by J. R. Ward
Phury came to but didn’t move. Which made sense, given the fact that one side of his face felt like it had been burned off. After a couple of deep breathers, he lifted a hand to the pounding ache. Bandages ran from his forehead to his jaw. He probably looked like an extra on the set of ER.
He sat up slowly and his whole head throbbed, like a bicycle pump had been shoved up his nose and someone was working that bitch with a strong arm.
Felt good.
Shifting his feet off the gurney, he pondered the law of gravity and debated whether he had the strength to deal with it. He decided to give it a shot, and what do you know, he managed to weave his way to the door.
Two pairs of eyes flipped over to him, one diamond bright, the other forest green.
“Hi,” he said.
V’s woman came up to him, and her stare was all doctor-scan. “God, I can’t believe how fast you heal. You shouldn’t even be conscious, much less upright.”
“Do you want to check your handiwork?” When she nodded, he sat down on a bench and she carefully peeled the tape back. As he winced, he looked around her at Vishous. “Did you tell Z about this yet?”
The brother shook his head. “Haven’t seen him, and Rhage tried his phone but it was off.”
“So, no news from Havers?”
“Not that I’ve heard. Although we’re about an hour before dawn, so they’d better be back soon.”
The doctor whistled under her breath. “It’s like I can see the skin knitting back together in front of my eyes. Mind if I put another gauze pack on?”
“Whatever you like.”
When she went back into the PT suite, V said, “Gotta talk to you, my man.”
“About?”
“I’m thinking you know.”
Shit. The lesser. And there was no playing dumb with a brother like V. Lying, however, remained an option. “Fight got tight.”
“Bullshit. You can’t be pulling moves like that.”
Phury thought back to a couple months before, when he’d become his twin for a time. Literally. “I’ve been worked over on one of their tables, V. I can assure you they are not concerned with warfare etiquette.”
“But you got cracked tonight because you were going Ginsu on that slayer’s ass. Weren’t you.”
Jane came back in with supplies. Thank God.
When she’d finished packing him up, he got to his feet. “I’m going to head to my room now.”
“You want help?” V asked in a hard tone. Like he was sucking back a whole lot of need-to-share.
“No. I know the way.”
“Well, since we have to go back anyway, let’s make this a field trip. And take it slow.”
Which was a damn good idea. His head was killing him.
They were halfway through the tunnel when Phury realized that the doctor wasn’t being watched or guarded. But, then, hell, she didn’t look as if she wanted to bolt. Matter of fact, she and V were walking side by side.
He wondered if either one of them was aware of how much they seemed like a couple.
When Phury got to the door that led into the big house, he said good-bye without meeting V’s eyes and went up the shallow steps that led out of the tunnel and into the mansion’s foyer. His bedroom seemed like it was all the way across town instead of just up the grand staircase, and the exhaustion he felt told him he needed to feed. Which was such a bore.
Up in his room he took a shower and stretched out on his majestic bed. He knew he should be calling one of the females he used for blood, but he so wasn’t interested. Instead of picking up the phone, he closed his eyes and let his arms fall to his sides, his hand landing on the firearms book, the one he’d taught class from tonight. The one with his drawing in it.
His door opened without a knock. Which meant it was Zsadist. With news.
Phury sat up so fast, his brain went fish-tank in his skull, sloshing around, threatening to spill out his ears. He put his hand up to the bandage as pain speared into him. “What happened with Bella?”
Z’s eyes were black holes in his scarred face. “What the fuck were you thinking!”
“Excuse me?”
“Getting jumped because—” As Phury winced, Z cut the volume down on his boom-box routine and shut the door. Relative silence didn’t improve his mood. In a hushed voice, he bit out, “I can’t fucking believe you played Jack the Ripper and got cracked—”
“Please tell me how Bella is.”
Z pointed his finger right at Phury’s chest. “You need to spend a little less time worrying about my shellan and a little more worrying about your own sorry ass, feel me?”
Swamped by pain, Phury squeezed his good eye shut. The brother was, of course, right on the money.
“Shit,” Z spat into the quiet. “Just…shit.”
“You’re absolutely right.” Phury noticed that his hand was clutching the firearms book, and he forced himself to let go of the thing.
As a clicking sound started to go off, Phury glanced up. Z was flicking the top of his RAZR phone over and over again with his thumb. “You could have been killed.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Cold comfort. At least for one of us. What about your eye? V’s doc save it?”
“Don’t know.”
Z walked over to one of the windows. Pushing the heavy velvet drape aside, he stared out across the terrace and the pool. The strain in his ruined face was obvious, his jaw clenched, his brows down low over his eyes. Strange…before it had always been Z who was on the edge of oblivion. Now Phury was standing on that thin, slippery lip, the worrier having become the cause for concern.
“I’ll be okay,” he lied, leaning to the side for his bag of red smoke and his rolling papers. He spun a thick one up fast, lit it, and the false calm came right away, like his body had been trained well. “Just had an off night.”
Z laughed, though it was a curse more than anything jolly. “They were right.”
“Who?”
