“What do we do with them?” I asked, finding a good grip to use with the surgical knife for cutting into the man I was falling seriously in lust, love, intrigue, (or something of the sorts) with, while he bled in the shower. “I mean, the holes in your back. What about them?”
“Ah,” he sighed. “Well, that part’s never fun. A lot of work, too. Let’s just get through this one, first. Then, we’ll move on to the unpleasant part of our chore.”
He sounded out of breath, like it hurt to speak, even though he kept his lips curled and his face relaxed. It was time to quit talking. Time to stop being a pest. All it was doing was hurting him, not calming me.
“We need to get started though,” he added, and I re-centered myself and adjusted the scalpel in my hand.
I suppose it was a bit naive to be surprised by how well a scalpel is shaped and designed for that sort of thing — cutting through flesh. It really is though. The shape of the blade, the length, the way the back end of the handle is perfect for bracing into the palm as the blade is drawn down through skin and muscle. So well adapted in fact, I found myself far more interested in the sensation of the event than gored out by the fact of what I was doing to him. I began about an inch above the lump, and finished the same length below, then pulled out the blade.
He looked down, pressed a towel to the wound, looked at it, and said, “Well done. One slice, clean and even. Well done indeed. Have you done this sort of thing before?”
I shook my head, grinning like an idiot under his praise, then the blood swelled out from the slice in his shoulder, and the fact of what I just did caught up with me, sending me in a rush to the toilet.
Just as I came back up, and washed my mouth out, I heard, then saw the lead bullet fall and clack on the shower floor. Grabbing a towel, I returned to him, moving the water and snatching up the tube of stuff he said needed to be used on the wound.
My head remained clear now as I dabbed the slice clean, then squished out of the tube a bead of clear stuff down the wound. In seconds it closed.
“What the hell is this stuff?” I asked, marveling at the tube.
“Super glue.”
“You’re kidding of course.”
“No, it’s super glue, just like in the stores. That’s what it was invented for, fast closing agent for wounds on the battle field,” he explained.
“Shit,” I said, looking back at the tube.
“Doesn’t work so well on gapping or bullet wounds. Tears and the like it’s pretty useless for, but for a scalpel cut it does nicely.”
“Shit yeah it does,” I agreed, putting the cap back on, and replacing it in the med kit. “And, now? These?” I asked, looking at the bullet holes in his back.
“Yeah,” Kane sighed, sounding like he was about to take on an unpleasant task, that involved shit and sticks. “Look, Misty. You’re going to have at least a hundred questions. All of them valid, and I have no problem answering any or all. But I need to do this all the way through, and I need your help. Can you hold off until we’re done?”
“Um,” I tried, and then just nodded my head. “As long as I get the exclusive.”
“It’s yours. Hands down, no competition,” he told me, breathing a little heavy.
“Deal. What do you need me to do?”
“Turn the water to full cold, and make sure it is streaming on the right hole. Don’t let up, don’t touch the wound. Just keep the water on the hole. Good?”
“How will…?”
“You’ll know,” he said and I flipped the water over to cold, and stood over him. “You’ll have no doubts in a moment.”
He was right.
It’s hard to tell what I saw then. I thought maybe the water blurred my vision, but there was more to it than that — something went sideways. Something at the foundation of things, the underneath of things — something that never went sideways. Then the bottom hole of the three, the one closest to his spine, began to smoke. It wasn’t steam. I knew what steam looked like. This was smoke. And it was hot. Way hot.
I pointed the shower head so that the water hit that area of his back and turned the head to focus the stream down to as narrow a stream as it would allow, without going into massage mode. He shuddered, his fists clenched, and then a bullet came out of the hole, and the wound filled with molten flesh. It bubbled out of him, and then set like cooling lava. Then the bullet hole up from there to his right began to smoke. I moved the stream, my mind blank. I had no reference for this. He was wrong about the questions. I didn’t know what questions to ask! What was happening? Well, that was a stupid one. He was healing, that’s what was happening. How? Again, pretty obvious there. Molten flesh. Right?
