by J. R. Ward
Time . . . stopped.
Mr. D could tell because the cheapie cuckoo clock on the wall halted. For a span, there was no longer any moment-to -moment, just an infinite now as what had been without breath found its way back to the life it had lost.
Or rather, had been robbed of.
The male floated gently back down to the table, and the Omega removed itself from it, taking form once more. Gasping noises came from the vampire’s gray lips, and a whistle let off on every inhale as air passed into its lungs. The heart flickered in the open chest cavity, then got its act organized and started pumping in earnest.
Mr. D focused on the face.
The death pallor was slowly replaced by a freaky rosy glow, the kind of thing you saw in a kid’s face after they’d been running around in the wind. But that weren’t no health. Nope. That was reanimation.
“Come to me, my son.” The Omega passed his hand over the chest, and the bones and flesh cleaved together and soldered shut from navel to the stitched-up throat wound. “Live for me.”
The male vampire bared its fangs. Opened its eyes. And roared.
Qhuinn didn’t float back down into his body. Nope. As he stepped back from the white door in front of him and then ran like a bastard, life on Earth returned to him in a rush, his spirit landing in his skin like he’d been bootlicked in the ass with the Fade’s All-mighty Converse All Star.
Someone’s lips were crushed against his mouth, and air was being pushed into his lungs. Then there was a pounding on his chest, with someone counting along with the push and shove. There was a little pause, followed by more breathing.
It was a nice alteration of things. Breathing. Pounding. Breathing. Breathing. Pounding—
Qhuinn’s body gave a sudden heave-ho, as if it were bored with having training wheels on its respiration. Riding the jerky spasm, he broke contact with the other mouth and sucked in a breath of his own.
“Thank you, God,” Blay said in a strangled voice.
Qhuinn caught a brief impression of his friend’s wide, teary eyes, then he curled onto his side and cramped up into a ball. Sucking air down his throat in shallow huffs, he felt his heart pick up the ball and run with it, fisting and releasing on its own. He had a moment of the oh-goody-I’m-alives, but then the pain hit him, washing over him, making him want to go back to being out of it. His lower back felt as if it had been dug out with a hammer claw.
“Let’s get him into the car,” Blay barked. “He needs to go to the clinic.”
Qhuinn cracked an eye open and looked down his body. John was at his feet, nodding like a bobble-head.
Except, hell, no . . . they couldn’t take him there. That Honor Guard wasn’t finished with him. . . . Shit, his own brother . . .
“No . . . clinic,” Qhuinn wheezed.
Fuck that, John signed.
“No. Clinic.” He might not have much to live for, but that didn’t mean he was in a big hurry to eat a Death Whopper with fries.
Blay leaned down, getting eyeball to eyeball with him. “You were in a hit-and-run with a fucking car—”
“Not . . . car.”
Blay got silent. “What was it?” Qhuinn just held the guy’s eyes and waited for him to figure it out. “Wait . . . it was an honor guard? Lash’s family sent an honor guard after you?”
“Not . . . Lash’s . . .”
“Yours?”
Qhuinn nodded, because the energy it took to move his swollen lips was too much like work.
“They aren’t supposed to kill you. . . .”
“Duh.”
Blay looked at John. “We can’t take him to Havers’s.”
Doc Jane, John signed. Then we need Doc Jane.
As John took out his phone, Qhuinn was about to shoot down that idea when he felt something flutter against his arm. Blay’s hand was shaking so badly, the guy couldn’t even grab on to anything. Shit, the guy’s whole body was shaking.
Qhuinn closed his eyes and reached out for that palm. As he listened to the soft clicking noise of John texting, he squeezed Blay’s hand to comfort his friend. And himself.
A minute and a half later there was a beep announcing the text had been replied to.
“What is it?” John must have signed something, because Blay breathed out, “Oh . . . my . . . God. But she’s coming, right? Good. My house? Right. Okay. Let’s move him.”