“Payback is a bitch.” Zsadist took a deep breath. “You get yourself killed out there and I’m—”
“I won’t.” He inhaled again, not willing to take the vow any further than that. “Now please tell me about Bella.”
“She’s going on bed rest.”
“Oh, God.”
“No, it’s good.” Z rubbed his skull trim. “I mean, she hasn’t lost the young yet, and if she keeps quiet she might not.”
“She in your room?”
“Yeah, I’m going to go get her something to eat. She’s allowed to be up for an hour a day, but I don’t want to give her excuses to be on her feet.”
“I’m glad she—”
“Fuck, my brother. Is this what it was like for you?”
Phury frowned and tapped the blunt over his ashtray. “I’m sorry?”
“I’m fucked in the head all the time. It’s like whatever I’m doing moment to moment is only half-real because of all the crap I’m worried about.”
“Bella’s—”
“It’s not just about her.” Z’s eyes, now back in yellow because he wasn’t as pissed off, drifted across the room. “It’s you.”
Phury made elaborate work of bringing the blunt to his mouth and inhaling. As he let the smoke out, he searched his mind for words to comfort his twin.
He didn’t come up with much.
“Wrath wants us to meet at nightfall,” Z said, looking back out the window, as if he knew damn well there would be no meaningful reassurance. “All of us.”
“Okay.”
After Z left, Phury opened the firearms book and took out the drawing he’d done of Bella. He ran his thumb back and forth over his depiction of her cheek, staring at her with his one working eye. The quiet pressed in on him, constricting his chest.
All things considered, it was possible he’d already fallen off the ledge, possible that he was already sliding down the mountain of his destruction, bumping against boulders and trees, bouncing and breaking limbs, a mortal blow awaiting him.
He stabbed out the blunt. Falling into ruin was a bit like falling in love: Both descents stripped you bare and left you as you were at your core.
And in his limited experience, both endings were equally painful.
As John stared at the lesser who had appeared out of nowhere, he couldn’t move. He’d never been in a car accident before, but he had a feeling that this was what they were like. You were going along and then suddenly everything you were thinking about before the intersection was put on hold, replaced by a collision that became your one and only priority.
Damn, they really did smell like baby powder.
And luckily this one was not pale haired, so he was a new recruit. Which might be the only reason John and his friends got out of this alive.
Qhuinn and Blay got in front, blocking the way. But then a second lesser came out of the shadows, a chess piece moved into position by an unseen hand. He was also dark haired.
God, they were big.
The first one looked at John. “Better run along, son. This is no place for you.”
Holy shit, they didn’t know he was a pretrans. They thought he was just a human.
“Yeah,” Qhuinn said, shoving John’s shoulder. “You got your dime bag. Now get out of here, punk.”
Except he couldn’t leave his—
“I said, get the fuck out of here.” Qhuinn gave him a hard push, and John stumbled into a stack of tarpaper rolls big as couches.
Shit, if he ran, he was a coward. But if he stayed he was going to be worse than no help. Hating himself, he took off at a dead run, heading straight for ZeroSum. Like an idiot, he’d left his backpack at Blay’s, so he couldn’t call home. And it wasn’t like he could waste time looking for one of the Brothers on the off chance they might be hunting nearby. There was only one person he could think of who would help them.
At the club’s entrance he went right up to the bouncer at the head of the wait line.
Xhex. I need to see Xhex. Get me—
“What the hell are you doing, kid?” the bouncer said.
John mouthed the word Xhex over and over again while signing.
“Okay, you are pissing me off.” The bouncer loomed over John. “Get the hell out of here or I’m calling your mommy and daddy.”
Snickers from the wait line made John more frantic. Please! I need to see Xhex—
John heard a distant sound that was either a car peeling out or a scream, and as he wheeled around toward it, the dull weight of Blay’s Glock bumped into his thigh.
No phone to text from. No way to communicate.
But he had a six-pack of lead in his back pocket.
John ran back to the lot, dodging around parallel-parked cars, breathing hard, legs flying as fast as they could. His head was hammering at him, the exertion making the pain so bad he went nauseous. He rounded the corner, skidding on loose gravel.
Fuck! Blay was on the ground with a lesser sitting on his chest, and the two were fighting for control of what looked like a switchblade. Qhuinn was holding his own against the other slayer, but the pair were too evenly matched for John’s taste. Sooner or later one of them was—
Qhuinn took a right hook to the face and spun out, his head twirling on his spine like a top, carrying his body into a pirouette.
In that moment something came into John, came in through the back way, entered sure as if a ghost had stepped into his skin. Old knowledge, the kind that came with experience he hadn’t yet had enough years to gain, carried his hand deep into his back pocket. He palmed the Glock, popped it free, and double-handed it.
One blink had him bringing the weapon level. A second had the muzzle trained on the lesser fighting with Blay over the blade. A third had John squeezing the trigger…and blowing a barn door in that lesser’s head. A fourth had him swinging his stance around to the slayer standing over Qhuinn and rearranging the brass knuckles on his fist.
Pop!
John dropped that lesser with one shot to the temple, black blood spraying out in a fine cloud. The thing crumpled at the knees and fell face-first onto Qhuinn…who was too dazed to do anything other than push the body off him.
