpha, My Bodyguard

4.2 Marcus

Heat. Fire. An explosion of light so searing bright that Marcus himself was briefly blinded. Years of drilled in reflexes took over in an instant, and in a split second he grabbed Vivienne and yanked her into his arms, spinning around to shield her from the flames and noise. Screams filled the parking lot, but Marcus could hardly hear them over the ringing in his own head. The army-green cotton shirt he was wearing singed his back, half-melting into the skin and leaving gaps for flying bits of shrapnel and gravel to stick and flay across the burned flesh.

“Marcus?!” Finally a voice cut through the droning whine, dragging the shifter’s attention down. Vivienne was staring up at him with panicked concern, blessedly unharmed as far as he could see. One of her hands was raised to his cheek. “Marcus, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he grunted, feeling more in control of himself now. Enough to shrug off the pain of his entire back being flambeed. This wasn’t the first time he had ever been bombed, but never at such close range. He was usually able to smell when one of the getaway vehicles had been tampered with by an enemy group, but he couldn’t recall sensing anything out of the ordinary.

Rising to his feet with Vivienne in his arms, he quickly bore her away until they were far enough that they were out of range of the flames. From that distance, he surveyed the still burning remnants of the car through narrowed eyes. Clouds of noxious black smoke poured from the shattered skeleton, filling the air with the smell of carbon and unleaded fuel and nothing else. If there had been any evidence to be found, it was gone now. Frustration clawed at his teeth and jaws, and he could feel his claws threatening to come out. He hated feeling this way. The sensation of unseen prey that had slipped just out of reach, leaving nothing but the knowledge that he had failed.

“Uh, Marcus?” Vivienne piped up nervously, and her eyes widened when they met his own. “Oh! Your eyes–!”

Marcus blinked in confusion, and realized that – although he had managed to keep his claws from tearing through the criminally thin fabric of her sundress – he hadn’t managed to keep his eyes from glowing a dark, vermilion red.

“Sorry! Sorry,” he closed his eyes and focused on pushing down the beast until he was certain he no longer resembled the monstrous beast she probably saw him as.

“No, it’s fine!” His eyes flew open again when he felt soft hands cupping his cheeks. Her expression was soft, and filled with more compassion than the man could ever remember ever seeing. It far worse than her attention earlier, a thousand times more devastating, and Marcus locked his knees in place so that he wouldn’t drop to his knees all over again. “I was just surprised! Are you hurt?”

“Shouldn’t that be my question?” He grunted wryly.

“Well, I asked first!” She retorted stubbornly, fluttering her fingers over his cheek where a few shallow cuts still lingered. “Don’t play tough guy with me, i***t! We didn’t get far enough away from the explosion for it to not have hit you! Oh my god, where’s my phone, I need to call 911–!”

Cute. Her concern was beyond endearing. “No need,” Marcus cut her off for two reasons, but only nodded in the direction of one: the high-pitched wail of red and blue sirens mounted atop two police cars that had just pulled into the parking lot. Two officers exited the first vehicle and approached them, while a woman from the second began to cordon off the area. The last man remained in their car.

Marcus’s hearing had recovered enough for him to piece together the fact he was on the radio with the local fire department which was several miles away. Traffic in this city was impossible on a good day, so Marcus wasn’t hedging his bets on the red truck arriving any less than an hour and he didn’t plan on sticking around for that long.

“Officer Carlson, and this is my associate officer, Darryl,” the first cop flashed his badge at them. He was a short, skinny older man with blonde hair and a bristly moustache above a mouth that seemed to be stuck in a permanent scowl of irritation. It was an expression Marcus would have related to, were he in the mood to be empathetic. “We were called here about a bomb. Is that your car, sir?”

“It’s mine, actually,” Vivienne raised her hand. “The bomb was in the – actually, you can put me down now. Please?”

The second half of her sentence was directed towards Marcus, who said nothing in response but didn’t move to obey. Even if he had wanted to, the shifter didn’t think he’d be able to bring himself to relinquish so much as an inch. Not until they were back in the house, in a safe location where he could scope every single entry and exit point to ensure that she was safe from all external threats. Not until the acrid tang of ink-black smoke and sickly fear was replaced with the soothing, citrusy-sweet aroma of peace.

Naturally, the presence of other people triggered his instincts, and Marcus could not help the sudden flash of teeth that he shot towards the blue-clad policeman when the man stepped forward. His partner took an uneasy, instinctive step back, his fingers flashing towards his belt to pull out a standard issue taser. It wouldn’t be enough to take out an adult shifter, but it would certainly sting like hell if he got hit.

Judging by the shakiness of his hands and sweat staining the underarm of his shirt, he had to be new on the job. A regular human, fresh out of the academy and straight into the proverbial – and somewhat literal – fire.

Marcus couldn’t help it, he flashed the corner of a canine – barely a fang – and the kid let out a high pitched squeal that wouldn’t have been out of place in a pigsty. Fitting. Once upon a time, Marcus used to eat punks like him for breakfast, but that was a different time. He was a different man.

He still couldn’t stand trigger-happy humans though. “If you’re not planning on shooting me, then I suggest you stop twitching like that,” he drawled. “You look like you’re gonna piss yourself on the job, kid.”

“Marcus!” Vivienne gasped, whacking his shoulder. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m just saying,” the bodyguard dodged the next strike of her palm and caught her other wrist with his free hand, keeping her balanced easily with his palm spread wide under her plump thighs. “This city is home to a ton of shifters, and the last thing anyone needs is a scared human with a license to carry and a bias against anything that growls. Am I making sense?”

“Y-You threatened me!” The officer insisted.

“Nah, that wasn’t a threat. This is,” Marcus replied, his voice lowering to a deep brassy note. “You drew a weapon to attack two unarmed civilians, one of whom is a shifter and the other is a prominent actress. So tell me, do the words attempted assault and illegal profiling mean anything to you?”

“Darryl!”

Clearly sensing his partner’s terror and the potential ensuing lawsuit, the older officer quickly moved to defuse the situation. He held up both unarmed hands in a placating gesture before carefully turning his wrists outwards to reveal a small white patch that was stuck to the skin right beneath his cuffs.

“A scent blocker,” he explained with a cordial yet professional smile. “Usually helps to keep panicked shifters from lashing out when I get close.”

The sight of the little patch irked Marcus a little, he didn’t like being blindsided, let alone for the second time in the very same day. It was annoying to know that he was in the dark about the other shifter, but he likely already knew exactly what was going on inside his own head.