Two sets of hands lifted him up off the road shoulder, and he grunted from the agony . . . which he supposed was good, because it meant that the whole back-from-the-dead thing was probably for real. After he was settled in the backseat of Blay’s car and his buddies were in with him, he felt the subtle vibrations of the BMW accelerating.
When he opened his eyes again, it was to meet John’s stare. The guy was in the front seat, but he was cranked all the way around so he could keep a look-see on Qhuinn.
The guy’s stare was worried and wary. Like he was not sure Qhuinn was going to make it . . . and he was thinking about what had gone down four hours and ten million years ago back in the locker room.
Qhuinn lifted his busted hands and signed in a messy way, You are still the same to me. Nothing has changed.
John’s eyes shot to the left and he stared out one of the windows.
Headlights from a car behind them splashed against the guy’s face, pulling it free of the darkness. Doubt was written clear as day in those proud, handsome features.
Qhuinn closed his eyes.
What a horrible night this was.
Chapter Twenty-one
"OH. My. God. That dress is a train wreck.”
Cormia laughed and looked up at Bella and Zsadist’s television. Project Runway was a fascinating “show,” as it turned out. “What is that hanging down off the back?”
Bella shook her head. “Bad taste made manifest by satin. I think it started as a bow, though.”
The two of them were stretched out on the mated couple ’s bed, leaning back against the headboard. The house-hold ’s black cat was between them, enjoying the fruits of some two-handed petting, and Boo didn’t seem to like the gown any more than Bella did. His green eyes regarded the TV with distaste.
Cormia shifted her hand from the cat’s back to his flank. “The color is kind of nice.”
“That doesn’t make up for the fact that it’s like shrink-wrap for a boat. And has a grappling rope tacked on the butt.”
“I don’t even know what a boat is. Much less shrink-wrap.”
Bella pointed at the flat screen across the room. “You’re looking at it. Just picture something that looks like a floating car under that nightmare and voilà.”
Cormia smiled and thought that her time with the female had been both revelatory and strangely disorienting. She liked Bella. She honestly did. The female was funny and warm and thoughtful, as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside.
No wonder the Primale adored her. And as much as Cormia had wanted to stake a claim on him around Bella, she found there was no need to exert her First Mate status. The Primale didn’t come up as a topic of conversation, and there were no undertones to bump up against.
What she had perceived as a rival had turned out to be a friend.
Cormia went back to what was on her lap. The floppy booklet was big and thin, with glossy pages and lots of what Bella had told her were ads. Vogue, it said on the front. “Look at all these different kinds of clothes,” she murmured. “How amazing.”
“I’m almost done with Harper’s Bazaar, if you want it—”
The door burst open with such force that Cormia leaped off the bed and sent Vogue flapping into the corner like a startled bird. The Brother Zsadist was in the doorway, fresh from fighting, given the stench of baby powder he carried and all the weapons on him.
“What’s going on?” he demanded.
“Well,” Bella said slowly, “you’ve just scared the holy hell out of Cormia and me, Tim Gunn has called time for the designers, and I’m getting hungry again, so I’m about to call Fritz
and ask for an omelet. Bacon and cheddar cheese. With hash browns. And juice.”
The Brother looked around as if he were expecting to see lessers behind the drapes. “Phury said you weren’t feeling well.”
“I was tired. He helped me up the stairs. Cormia started here as a babysitter, but now I think she’s staying because she’s kind of enjoying herself, aren’t you? Or at least she was, right?”
Cormia nodded, but didn’t take her eyes off the Brother. With his scarred face and his huge body, he’d always made her feel uncomfortable, not because he was ugly in any way, but because he appeared so fierce.
Zsadist looked over at her, and the oddest thing happened. He spoke in a shockingly kind voice and raised his hand as if to calm her.
“Easy, now. I’m sorry I scared you.” His eyes gradually turned yellow and his face softened. “I’m just worried about my shellan. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Cormia felt the tension in her release and found herself understanding better why Bella was with him. With a bow, she said, “Of course, your grace. Of course you are worried for her.”