Fuck!
This was not super glue, however. This was nothing like super glue.
Once the third was out, he slumped forward and as soon as that hole quit smoking I widened the shower to cover his back, because it looked red and inflamed. He shuddered a little, and I thought it might be in relief. I hoped it was, and I was so glad I didn’t call an ambulance.
Kneeling down beside him, I ran my hand through his soaked hair, “Kane? You going to be alright?”
“Sure,” he said, with the whisper of a voice. Nothing close to the powerful voice he had in the restaurant. “Just hope I made it in time.”
“Time for what?” I asked.
“Before my brothers figured out I was injured. That would be bad. An hour’s sleep now, I should be fine. Help me to the bed?” he asked.
“Thought you’d never ask,” I said, feeling nothing like wanting sex, and everything like getting him healthy.
Brothers? More like him?
“How many brothers?” I asked, getting out from under his arm, and letting him sit on the edge of the bed.
“Four. Four princes. Here we are…” His voice far away and he fell back onto the mattress, and down into sleep.
Four? Four princes? Princes?
He didn’t want them to know he was injured.
Did that mean, he was in line for a throne, and so were they?
“Oh shit, this can’t be good.”
Beware of the uninvited
I can’t say I wasn’t expecting the knock on the door — I was. When it happened though, the floor fell away as my feet left the ground in a leap, and I landed on the bed. What I thought I was going to do up there, I haven’t a clue.
First off, I’m a runner, not a fighter. My long legs are great for this, and I can haul my tight ass up stairs three at a time, if I push. Can’t do that with a man on my shoulder, however. Not a chance.
Looking to my right, I spied the coat tree, a two-by-two post with hooks on the top and feet curling on the bottom.
Weapon.
Leaping from the bed, I grabbed it up and leaped back up there, holding it with two hands. It felt unproductively light, but it’s all I had.
Shit, four of them? Are they all out there? Fuck!
As if to answer this query I heard muffled voices, at least three. Then the voices were a little louder. Then one voice shone through the others and the door opened.
I don’t mean to say that the lock clicked or the knob turned or anything like that — the door simply opened — and a chunk of the wall hit the floor at the foot of the bed below me.
The man who stepped through, had to duck to get under the door frame. Duck and hunch his shoulders. He was easily the largest being I’ve ever been in a room with.
The width of his shoulders spanned the doorway, and he came in sideways, and then straightened up, causing me to suck in my breath. His dark red hair hung past those massive leather cased shoulders, and had the shine of polished copper. His beard hung wild and bristled from his jawline. Everything about the man was violence. His fists were unbelievable — I honestly didn’t believe what I was seeing — and his forearms were as thick as my thighs. No man was this large. He was the entire defensive line of a professional football team.
I almost didn’t see the next man, who was nearly as tal
l, but much thinner, like a Tolkien high-elf. A Scandinavian god of philosophy. His platinum hair hung straight, without curve or turn to the middle of his back, and strummed as he moved with the motion of harp strings. His body had obvious power, but he wasn’t nearly as defined as Kane.
Red, and White came into the room, looking around the perimeter, and not looking at me at all. I had no doubt they understood I was on the bed, and holding a weapon, they just didn’t seem to care.
The next man in, looked like a Spaniard with curly dark brown hair pulled back in a tail, and a large gold earring in his left ear. He had eyes only for me, and a wild smile too. Striding up to just out of range if I swung down on him, he never stopped staring at me.
The last one in the door was shorter than the rest, a little leaner than all of them, and passive in expression, but I didn’t get the feeling he was safe. No, I didn’t get that feeling at all. In fact, the word that hit my mind was: cold. Ice cold. Death cold. He looked at Kane and stopped behind the Spaniard.
White looked up at me. “Please step out of the way.”
