Blood Fury

by J. R. Ward

  "When did you go to medical school last?" He rolled his eyes. "And by the way, do you have any idea how often I find myself saying that to people around here."

  As the human just stared at her, like he was prepared to stay put until either one of them dropped dead from natural causes, she cursed and marched over.

  "This is totally unnecessary," she muttered as she sat down.

  "I hope so. Any vomiting?"

  "No."

  "Fever, chills?"

  "No."

  "Abdominal pain or pain that radiates down either of your arms?"

  "No."

  "Feeling faint or passing out?"

  "No."

  Well, at least not since Peyton's father had dropped the hammer on her in that hallway. Ever since then? Piece of cake.

  Coming around to stand in front of her, the doctor took a stethoscope out of his bag and plugged it into his ears. "You're going to have to lower those arms if I'm going to listen to your heart."

  Gracelessly, she uncrossed things and let her arms flop down--and then he was doing the little disk walk-around over her chest area. As he made a number of mmm-hmm noises, she took that to mean he was finding exactly what she thought.

  Which was that absolutely nothing was wrong. Physically, at least.

  "Blood pressure time," he said cheerfully. "Your heart sounds perfect."

  "I know."

  His head popped up in front of her. "You have a terrible bedside manner, you know that?"

  "Isn't that your problem?"

  "Touche."

  As the doctor put her through an examination, she resumed staring straight ahead, her mind retreating once again to that place where there was, at least ostensibly, nothing on it. In reality, she suspected her subconscious was plotting against her, planning all kinds of wake-up-screaming shit, scheduling nightmares like they were patients into a dental chair.

  "--Novo? Hello?"

  She snapped to. "I'm sorry, what?"

  Dr. Manello stared down at her for a moment. Then he sank onto his haunches. "You want to tell me what's really going on here?"

  "Like I said, nothing. I just ate something funny."

  "What was it?"

  "I don't remember." As his expression shifted into seeing-too-clearly territory, she got up and walked around. "Honestly, I'll be good by tomorrow night."

  "You know, if you need to talk to someone--"

  "I absolutely, positively, do not need to talk to anybody."

  "Okay." He put his hands out. "I'll back off."

  Dr. Manello reloaded his little black bag, and then he was back at her door. "Call me, though, if you start to run a fever or actually vomit?"

  "That is not going to be necessary." She went over to let him out. "Thank you for coming--"

  "I'm worried about you. And not from a medical standpoint."

  For some reason, she thought of that patient down in the clinic, the one who screamed all the time. At least if she lost her mind, she thought, they had some experience dealing with the insane.

  But that was not going to be her. She just wasn't going to have it.

  "I'm not," she told him. "I'm not worried about me at all."

  If she could live through what had come before? Then getting over the reality that Peyton was exactly who she'd thought he was wasn't going to be a problem. She'd already trained for it.

  --

  Where the hell was she?

  As Peyton walked into the training center's weight room forty minutes later, he sifted through the various bodies on the machines and the mats...and came up with a resounding no-Novo.

  With a frown, he went over to the Brother Qhuinn. "Hey, have you seen Novo?"

  "She called in sick. Said she wasn't feeling well."

  Peyton's first instinct was to get on a rocket ship and race across town. The problem with that? He had no rocket, and he didn't know her address--but, wait, he had fed her, hadn't he.

  "Did she say what was wrong?"

  "Nope. Just that she was sick to her stomach and staying in. She sounded nauseous, but not at death's door."

  "Could it be something with her heart? A problem from--"

  "I told Manny, so he went out there and checked her. He said it was garden-variety food poisoning or something. It's not a problem." The Brother's blue and green eyes leveled on him. "Can you think of any other issue that might be bothering her?"

  "When she left me at nightfall, I--" He clamped his mouth shut. "No, I can't."

  "Maybe she would appreciate a text or a call from a classmate?" the Brother drawled. "Or a visit after class?"

  "Yeah. That's a real--may I be excused?"

  "Yup. Then you gotta work."

  "No problem."

