by Kelly Meding
Autumn appeared at the foot of my bed, her eyebrows furrowed with worry. Her arm was in a sling, and she was giving me a funny look. "Evy?"
"I need to get off this bed. Like, now."
"But your leg—"
"Is healing, which is why I need to get up and move around. Can you find me a cane or something? Please?"
She didn't look convinced, but she left in search of a physical prop so I could limp around without falling over. She managed to produce an actual crutch. We adjusted it to work with my height, then she helped me stand. Blood rushed downward as soon as I got vertical, and throbbing pain joined the itching. I let out a long, unhappy groan.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked.
"Yes." The infirmary seemed bizarrely quiet, considering how many of us were injured. "Where is everyone?"
"Joining the search for Vale."
"A lot of people are going to be looking for that cat today."
"True enough. Do you need anything else?"
"No, thanks. How's your arm?"
"I dislocated the shoulder. Dr. Vansis reset it."
"Ouch."
"Quite. I only need the sling for a few hours, though, until the discomfort passes."
After she left, I amused myself with a quick tour of the exam cubicles. Partly for the exercise and partly to see who else was still around. The beds there were empty, so I limped my way into the private area. Paul was asleep in the first room. An IV stand pumped blood and fluids into him, and while he didn't look like he was on death's doorstep, he still looked…fragile.
So often I forgot how young we were. Paul was only eighteen years old, and he lived with the cynicism and anger of someone twice that. He'd been badly wounded tonight, but he'd never backed down, never looked scared.
"You did good tonight," I whispered.
In the hall, I paused when a familiar voice rumbled out from the half-closed door two down from Paul's room. I shuffled over as quietly as possible just to make sure I was right.
"—blame yourself. I know you."
Milo. Awake.
Thank God.
Chapter Thirteen
5:15 a.m.
Milo's voice was thick and rough, someone in pain speaking through heavy doses of medication, but he was talking. He was awake. My heart leapt with joy at such a simple thing.
"I blame myself because it's my fault," Marcus replied.
Guess he was healing from his gunshot, too, if he was making bedside visits to other patients. I felt guilty for eavesdropping—not guilty enough to actually walk away from the door, though.
"Vale was going to hurt someone, Marcus. Just happened to be me this time."
Marcus growled. "I hate what he did to you."
"I'm alive."
"If I hadn't kissed you, Vale would not have targeted you."
"Maybe, maybe not. Rather it was me. I'm tired of seeing people I care about get hurt."
"You think I don't feel the same? I care for you, Milo, perhaps more than is advisable."
"Fuck that. You know my one regret about that kiss? That I was too startled to kiss you back."
Someone mumbled something. Fabric shifted. Okay, time to stop being a bad, eavesdropping friend and announce myself. I counted to ten in my head, then took two steps forward and knocked on the door.
"Yeah," Milo said.
I limped inside on my single crutch. Marcus had taken over a small chair next to the bed, and he was bare-chested except for the swaths of white bandages around his abdomen. He seemed alert and rested, unlike the owner of the hand he was holding.
Milo looked terrible and the sight of him made me want to cry for his obvious pain. A wide, blue-black bruise covered most of his throat, and his arms were littered with more bruises. A sheet covered the rest of his body, but I could imagine what his legs looked like. Both of his eyes were blackened, the pupils so spider-veined from burst capillaries that I saw the red from across the room.
Somehow, though, he managed a small smile.
I crutched my way over to the other side of the bed. I'd have hugged him if I didn't think it would cause him all kinds of additional pain. "You scared the shit out of me, buster."
"Sorry." His red gaze dropped to my crutch. "What'd you do?"
"Got shot in the leg. Same bullet that got Marcus."
"Huh?" He turned his head with effort and squinted at Marcus. Marcus scowled at me. Oops. "You're shot?"
Marcus cleared his throat. "Yes, but—"
"Where?"
"Just below my ribs."