“Are you okay?” Bella asked, looking at her hellren’s black-stained clothes. “Is everyone in the family okay?”
“The Brothers are all fine.” He went over to his shellan and touched her face with a hand that shook. “I want Doc Jane to have a look at you.”
“If that would make you feel better, by all means, have her come. I don’t think there’s anything wrong, but I want to do whatever makes you feel more comfortable.”
“Is it the spotting again?” Bella didn’t answer. “I’ll go get her—”
“It’s not much, and it’s nothing different from what I’ve had before. Doc Jane would probably be a good idea, except I doubt there’s anything to be done.” Bella turned her lips to his palm and kissed him. “But first, please tell me what happened tonight?”
Zsadist just shook his head, and Bella closed her eyes, as if she were used to getting bad news . . . as if she had gotten it so often that words about the exact situations were no longer needed. Speech could add nothing to her sadness or his. Nor could it relieve what they clearly felt.
Zsadist dipped his head and kissed his mate. As their eyes met, the love between them was so intense, it created an aura of warmth Cormia could swear she felt from over where she was standing.
Bella had never shown this kind of connection with the Primale. Ever.
Nor, for that matter, had he toward her. Although perhaps that was just out of discretion.
Zsadist said a few quiet words, then left as if he were on the prowl, brows down, heavy shoulders set like beams for a house.
Cormia cleared her throat. “Would you like me to get Fritz for you? Or put your order in for a repast?”
“I think I’d better wait, if Doc Jane’s going to examine me.” The female’s hand crept up onto her belly and moved in slow circles. “Would you like to come back and watch the rest of the shows with me later?”
“If you’d like—”
“Absolutely. You’re very good company.”
“I am?”
Bella’s eyes were impossibly kind. “Very. You make me feel calm.”
“Then I shall be your birth companion. Where I’m from, a pregnant sister always has a birth companion.”
“Thank you . . .thank you very much.” Bella turned away as fear speared into her eyes. “I’ll take any help I can get.”
“If I may,” Cormia murmured, “what worries you most?”
“Him. I worry about Z.” Bella’s eyes swung back. “Then I worry about my young. It’s so strange. I don’t worry about me all that much.”
“You are very brave.”
“Oh, you don’t see me in the middle of the day in the dark. I fall apart plenty, trust me.”
“I still think you are brave.” Cormia put her hand on her flat stomach. “I doubt I could be so courageous.”
Bella smiled. “I think you’re wrong about that. I’ve watched you these past months, and there’s an incredible strength in you.”
Cormia wasn’t so sure about that. “I do hope the examination goes well, and I’ll come back later—”
“You don’t honestly think it’s easy to be what you are, do you? To live under the kind of pressures the Chosen have to? I can’t imagine how you deal with it, and I have tremendous respect for you.”
All Cormia could do was blink. “You . . . do?”
Bella nodded. “Yeah, I do. And you want to know something else? Phury’s lucky to have you. I’m just praying he figures that out sooner rather than later.”
Dearest Virgin Scribe, that was not something Cormia had ever expected to hear from anyone, much less Bella, and her shock must have shown because the female laughed.
“Okay, I’ve made you feel weird, and I’m sorry. But I’ve wanted to say that to the both of you for the longest time.” Bella’s eyes shifted over to the bathroom, and she took a deep breath. “Now I guess you’d better go so I can get ready for Doc Jane and her poking. Love that female, I really do, but man, I hate when she snaps on those gloves of hers.”
Cormia said a good-bye of sorts and left for her own bedroom, deep in thought.
When she turned the corner next to Wrath’s study, she stopped. As if she’d summoned him, the Primale was at the head of the great stairwell, looming large and looking exhausted.
His eyes clung to her.
He must hunger for news of Bella, she thought. “She’s feeling better, but I think she’s hiding something. The Brother Zsadist has just gone for Doc Jane.”
“Good. I’m glad. Thank you for watching over her.”
