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they reached the emergency room.
    Feeling somethin g warm against his knee, he glanced down to see blood also seeping through Vincent’s jeans behind his left thigh. The denim wasn’t torn, which meant another wound had reopened.
    “What kin d of prowler are you?” he murmured, striping off his jacket. The abdominal wound needed pressure on it. He worked one of the sleeves under Vincent’s back to knot it at his hip. “Only rookies or self-sacrificing morons prowl while injured. Which are you, huh?”
    He stood and got his hands under Vincent’s shoulders. At first, he attempted to cradle his head between both forearms, but two sharps pulls later, it became a matter of moving at all. If he hadn’t been concerned about further ripping the stitches, he would’ve hoisted Vincent across his shoulders.
    “Give me a break,” he panted . “This isn’t as easy as it looks. Wake up and help me out here.”
    He’d need to do something about the drag marks in the mo rning. To any passerby, it might look as if someone was dragged into the woods. The slight blood trail wasn’t helping any.
    “Hang on, guy,” he coaxed. They emerged at the treeline. “Almost there.”
    Vincent’s h ead hung limply over the ground. He didn’t stir.
    When they finally reached th e car’s passenger door, Logan lowered him to the gravel. Something in his lower back popped with the movement and he bolted upright, cursing.
    “Just rest there for a minute ,” he wheezed. “No, really. Don’t move. I got this.”
    The muscles in his arms twitched with exhaustion. For once, he welcomed the icy breeze on his face. He clocked plenty of time at the gym, but cardio was more his specialty. If a werewolf got close enough for hand-to-hand combat, no amount of muscle strength would save him.
    Or so he’d thought befo re Vincent went all Hulk on that werewolf back there. It was a certifiably insane move that would require an explanation once he was talking again.
    After retrieving the car keys from the jacket around Vincent’s waist, Logan walked to the trunk and stowed his rifle. It wouldn’t be the brightest move to pull up to the ER with a rifle in the front seat, and a bleeding man in the back. As he shut the trunk, something caught his eye.
    Shattered glass glistened in the moonlight. Someone had busted the driver door window.
    “Son of a –” His boots crunched over glass as he moved in to take a closer look. There was hardly anything left in the frame. Shards covered the front seat. But why would someone bust his window without stealing the car? Unless they saw something they wanted…
    His radio was missing.
    Perfect.
    It had the frequencies he used neatly labeled on the fron t. They were partially in code, but any wise apple with enough skill could tinker with them, listen in, and learn about the existence of werewolves. It might be some punk kid who chalked it up to an elaborate role-playing nerd fest. Or it might be someone much more dangerous.
    Think about it later , he berated himself. Help Vincent.
    Any warning call to Eddie would need to wait until he returned to the motel.
    Wrestling V incent into the backseat was no easy task. Logan cracked his head against the car roof, grunted, lost his balance, groaned, and was feeling quite uncomfortable by the time Vincent lay sprawled across the vinyl. He debated whether or not to secure a seatbelt around him, but decided against it. Not a single car had passed since they’d emerged from the forest. They would be all right.
    He climbed into the driver’s seat, willing his jeans to protect him from the glass.
    R elief flooded him when he popped open the glove compartment. At least the thief had left the cigarettes behind. Although they wrecked havoc on his conditioning, he desperately needed one after wrestling Vincent into the car.
    “That’s not something we’re ev er going to talk about,” he informed the rearview mirror, flicking his lighter.
    Wisps of smoke began to fill the car