  Peyton hightailed it into the locker room and went to where he'd tossed his duffel on the floor, having not even bothered to put it in a locker. Rifling through his change of clothes and his weapons, he snagged his phone. Nothing from her.

  His first call went into voicemail. His second...yup, went as well.

  He kept the text short and sweet: Are u ok? Can I bring u anything?

  Peyton waited five minutes. And then he had to go back to class.

  An hour and a half later, on the break between the weight room and the target range, he checked his phone again. Nothing. So he called. Texted once more.

  And then he did the same another ninety minutes later as they transitioned into classroom work. Nothing. Not even after he called again. Texted some more.

  What if she had passed out--

  He was on the verge of fucking off class and calling for the bus when his phone went off. The text was from her: Fine. See everyone tomoz.

  That was it.

  His fingers went flying across his phone's surface, typing out all kinds of I'll stop by, bring soup, heating pads, etc. etc. etc.

  Nothing came back at him.

  "You all right?" Craeg asked over at the door out into the corridor. "Everything okay with Novo?"

  Peyton cleared his throat. "Ah, yeah, it's fine. She's great. She'll be in tomorrow night."

  Even though phones weren't allowed outside of the locker room, he put his into his fleece pocket.

  What the hell was going on?

  Sitting through class was an exercise in torture, but he was relieved that at least he and Novo were paired with Blay and Qhuinn the following evening. They would be the first squad to go back out into the field--like the Brotherhood wanted to do a CTRL/ALT/DEL on the incident in that alley and start the new world order on a good note.

  At the rate things were going, it would be the first chance he got to see her.

  When the end of the night finally came, Peyton all but trampled people to get on the bus--which was stupid. It wasn't like that was going to get him off the property any faster. And Christ, could the butler drive any slower down the mountain?

  He didn't track any of the conversation that happened around him, and people seemed to recognize he was in extremis, leaving him alone.

  The second that bus stopped, he was at the door, but as he spilled out into the night, he realized he didn't know where he was going. Closing his eyes, he sent his instincts forth as his fellow trainees took off one by one.

  He located the signal of his blood to the west. And not far away.

  Traveling in a scatter of molecules, he re-formed in front of a four-story walk-up in a meh part of the city. It wasn't a dump, but it was certainly not a candidate for Architectural Digest. In the basement...he could sense her in the basement. But how to get in?

  As if on cue, a human opened the outer door to its vestibule, and Peyton took the seven steps three at a time. "Hey! Can you catch the inside--"

  "No prob." The guy leaned back and kept the inner door open. "You forget your key?"

  "My girlfriend's."

  "Been there. Later."

  "Thank you."

  Peyton walked inside and looked around. There had to be a way to get to the lower level--there. In the far corner.r />
  No one else was around, and so he could just will it unlocked--shit, why hadn't he thought about that on the outside?

  Well, because his brain was fucking jacked, thank you very much.

  Going over, he tried that mental trick out--but it didn't work on what proved to be a copper deadbolt. So clearly, there were vampires living among these humans.

  He thought about calling her, but things were so weird, he had a feeling Novo wasn't going to let him in. Maybe that was paranoia, though. Who the fuck knew--

  The door swung wide and he jumped back. As he saw who it was, he nearly hugged her. "Novo! It's you!"

  "What are you doing here."

  The tone of her voice was as lifeless as a computer's approximation of same, and she was pale as a ghost, her eyes dead.

  "Are you okay?" he asked, reaching out.

  She took a sharp step back. "I'm fine. What are you doing here."

  "What's wrong? What...I don't understand what's going on?"

  "I wasn't feeling well. I am better now. I'll be back in class tomorrow. I told you."

  Her hair was plaited and over her shoulder, her jeans and sweatshirt nothing unusual, her feet in Adidas shower shoes with thick socks on--as if she were just in for a cozy night at home. Her eyes, though. They were as matte as old river stones.

  "Where are you?" he blurted. "What--"

  Her hands came up. "Okay, I'm done. I want you to leave. I didn't invite you here, and I resent the fact that you used my feeding from you as a way to hunt me down."

