by Bec McMaster
Shit. She was hurt. Badly.
Byrnes nudged the door open just enough to slip through. His mother rocked in the corner, but there was no blood on her, and though she looked terrified, she wasn't wounded. Ingrid was. It was a simple matter to prioritize. Simple to—
That was when he saw the damage.
Time seemed to freeze as his focus narrowed down to her. "Let me see. Ingrid, let me have a look."
Ingrid's hands were pressed against her abdomen, painfully pale against the mess of blood, and... other. Wide bronze eyes looked up, startlingly vulnerable, as he settled at her side. She was never vulnerable. It scared the piss out of him. "I-I can't."
"You're not going to bleed out." The skin was torn, a great, gaping wound. He didn't even know where to start. What to do. Reaching up, he pressed the comm at his ear. "Craigmore?" The word came out half-hysterical.
"Sir?" Came the static-crackled reply.
"Is Dr. Gibson out there yet?"
"Just arrived, sir."
"Send him up immediately. Room fourteen. I've got someone here who needs stitching and bandaging. She's bleeding badly. I don't.... Hell, just tell him to bring his entire kit."
"Will do, sir."
Byrnes shrugged out of his jacket, scrunching it into a pillow and pressing it behind her head as he laid her down. "Are you cold? Does it hurt?"
"Hot, actually." She was starting to shake now, her teeth forming an indentation in that plump lower lip. "Byrnes—"
"Hot?" A hand cupped to her forehead revealed the truth; blisteringly hot. He jerked his hand back in surprise before realizing. The loupe.
A hand caught his, wet with blood. Ingrid gasped for breath, as if she’d been running.
"Ingrid, can you breathe?" Panic lit through him like a struck match. He didn't know what to do. All of his medic training evaporated like smoke in his brain. Normal people didn't recover from wounds like this, but if she were a blue blood he wouldn't have been worried.
Don't be a fool. She's verwulfen. Nothing can take verwulfen down.
Except a vampire, came that little whisper.
Christ, what could she survive? The color of her skin scared the hell out of him, and the way she was panting.
"N-normal," she managed, grinding the word out between gritted teeth. Sweat darkened her hair. "Burning up... normal. B-breathing... like this. I'll fall asleep soon. Hard to... wake."
That eased his fear. Normal. This was normal. "Can you survive this?"
She managed to nod. I can.
"Good." Byrnes grabbed the sheet off his mother's bed and wadded it, pressing down over her abdomen to slow the bleeding.
Then he finally lost it.
"Why?" It was a hoarse demand. "Why the hell would you have entered this bloody place, knowing there was a vampire on the loose? Knowing you were alone? Why, damn it?"
"Your m-mother...."
Not his mother. She had done this for him. To save someone he held precious. Emotion knotted up in his throat, burning hot and heavy. For a second Byrnes was afraid it would spill out of him, that he wouldn't be able to choke it down.
"Don't you do this again," he snapped. "Promise me."
Ingrid looked startled. "I t-thought you... didn't care."
"I never said I didn't care," he snarled, pressing his forehead against hers so that he wouldn't have to look her in the eye. "Promise me you won't ever go off alone like this again."
"P-promise."
His hands were shaking too. "I could wring your bloody neck. You could have been killed."
"Byrnes," she whispered, weakly stroking his hand. "Caleb?"
That lump in his throat felt like a fist now.
"I'm all right," she said, watching him with wide, startled eyes.
He was shaking so violently he didn't know what was wrong with him. "You are not bloody all right—"
"Byrnes?" A sharp rap came at the door. Gibson. Thank God. "Am I right to enter?"
Byrnes yanked the door open.
* * *
IN THE MEDIC VAN, Byrnes sat with Ingrid curled in his arms, wrapped in a blanket. Gibson had stitched her wounds closed and bandaged them, but Byrnes didn't have it in him to set her aside. Seeing Ingrid fade into a healing sleep as the loupe fired through her blood made every dark instinct within him rise.
"My mother?" he managed to ask.
"Garrett's got her," Gibson replied, watching him carefully. "He's taking her to the guild and making sure she's all right. He said to do what you need to; he's got your mother for now."
Byrnes relaxed an inch. He hadn't even noticed the guild master in the chaos, but there was no one else he'd trust with his mother's care. She'd been frightened and still rocking in the corner by the time Gibson had managed to sew Ingrid up, but she hadn't been injured.
Not like Ingrid.
"Like that, is it, lad?" Gibson reached inside his coat, tugging out a flask and handing it over.
Byrnes stared at it hollowly. "No. It's... not. It's—" He didn't know what it was. Or perhaps he had the slightest suspicion.... After all, he had run into a vampire-infested building after her, the very same idiocy that he'd accused her of. Not a moment of hesitation had afflicted him. All he'd known was that he had to get to her before something bad happened.