“Um, no?” I said, happy that I didn’t sound scared out of my mind.
Red flashed his teeth. “He said, get out of the way lass!”
“And I said, Fuck you!” I barked back.
“Actually, you said…” the Spaniard began… but my heated glare stopped him from finishing his correction of my quote.
“Enough of this,” Red roared and reached for me faster than I could see — and I swung the coat tree faster than that.
I’m not sure who was surprised more, me, Red or White, but all three of us were certainly shocked to see Red hit the wall behind him, and come off holding his right arm. The sound of the coat tree hitting him was like a thunder crack, and heat flashed between us when it struck.
White stepped forward, toward me, with serious eyes. “She’s already bonded.”
“That’s not possible,” Red argued.
“Actually,” the Spaniard said, “it’s never been done before, but that’s not the same thing at all.”
“Indeed,” White agreed, “and it would explain how she just messed up your arm, unless you have a better theory, Raw.”
“Which means,” Ice said, “we can’t get through her, without killing him.”
White looked to the shorter man, and then nodded, “Perhaps discussion.”
“What is there to discuss?” Red Raw growled.
“Everything,” Spaniard said. “I have no end to my questions.”
“What do you mean, ‘killing him?” I asked White.
“He’s injured,” White said. “He’s going to die if we can’t help him soon.”
“No,” I answered, hefting the coat rack again, “no, he fixed himself. He just needs to rest for an hour or so. He told me. Thanks for coming, we’ll send you all invitations. You can leave now.”
“Oh, I like her,” the Spaniard said.
“Fixed himself?” White asked. “Is that why he’s dying? Look at him? We won’t come close. Look down. Is that what you see? A healing man?”
I glanced down, and then took more time studying him. No, healing is not what I saw. His skin was scarlet, heated. His closed eyes were deep sockets of black. His lips were thin as button thread. He wasn’t healing at all. He was shriveling up.
“He used a great deal of energy in the shower. More than he believed,” White explained. “He’s past his ability. If we don’t help him, he will die. You apparently care about him, which I’m grateful to see. Will you please let us help?”
I looked at White, but it was Red, the Raw who convinced me. His face wasn’t made for subterfuge. What he thought displayed loudly across his brow and cheeks, and hung burning in his eyes, and what he was thinking, was Please.
“Ok, what are you going to do?” I asked, calming my voice.
“We’ll only put our hands on him, nothing else,” White said.
“Nothing? That’s it?”
“After what you saw in the shower, is that so hard to grasp?” Ice asked.
“If it doesn’t work, you can hit Raw again,” the Spaniard suggested.
Looking from one to the other, I felt that if I gave an inch of ground, I lost all the ground I had. But, Kane was not healing. Not healing at all, and now he looked even worse. “Ok,” I said, and backed up.
“I’m afraid you need to do a bit more,” White said.
“What?” I asked, stiffening.
“You need to give us permission to touch him,” Ice explained. “You two have bonded. I don’t know how, but you have.”
“She did it herself,” White said, his nearly clear blue eyes studying me. “Kane didn’t do this. She did.”
“Fucking-Aye!” roared Raw. “Who fucking cares who did it?!”
I looked at them all again. “You, have my permission?”
They rushed forward, hands grabbing legs and arms.
The room, and from what I could see outside the window, most of San Diego, went dark.
Power coursed around us. I could feel it, and even if I couldn’t, the hair on my arms and head would have shown me that shit was going on. At first it was dark, near dusk outside dark, and then it went completely black.
Blue began on the bed, at points of contact, and then into Kane’s body.
They’re feeding him, I decided. I decided this because it was the only way I could see it. If they were feeding on him, then Kane was lost to me, and I couldn’t see the world that way. Somehow they were bringing the power of the city into this room and feeding it into Kane. If they could do this, then why didn’t Kane do this when he healed himself? Why did he risk … what was it? Reserves? His own life energy? Why didn’t he bring in the power from outside?
