The light from the door had lowered a little bit--Teige sagged under its weight but did not let go. One hand was now plastered over the left side of his chest, where a pinprick of blood had appeared.

"Ow," he said.

Hawk dropped the knife--it clattered on the floor of the truck. The elderly werewolf was already ducking beneath the door, putting its weight on her shoulders as Teige's knees buckled.

Hawk caught Teige before he could collapse completely, wrenching him around, pulling back his arms. Teige's face twisted up into a horrible grimace and he plucked at the front of his shirt, trying to find the source of the blood. Hawk grabbed at his shoulder, saying quietly, frantically, "Teige, Teige, let me see--"

He pressed his hand over Teige's chest and it came away slick with blood. Teige sank against Hawk, eyes huge.

"Shit," he breathed, "that's bad. That looks bad."

"Is he all right?" the elderly wolf asked, glancing back. Then, quite suddenly, a flood of pink light filled the truck, and three more bullets cracked loudly against the new glassy barrier that had appeared.

One of the Royal Order soldiers, red-coated, fanged, eyes covered by glass goggles, had appeared at the back of the truck. The glassy barrier of light was seemingly emanating from her palms. "Everyone," she said loudly, "please remain calm."