"Take a drink, boy. She'll steady your nerves."
"I don't have nerves," he replied flatly, though he took the flask.
Gibson merely looked amused. "Of course not."
Bloody rotting bastard. Gibson knew him too well. Better perhaps than he himself did, for he hadn't realized how he felt until this moment. Garrett was going to laugh himself silly. Of all the things to happen, falling for a stubborn verwulfen lass was the last thing Byrnes had expected.
But fall he had. The truth was unexpected, but how could he fight it? He felt like he wanted to squeeze her unconscious body against his chest, as if afraid she'd somehow be taken from him. That moment... the moment he smelled her scent and realized that she'd gone in there, alone....
Cold rushed through his body, as if he relived it. Byrnes took a swig and choked as whiskey burned down his throat. By the time he handed it back, Gibson merely looked old and tired.
"Not much for me to do there, lad. A bloody shame." Gibson upended the flask himself. "So many bodies."
"I thought she was going to be one of them."
Gibson made a clicking noise in his cheek. "Never had much to do with her type before, but by the look of it, she'll heal. You can't dwell on 'thought.' She's here now, and she'll be whole and hearty in no time."
Byrnes merely grunted. When he looked down, he found Ingrid's face tucked against his chest, her cheeks flushed with red, and the fingers of her right hand curled in his shirt collar as if she hadn't wanted to let go.
Realization was dawning upon him like a sun blazing over the horizon. This woman was precious to him. She was the strongest, toughest woman he'd ever met, but seeing her like this gouged out a piece of him inside.
He couldn't fight the truth anymore: Her smiles made him smile.
Her pain made an awful knot twist in his stomach.
Her anger and fear made him feel protective.
It was a textbook case of a blue blood claiming. Garrett had been just as irrational. Even Lynch had played the bloody fool, following around on Rosa's heels, and Byrnes hadn't understood then. He'd mocked the both of them, not even realizing how helpless one was against this emotion.
Swiftly, he ran their past few encounters through his mind, trying to work out precisely when it had begun.
Byrnes frowned, brushing a strand of sweat-slicked hair off her cheek. He couldn't think of a single moment that seemed to define this sudden momentous shift within him. Instead it had been a slow slide, taking him unawares, and it had begun the second he walked into Garrett's office a year ago and a pair of breathtaking bronze eyes had lifted to his as Garrett introduced his new partner.
“I work better alone,” he'd promptly retorted.
&n
bsp; “Afraid you'll be outclassed?” came the husky reply, and a part of him had known then that this woman was unlike any other he'd ever met.
In his arms, Ingrid gave a soft sigh and shifted in her sleep. And Byrnes couldn't stop himself from resettling her until her head rested against his chest where she'd hear his heart racing. What was he going to do? They wanted different things out of life, didn't they?
An image of baby Phillip shot to mind, dribbling on Ingrid's shoulder, and Byrnes panicked. Because he wasn't that man, he'd never been that man, and yet he didn't know if he could do the right thing again and walk away from her.
"Well and truly done in by the look of you." Gibson snorted.
And for once, he couldn't for the life of him disagree.
TWENTY-ONE
TWO HOURS LATER, Byrnes found himself at the guild.
A warm patient voice read some of Shelley's poetry in the guild master's office, and Byrnes eased the door open, slipping inside so as not to startle his mother. Garrett sat by the fire, book open in his lap as he read over the head of a sleeping infant tucked over his shoulder. His blue eyes flickered up and he nodded to Byrnes, then kept reading.
On the sofa lay his mother, her head resting against a pillow and her eyes sleepy.
"Hello," Byrnes said, kneeling by her feet and clasping her paper-thin hands in his. "Has Garrett been looking after you well?"
His mother smiled, blue eyes watery and distant. "H’lo, dear."
Dear. His chest squeezed.
A part of him wanted to say, “It's Caleb.” But that wouldn't make any difference. In her mind Caleb was a young boy and she often worried about feeding him, or where he was and who was watching out for him. Just saying the name would rouse her panic as she tried to find her little boy.
She patted his cheek and Byrnes slid onto the sofa beside her, trying to move quietly. Having two of them in the room at once would agitate her a little, as if she couldn't quite pay attention to the both of them, so he simply held her hand and gestured for Garrett to keep reading.
It took almost another ten minutes for his mother to fall asleep, her head resting against his shoulder, and Byrnes stared into the flames in the grate until Garrett fell silent.
"Where's Perry?" he whispered.
"Coordinating the hunt," Garrett whispered back, setting the book aside and rubbing the back of his daughter. "I didn't want to leave your mother alone. She was quite settled with me sitting here, but when I tried to leave she grew upset again."