  "Hunt you down? Excuse me?"

  "You heard it right. I don't want you to come here ever again."

  Peyton ground his molars a couple of times. "Okay, let's back up here. As far as I knew, when you left my bed at nightfall, everything was cool between us. And now you're acting like I'm some kind of stalker. I think you owe me an explanation--"

  Her laughter was harsh. "Oh, I owe you, huh. Riiiiiight. Because everything has to be about you."

  "What are you talking about?" He could feel his voice getting loud, but he couldn't stop it. "What is wrong with you?"

  "Me? Nothing is wrong with me. And nothing is wrong with you, either. You're getting mated soon to a nice female from a good family, so all's right in your world. Congratulations--hey, maybe you two and my sister and Oskar can double-date as newlyweds." She clapped her hands together. "Yay! Selfie time!"

  Before he could open his mouth, she leaned forward. "And don't pretend that you're surprised. You knew exactly what you were doing the whole time you and I were fucking. You knew you were getting mated to someone else, but you played it like--" She cut herself off. "Anyway, do me a favor and don't invite me to the ceremony, 'kay? I'm pretty sure it would be awkward for the shellan-to-be, and whereas your kind is perfectly happy to be cruel, we wouldn't want to be tacky, would we. Yeah, 'cuz that's wrong."

  A pair of humans, a man and a woman, came down the stairs over on the left, and the fact that they were laughing and holding hands was a real kick in the balls.

  Peyton stepped to the side to let them pass, and he waited until they were all the way through the vestibule to speak.

  "It's not what you think."

  Novo laughed again. "Really? Just how many ways do you believe this scenario is open to interpretation--or do you assume that because I'm just a piece-of-shit civilian that I would be nothing but grateful to be your hot, kinky side-piece for the rest of my life."

  Peyton took another step back. And then a third. "So you've made your mind up. You've decided everything, huh."

  "The math is not that hard. And I'm a very smart female."

  "FYI, you haven't let me say one word about any of this."

  "Why would I. Your version isn't going to matter to me at all. It's only air, not substance. Just like you."

  Peyton felt that one go right through the center of his chest. And in the aftermath, he looked down at the floor. Dimly, he noticed the carpet was damp, the result of people coming in from the cold with snow on their boots and shoes.

  He thought of how she had let him hold her through the night.

  He had been so convinced he was finally in her heart.

  But he should have known better.

  Maybe at a different time in her life they could have had a better chance. A relationship with her, though, was going to be like running a marathon on a broken foot. There were accommodations that could be made, conversations to re-engender trust, reassurances and reexaminations to make sure she was comfortable, but over time, the fundamental weakness that she would never really trust him was going to break down the overall effort.

  "I can't fix you," he murmured.

  "What was that?" she snapped. "What the hell did you say to me?"

  He swung his eyes back to hers. "I'm sorry that you were hurt. I really am--"

  "This is not about Oskar! Don't you dare try to deflect--"

  "Actually, it absolutely is. Maybe you'll figure that out sometime, maybe you won't. But either way, that's none of my business because I refuse to keep paying for the sins of another. Good luck to you. Hope you find peace somehow, some way."

  He turned away and went for the double doors--and as he came up to them, he caught a flash of her reflection in the glass. She was staring after him, her chin up, her eyes flashing, her arms crossed over her chest.

  Over her heart.

  If that was not a perfect metaphor for who she was as a person, he didn't know what was.

  Letting himself out, he went down the seven snow-packed steps one by one and looked left. Then right.

  He chose a direction randomly and walked along, putting his hands in the pockets of his fleece. He hadn't bothered to put on a parka, and he'd left his duffel bag back in the locker room at the training center by mistake. The cold didn't bother him.

  For some reason, as he went along, he thought of a wounded animal that nonetheless bit the hand that was trying to save its life.

  All just part of the tragedy, though. Wasn't it.

  "No, fuck that shit. That pair of assholes can fuck right off."