For all the painkillers and muscle relaxers he was probably on, Milo looked impressively pissed. "You didn't tell me. You should be resting."
Marcus had the good sense to look contrite, and I had to hide a smile. Even horribly injured, Milo didn't want to be handled. "I'm sorry, Milo. I didn't want to add to your distress. You need your own rest."
"I'll rest if you rest."
He hesitated, then said, "All right. I'll check on you in a few hours."
"Okay."
Marcus couldn't hide a flinch as he stood. Therians healed pretty quickly, but not as fast as me, and not from a bullet wound. He leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to Milo's forehead. They didn't say anything as he left. I stared at the empty doorway, impressed by the hitherto unseen tender side of Marcus Dane.
"How'd you get shot?" Milo asked.
I perched on the side of the bed to take some pressure off that crutch and my armpit. "Marcus tell you about our goblin hunt tonight?"
"No."
I filled him in on everything that had happened since our escape from Vale's hands, right up to checking on Paul. He worked hard to pay attention and seemed to be following along.
"Sorry I missed all the fun," he said.
"That's what happens when you get tortured, pal."
"Yeah."
"How's your pain?"
"Intense but not painful, if that makes sense. Dr. Vansis is worried about blood clots and…" He frowned. "Something about fluid building up in places. Don't remember."
"How about you let the doctor worry about all that, and you just rest? You're going to need it."
"Hate this, feeling so helpless."
"I know. We're Hunters, Milo. We don't wear helpless well. Any of us."
His eyes unfocused for a beat, then he blinked hard. "Evy? Tell me something."
"Sure."
"I don't remember much about us escaping Vale. Was Baylor shot?"
My stomach flipped. "Yes. There was a sniper outside the door when we tried to leave the building the first time." He waited for more, so I gave it to him. "He was down before we could do anything."
"He's dead." Milo didn't phrase it as a question.
I answered him anyway. "Yeah."
Grief worked its way through the fog in his eyes. "Gina must be a mess."
"She's taking it hard. They all are. You should have seen her out there tonight, killing those goblins. She was taking out a little rage."
"So who's stepping up?"
"To what?"
He somehow managed a perfect Are you an idiot? look. "In charge. Baylor was one of the Cerberus heads."
I hadn't given any thought to who would be taking over as one of the three head honchos now that Baylor was dead. Astrid and Rufus could certainly handle things for a while. I doubted they would remain a pair. Three worked better for decision making processes, in case two people got deadlocked. They'd need someone to step up.
"I have no idea," I said. "I think everyone's more focused on finding Vale, settling the discord he's sowing amongst the Clans, and trying to figure out what the goblins are up to."
"True."
His eyelids began to droop. He fought the fatigue and the drugs, but he needed to rest. Milo had a lot of healing to do, and I had a feeling it would be a long process to get him back to 100 percent.
"Get some sleep, pal." I gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "I'll make sure you stay informed, okay?"
He smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Evy."
I woke up later in bed, surrounded by blankets and a deeply-breathing body curled up next to mine. My leg ached and itched but not as badly as when I'd limped back to my room and passed out. I was still a bloody mess, which made the sheets a bloody mess, and it looked like Wyatt hadn't bothered to shower before going to sleep either.
The fact that sleeping in a gore-soaked bed with my filthy half-werewolf boyfriend didn't even seem strange made me laugh. Well, snort, anyway, right through my nose. The noise made Wyatt grumble and reach out. I let him curl around me from behind, grateful to have him there—and eager for him to wake up and deliver some news.
I grabbed my phone off the short bedside dresser that served as both clothing storage and a nightstand. After eight o'clock, still morning.
Behind me, Wyatt's breathing changed. The arm around my waist tightened and his nose pressed into my neck below my ear, not quite nuzzling but close. Some of his Lupa instincts were taking over, telling him his mate was near. He was getting hard and I didn't know if I should wake him up before he went farther, or encourage the attention. The walls between rooms in this part of the housing section weren't terribly thick, and we'd both been pretty vocal when we made love yesterday.