I didn’t know, and didn’t know how to ask.
“Should I keep an eye on the door or something?” I asked, looking at the coat rack in my hands and seeing it as a … coat rack again. Then setting it back in its place.
“Why, are you in danger?” Raw asked, with a snide tone.
I shrugged and sat down on a stuffed chair, “Kane said I might be, but…”
Raw straightened and looked at the door. “I’ll take the door.”
“I’m sure that…” I began, but White interrupted me.
“Kane is a subtle creature. What he sees as possibility, you and I, and the rest of the world would no doubt see as certain. If he thought you might be in danger, you are. We’ll take care of it.”
“Yeah,” the Spaniard said, and clicked his tongue, “No worries. We got’cha.”
“They might have guns,” I offered.
“I hope so,” Raw grumbled, and set the door in place, then closed it with himself outside.
***
Perhaps an hour, maybe a bit more passed before real change became evident with Kane. Such a rush of relief flooded through me when his eyes fluttered open, my head swooned and nearly landed me on the floor. I managed to land on the edge of the bed above him, looking down into his deep blue eyes — ancient river blue, leading into a sea — and then I saw them. Three of them, in the lobby downstairs. The city was still dark, but the power would be on soon. Minutes. Men in the lobby with guns, waiting for light. A room across the hall. I saw it all in his eyes, revealed the way I assume a vision is revealed. As little sense as it all made, I knew now was not the time to stand still and do nothing.
“They’re here,” I said, and vaulted across the bed, over Kane and between his brothers. Landing on the carpet I ran for the bathroom.
In the room I snatched up the medkit, and the plastic card that worked as the room key. From the kit I took a small scalpel and sliced my thumb, then whipped my hand back and forth, spraying my blood on the walls. It wasn’t much — but it would be enough to make them think I was injured. I don’t know what exactly what the blood would do, but I hoped they’d assume I fled to the hospital. At least that would lead them away from the building.
Running back into the room, I grabbed up my dress and b
ra then my shoes and went out of the door, ducking under Raw and across the hall. Using the same key card I opened the door. “Raw, bring him in here, hurry.”
The lights came on as he said, “They’re coming up.” His smile told me he wanted them to come up. He’d been waiting for them.
“Raw? Please. Bring him in here. We don’t have the time you think we do,” I pleaded, keeping my voice soft, and subservient.
Raw looked down the hall, then back to me, then growled. “Fine.”
Dropping the things inside the new room, I went back out into the hall and whipped my still bleeding hand so that blood sprayed out toward the other end and the exit door there. Back inside the new room, after running a bead of super glue down my wound and closing it, I went to the desk and looked at the three laptops running there, showing camera shots of the stairwell and the elevators. Two were in the elevator, one man running up the stairs with a long rifle in his hands. They meant to spray the room before they opened the door.
The vision cleared from my head, and I felt confused. Not clear minded at all. For those last few minutes my mind was sharper than I had ever felt before. It was such a rush, and so hard a crash after that I faltered, and fell against the desk. Hands grabbed me and cradled me into a stuffed chair.
“He’s not to be taken like a shot of whiskey, Misty,” the Spaniard told me. “He has a bit more kick, yes?”
I grinned, and nodded, then giggled.
“You too,” he smiled. “Nice tits.”
“Um,” I said, looking down, “thanks, maybe?”
“Oh, no, thank you,” he said.
“Quinn? Would you mind? We’re not done,” White said from behind him.
“I don’t mind, Slate. Go on. You have my urgent permission,” Quinn said, giving me a playful grin and making no pretense about taking in my breasts as feast and flesh for his eyes.
“Quinn!”
“Coming Slate. You’ll be such a fine father some day,” Quinn smiled, and turned away, as I crossed my arms over my exposed breasts, feeling… nude. Very nude.
Five Immortal Hearts Page 3