John glanced at Blay. The guy was staring up in shock. “Jesus Christ…John.”
The lesser by Qhuinn let out a gurgling breath, like a coffeepot that had just finished brewing.
Metal, John thought. He needed something metal. The knife that Blay had been fighting over was nowhere in sight. Where could he find—
A torn-open box of roofing spikes was by the bucket loader.
John went over, picked one out of the bunch, and approached the lesser by Qhuinn. Lifting his hands high, John threw all of his weight and his anger into the slice downward, and in a flash reality shifted like sand: He was holding a dagger, not a length of steel…and he was big, bigger than Blay and Qhuinn…and he had done this many, many times.
The spike went into the lesser’s chest, and the flare of light was brighter than John had expected, shooting into his eyes and running throughout his body in a burning wave. But his job was not done. He stepped over Qhuinn, moving across the asphalt without feeling the ground beneath his feet.
Blay watched, motionless, speechless, as John lifted the spike again. This time, as he brought it down, John opened his mouth and yelled without making a sound, a war cry no less powerful for the fact that it was not heard.
In the aftermath of the light burst he became dimly aware of sirens. No doubt some human had called the police when they heard the gunshots.
John let his arm ease to his side, the spike falling from his hand and clattering across the pavement.
I am not a coward. I am a warrior.
The seizure came on him fast and hard, taking him to the ground, pinning him with invisible arms, making him bounce around in his own skin until he blacked out, the roar of oblivion overtaking him.
Chapter Twenty-two
When Jane and V were back in the bedroom, she took a seat in what she was coming to think of as her chair, and V stretched out on the bed. Man, this was going to be a long night—er, day. She was tired and twitchy, not a good combination.
“You need food?” he asked.
“You know what I wish I had?” She yawned. “Hot chocolate.”
V picked up the phone, hit three buttons, and waited.
“You’re ordering me some?” she said.
“Yeah. As well as—Hey, Fritz. Here’s what I need….”
After V hung up, she had to smile at him. “That’s quite a spread.”
“You haven’t eaten since—” He stopped himself, as if he didn’t want to bring up the abduction part.
“It’s okay,” she murmured, feeling sad for no good reason.
No, there was a good reason. She was leaving soon.
“Don’t worry, you won’t remember me,” he said. “So you won’t feel anything after you leave.”
She flushed. “Ah…exactly how do you read minds?”
“It’s like catching a radio frequency. It used to happen all the time whether I wanted it to or not.”
“Used to?”
“Guess the antennae broke.” A bitter expression bled into his face, sharpening his eyes. “I heard from a good source it’s going to fix itself, though.”
“Why did it stop?”
“Why is your favorite question, isn’t it?”
“I’m a scientist.”
“I know.” The words were spoken on a purr, like she’d just told him she was wearing sexy lingerie. “I love your mind.”
Jane felt a rush of pleasure, then got all tangled in herself.
As if he sensed her conflict, he buried the moment with, “I used to see the future, too.”
She cleared her throat. “You did? In what way?”
“Dreamscapes, mostly. No time line, just events in random order. I specialized in deaths.”
Deaths? “Deaths?”
“Yeah, I know how all my brothers die. Just not when.”
“Jesus…Christ.
That must be—”
“I have other tricks, too.” V lifted up his gloved hand. “There’s this thing.”
“I’ve wanted to ask about that. It knocked out one of my nurses when you were in my ER. She was taking your glove off, and it was like she’d been struck by lightning.”
“I wasn’t conscious when it happened, right?”
“You were out cold.”
“Then that’s probably the only reason she survived. This little legacy from my mother is goddamned deadly.” As he clenched up a fist, his voice became hard, his words clipped into place. “And she’s claimed my future as well.”
“How so?” When he didn’t answer, some instinct had her saying, “Let me guess, an arranged marriage?”
“Marriages. As it were.”
Jane winced. Even though his future meant nothing in the larger scheme of her life, for some reason the idea of him becoming someone’s husband—a lot of someones’ husband—made her stomach roll.
“Um…like how many wives?”
“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”
“Okay.”
About ten minutes later an old man in an English butler’s uniform came in rolling a tray full of food. The spread was right off the Four Seasons’ room service menu: There were Belgian waffles with strawberries, croissants, scrambled eggs, hot chocolate, fresh fruit.
The arrival was truly a thing of beauty.
Jane’s stomach let out a roar, and before she knew what she was doing, she was tucking into a heaping plate like she hadn’t seen food in a week. Halfway through her second helping and her third hot chocolate, she froze with her fork to her mouth. God, what V must think of her. She was making a pig out of—
“I love it,” he said.
“You do? You actually approve of me wolfing back food like a frat boy?”
He nodded, his eyes glowing. “I love seeing you eat. Makes me ecstatic. I want you to keep going until you’re so full you fall asleep in your chair.”
Captivated by his diamond eyes, she said, “And…then what would happen?”
“I’d carry you to this bed without waking you and watch over you with a dagger in my hand.”
Okay, that caveman stuff shouldn’t be so attractive. After all, she could take care of herself. But man, the idea someone would look after her was…very nice.