It was a lot easier to get loud with your mate when you have four-inch thick steel walls all around you. Maybe we could sneak back down to that bank vault….
He grunted, and I felt the tension in his body rack up the moment he came fully awake. I counted to seven before he relaxed enough that I could wiggle around to face him. If someone could look both exhausted and well-rested, Wyatt managed. He smiled, and I leaned in for a kiss.
"How's your leg?" he asked.
"Still healing but it feels better. Wound's probably closed. It hit bone. Dr. Vansis seemed impressed it didn't break my leg."
"I looked for you there first when I got back. Autumn and Marcus were discharged. He's keeping Paul for another day or two so he can watch for infection."
"Probably a good idea." Goblin mouths are not sanitary. "When did you get back?"
"About an hour ago." He exhaled hard through his nose. "We lost Vale's scent around Benton Street. Our best guess is he got into a car."
"Well, crap."
"Crap?"
"Fuck?"
"That sounds more like you. We did manage to put down a few Halfies while we were out."
"That's something."
"And Astrid spoke with the new Assembly Voice about Vale."
"Oh?"
The Assembly Voice is basically the public relations spokesperson for the Assembly of Clan Elders. The first one I met, Michael Jenner, was killed last month during our pursuit of Walter Thackery and his Lupa pups. His daughter, Dawn, would start working here at the Watchtower in another month, when she finally reached the age of four—which is the age of maturity for Therians. The new Voice was a Cania named Oslo, and according to Kyle he shifted into a coyote.
"Oslo said that Vale, Starr, and two other members of the Tuck family have been named criminals and are officially wanted by the Assembly for their actions against the Pride. Assembly security representatives are also searching for them."
"Well, that's good news," I said. "I don't care who finds Vale first, as long as we get the scroll and the vampire cure back." I had a lot of friends who needed that cure.
"It's good and bad news. Word is that the declaration has riled up some of Vale's friends in the Pride, as well as a few other Clans. Astrid expects there will be some pushback, maybe even violence."
"Vale kidnapped five people, tortured us, and had one of us killed. Who knows what else he's done or will do next?"
"It's Clan politics, Evy, and I don't understand it all. We see Prentiss's attempt to steal the role of Alpha from the Danes as wrong, especially through underhanded means."
"Cheating."
"Right. Some of the Clans have operated that way for centuries, wresting control from one family to the next. The Elder on the Assembly usually remains the same, but internal leadership changes hands often."
"So some of the Clans don't care what Vale's up to, because it's what their Clan would do?"
"Yes."
"Even though he's challenging for Elder, not Alpha?"
"Yes. The only reason the Assembly voted in favor of labeling Vale a criminal was because he openly attacked the Watchtower and its members, which is supported by a majority of the Elders, including Elder Dane."
"So if he'd only gone after Marcus, the Assembly would care less?"
"Right."
"That's fucked up."
"A little. But it's our reality right now, and at least we have more eyes out there looking for Vale."
Something else was bothering Wyatt. I saw it in the way his eyes pinched at the corners and the way he pressed his lips together. "What else is going on?"
"Astrid told me she's heard rumors that more than one Felia may challenge Riley as Elder, and that Keenan may also see a challenge as Alpha."
Something cold trickled down my spine. "That's bad."
"Yes, it is. And it may be my fault."
"What?" I sat up, tangled, sticky hair falling in front of my face. I pushed it away and glared down at Wyatt. "How do you figure?"
"Lupa were made extinct for a reason, Evy, and when I was infected Elder Dane had every reason to have me executed. But he spared my life."
"Is Elder Dane taking shit for that?"
"According to Astrid, yes. Not all of the Elders agree that since I was human first I don't fall under their jurisdiction."
He looked so guilty that my heart ached. I swung a leg over his—the wounded leg, of course, which it reminded me of quite painfully—and settled my weight on his hips. He watched me, guarded. I put my hands on his bare chest and leaned down.