  As Wrath made his proclamation, he was sitting in the Audience Room, in the armchair on the left, in front of a blazing hearth. George was curled on his lap, the King's hand stroking that boxy, blond head, the dog feeling considerably better after he'd apparently tried to ingest the yellow fuzz of a tennis ball.

  Things were working their way through. Not that Saxton had asked for a detailed accounting of what "things" or "working" or "through" meant.

  One could guess, however.

  "You have such a way of putting things, my Lord," he said with a grin as he looked back down at the ancient tome that he had opened with care and consulted with much deliberation. "And in this instance, I wholly agree. Peyton and Romina have every right to determine the course of their lives, and by revising the language in this antiquated passage, we can assure that non-consented dowries are not a problem going forward for either sex."

  "Do you want to cancel that appointment?" Wrath lifted his head, those black wraparounds making him look like he was prepared to shoot the pair of sires. "Because if they come in here, they may not appreciate my delicate delivery. Selling your fucking kid. Are you kidding me."

  "Yes, my Lord." Saxton made a notation on his schedule. "I think it would be best if I explained to them over the phone that there will be no avenue legally for them to accomplish their objectives. Otherwise, we will have call Stainmaster, won't we."

  Wrath laughed softly. "We are a good pair, you and I."

  "I am complimented greatly by your praise and could not agree more wholeheartedly." Saxton bowed. "I shall draft the revision to the Old Laws and enter it into my online database so that it is effective as of this evening. All will be well."

  "That's the last thing on our agenda, right?"

  "Yes, my Lord." He glanced at the dog. "Although, George, no more with the tennis balls, okay?"

  "Yeah, we're not doing that anymore, right, big man?"

>   As the golden let out a groan, Saxton gathered his papers, got up from his desk, and bid his adieu. On the way out, he nodded at Blay, who had been on guard by the door.

  "I think the pair of them are beyond ready to go home," he whispered. "Wrath is exhausted from worrying about his second child."

  "And I think we're all scared to death anything will happen to--"

  "--that dog."

  "--that dog."

  They nodded and then Blay went into the Audience Room to arrange for transport and Saxton went back to his office. The temptation to go home right away was nearly overwhelming, but in the end, he had to follow his procedure. It was a good hour before he could leave, and when he was finally done, he nearly trampled two doggen on the way to the back door.

  Dematerializing to the farmhouse's front stoop, he paused to loosen the laces on his Merrells, and he was whistling as he entered the--

  The scent of blood was thick in the air.

  "Ruhn?" He dropped his satchel and his travel mug on the floor. "Ruhn!"

  As sheer panic flooded every nerve ending he had, he raced into the parlor. Furniture had been knocked over, a lamp was broken...rugs were out of place, scrunched up in corners.

  "Ruhn!" he screamed.

  Not a sound. Not a moan. Not a groan.

  But the blood was not human.

  Wheeling around, he ran down to the kitchen and--

  The pool of blood was over by the table and Saxton all but tripped in his rush to get over there--

  "Oh, God, no...!"

  Ruhn was sprawled on the floor facedown, blood...everywhere.

  "Ruhn! My love!"

  Saxton fell to his knees by the body, his stomach rolling to the point of vomiting, but he refused to give in to the impulse as he reached out to touch shoulder and back.

  "Ruhn...? Dear God, please don't be dead..."

  With hands that shook and arms that were weak, he carefully rolled the male over onto his back. What he saw was the stuff of nightmare: Ruhn's throat was slashed, his eyes fixed and unblinking. He did not appear to be breathing.

  Saxton screamed into the empty house. And then he cried out in further pain as he realized what Ruhn had been lying on.

  The dying male had pulled Saxton's cashmere coat off the back of the chair it had been on...and had held it to him as he had bled as if taking comfort in the love they had shared.

  "Please don't be dead...wake up...wake up..."

  Somehow, Saxton managed to get his phone out and call...someone. He didn't know who it was. But all of a sudden, he was not alone. He was surrounded by people...and somebody was easing him back so that someone else could look at Ruhn--