“It was my pleasure. She’s lovely.”
The Primale nodded; then his eyes traced over her from her hair, which was up high on her head, to her bare feet. It was as if he were reacquainting himself with her, as if he hadn’t been around her for ages.
“What ugliness have you witnessed since you left?” she whispered.
“Why do you ask?”
“You stare at me as if it has been weeks since you saw me. What have you seen?”
“You read me well.”
“About as well as you avoid my question.”
He smiled. “Which would be very well, huh.”
“You don’t have to speak of—”
“I saw more death. Avoidable death. Such a damn waste. This war is evil.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.” She wanted to take his hand. Instead, she said, “Would you . . . join me in the garden? I was going to walk among the roses for a bit before the sun comes.”
He hesitated, then shook his head. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Of course.” She bowed to avoid his eyes. “Your grace.”
“Be careful.”
“I will.” She gathered her robing and walked quickly to the stairs he had just mounted.
“Cormia.”
“Yes?”
As she looked over her shoulder, his eyes bored into hers. They burned in a way that took her back to the two of them on the floor in his bedroom, and her heart leaped to her throat.
Except then he merely shook his head. “Nothing. Just stay safe.”
As Cormia went down the stairs, Phury headed for the hall of statues and the first of the windows that looked out over the back garden.
Going with her to see the roses was so not an option. He was raw right now, stripped of his skin, though he still wore his suit of flesh. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw those bodies in the clinic’s corridor and the scared faces in that medicine closet and the bravery of those who shouldn’t have had to fight for their lives.
If he hadn’t stopped to help Bella up the stairs and then gone to find Zsadist, maybe those civilians wouldn’t have been saved. Sure as hell, no one would have called him as backup, because he wasn’t a Brother anymore.
Down below, Cormia emerged on the terrace, her white robe glowing against the dark gray stone pavers. She drifted over to the roses and bent at the wais
t to bring her nose to the blooms. He could almost hear her breath going in and the sigh of contentment she’d release as the fragrance registered.
His thoughts shifted from the ugliness of war to the beauty of the female form.
And to what males did with females in between satin sheets.
Yeah, it was a big no on being around Cormia right now. He wanted to replace the death and suffering he’d seen tonight with something else, something alive and warm and all about the body, not the head. As he watched his First Mate lavish her attentions on the rosebushes, he wanted her naked and writhing and slick with sweat underneath him.
Ah . . . but she wasn’t his First Mate any longer, was she.
Shit.
The wizard’s voice drifted through his head. Could you honestly have done right by her, though? Made her happy? Kept her safe? You spend a good twelve hours a day smoking. Could you light up blunt after blunt in front of her and have her watch you wilt into your pillows and nod off? You want her to see that?
Do you want her dragging you back into the house at dawn, like you did for your father?
Would you hit her in frustration someday, too?
“No!” he said out loud.
Oh, really? Your father said that to you. Didn’t he, mate. Promised you right to your face that he’d never hit you again.
Problem is, the word of an addict is just that. A word. Nothing more.
Phury rubbed his eyes and turned away from the window.
To give himself a purpose, any purpose, he headed for Wrath’s study. Even though he wasn’t a member of the Brotherhood anymore, the king would want to know what had happened at the clinic. With Z busy with Jane and Bella, and the other Brothers helping out at the new clinic, he might as well make an unofficial report. Besides, he wanted Wrath to know the reason why he’d gone over there in the first place, and reassure the king that he wasn’t disregarding his pink slip.
And then there was the whole Lash issue.
The kid was missing.
The tally of heads at the new clinic and the count of the bodies at the old one had revealed only one abduction, and Lash was it. The medical staff indicated he was alive at the time of the raid, having been resuscitated after his vitals crashed. Which was tragic. The kid might have been a bastard, but no one wanted him to fall into the hands of the lessers. If he was lucky, he’d died on the way to wherever they were taking him, and there was a good chance he had, given the shape he’d been in.