"Listen to me, Wyatt Truman," I said. "You were infected against your will. You survived the Lupa bite when everyone thought you were going to die. You are living with the changes and you are doing a remarkable job. Don't you dare ever feel guilty for living. Not ever."
I cupped his bearded cheeks in my palms, forcing him to maintain eye contact. "Your life was spared. Anyone who tries to come after you for any reason, Therian or otherwise, will have to kill me first. That's a promise."
He pulled me down into a hard kiss that lasted a little too long to end there. I slid back a few inches, reassuring myself that he was still hard. He made a noise that I answered with a well-placed rub of my hips. Fingers gripped my waist. His arm muscles tensed as he fought what was probably the very overwhelming urge to roll us over and claim me.
"I love you so much, Evy." His voice was a hoarse whisper that sent shivers through my belly and down my thighs.
"I love you too. All of you with all of me."
Another long, intense kiss like the first one, and I was scrambling in the bedside dresser for a condom. We didn't even shed all of our clothes. Just got his shorts down and my ruined jeans off, and then my body was sliding onto his, opening for him. The passion in his eyes swelled my heart to bursting. I leaned down to kiss him again as our bodies began to move together.
We existed in each other, in that moment, for as long as we could. In the last few months we'd learned to never take each other for granted or to take what we'd found together for granted. It could all be over in a flash—a lesson reinforced yesterday after our captivity. Every touch, every kiss, every ripple of pleasure we gave each other's body was treasured. Because as much as I wanted a forever with Wyatt, forever was not a guarantee, and I wanted no more regrets. Not with him.
Long after, we lay together in a tangled, messy, half-clothed heap, enjoying such a simple thing as holding each other. Sooner or later one of our phones would ring and remind us of the world outside those thin plaster walls. Until that happened, I held my lover close and dozed.
Chapter Fourteen
10:45 a.m.
Wyatt went ahead of me to Operations. I lingered a little longer while showering becau
se my hair was a tangled, matted mess and required some extra attention—and not for the first time, I gave serious thought to just cutting it short. Maybe some other time. Once it was clean and I was dressed, I twisted it up into a messy bun so it was out of the way.
I didn't need the crutch anymore, but I still had a slight limp as I headed down the corridor to Ops. The leg ached, and I suspected it would for the rest of the day until the wound was fully healed. Considering the bullet had been half an inch from hitting my femoral artery, I'd take the limp over being dead.
Halfway there, Kismet stepped out of the shadow of an unused storefront. I jumped back, startled to see her lurking there. "The hell, Gina?"
"I need to show you something." Her tone left no room for argument, and it tweaked my nerves a little bit.
"Okay."
"In here." She pushed open the storefront door.
I followed her inside. The windows were papered over, which allowed some residual light from the corridor. Enough to see by, anyway. The store was small, the floors bare and walls empty. I didn't see anything unusual until Kismet presented me with her phone.
"This was sent to me from your old phone," Kismet said. "The one Vale took from you yesterday."
Oh great. "You've watched it, I take it?"
"Yes." Her face was unreadable, but I knew without asking that I wasn't going to like whatever Vale sent.
I pressed Play. The black screen flashed to life, displaying two frighteningly familiar figures huddled together in the near-dark. Each had a wrist handcuffed to a chain, which was wrapped around a wooden support beam of some sort, and they both looked terrified.
"Son of a bitch," I said. Vale had Stephen and Lori Frost. Judging by the shadowed shape of a water heater in the background, they were in a basement somewhere.
The light source shining on them cut off, plunging the room into darkness. Lori screamed. Wood creaked. The video jumped to a bright close up of Vale's face, looking righteously pissed and a little bit smug. Fury tickled at the back of my mind, aimed right at the were-cat onscreen for all the hurt he'd already caused, and for dragging two more innocent people into this clusterfuck.