"Thank you." He knew how difficult it was for Garrett to let his wife coordinate a hunt for a dangerous vampire whilst he was forced to stay behind, especially now that Perry was a mother. But that was Garrett—he knew how to calm people, and listen to them, and charm them. There was no one else who'd have been able to keep Moira quiet. And Byrnes was fairly certain that Perry wouldn't be anywhere near the danger.
"There’s word on the street that there’s some sort of monster stalking the city," Garrett murmured, closing the book of poetry and setting it aside. "My Nighthawks have been dealing with hysterical people ever since. I know we said to wait….”
Byrnes eased the rug up over his mother's shoulders, then stroked his hand through her thin hair. "It’s time to take action. We need to start hunting these creatures, and Ulbricht’s mistress. It wouldn't hurt to have more men to help work out where they're holing up, if you’re willing to send the Nighthawks into danger?"
“That’s our job.” Garrett sighed. "I thought that after the blood frenzy case I'd never have to deal with something like this again."
"You hoped."
"And how is Ingrid?"
There was a fist lodged in his chest at the mere thought of her, but he wasn't about to admit that. "Healing. She's lucky she's verwulfen."
Garrett considered him. "Gibson called in, after he'd seen to her."
"I'll just bet he did. And what did he have to say?"
"That apparently the mighty have fallen."
Byrnes cursed under his breath. Garrett had been waiting years for this to happen. Byrnes had thought it never would. "If you say one more word about it, I swear I'll strangle you."
Garrett's grin had something of the Cheshire cat about it. "What would I say? That Lynch owes me a bottle of his finest. Thank you, old friend." He clapped Byrnes on the shoulder as he stood. "Though it took you long enough."
"Nothing's happening."
"Are you fouling it up so badly?"
"I'm not—" Byrnes shut his mouth. "Get me something to drink." He glanced down as his mother shifted. "And lower your voice."
"At the risk of being told to go to hell, I'm not the one shouting," Garrett mock-whispered, then glanced at the baby on his shoulder as she stirred. "And I've learned the consequences of being loud. Here. Hold her while I get us a drink."
Byrnes found himself with a bundle of blankets and baby. Christ. Garrett rolled his eyes and helped settle her properly in Byrnes’s arms.
"You're a natural," Garrett said dryly.
"Sometimes I wonder why I bother to visit you." He held the bundle awkwardly. "Which twin is this?"
"Ivy," Garrett replied. "Grace has been struggling with colic, so Doyle's pushing her in the perambulator to try and get her to sleep."
"Jesus." The Nighthawks had turned mad. He couldn't picture loud, swarthy Doyle pushing a perambulator. "It's probably a good thing I'm out of here."
"Whether you like it or not, we're all a part of your life, Byrnes. And Perry's adamant you're going to teach the twins how to use knives." Garrett poured him a glass of blud-wein. He cleared his throat. "Is there a problem? You couldn't take your eyes off Ingrid and Phillip the other day at dinner."
He wanted to bang his head against a wall. Garrett's instincts were too good. "No problem. Just... life is changing."
"Some of us have been through such a thing before. It's not all bad. Actually, its mostly rather wonderful, once you get through the confusion at the start. There's nothing like waking up—"
"Please. Don't." Byrnes curled up his lip. "Perry's like my sister."
"Which is precisely why I allow you near her," Garrett replied, and a flare of possessive heat filled his blue eyes.
"I seem to recall a moment where you thought I was a threat." That bought a touch of humor to the surface. "You thought there was something going on between us."
"I was an idiot."
"Well," Byrnes replied, "I'm not going to disagree."
"But now the shoe is on the other foot, and I'm not going to pretend I'm not enjoying the hell out of this. May I offer you some advice?"
"I'm fairly certain I'm going to receive it, regardless of whether I want it or not," Byrnes grumbled.
"You're a hard man to get to know sometimes, Byrnes. You've been with the Nighthawks nearly as long as I have, and I only found out your mother even existed two years ago," Garrett said, setting a glass down beside Byrnes and sinking into his own chair.
"Is there a point to this?"
"Yes, there is." Garrett eased back in his chair, looking into the distance of the past. "If you don't let Ingrid in, then you'll lose her, and trust me when I say that I've come very close to losing Perry in the past. I don't recommend it."
"I came very close to losing her today," Byrnes admitted, and a chill rose in his chest once more. "I don't.... This is not my area of expertise."
Garrett let out a snort. "Clearly."
"I'm not quite certain how I feel...." It scared the hell out of him. He'd had a vision of his life, and now it was completely in disarray. He'd never liked change, but if wanted to pursue this, then he would have to. Byrnes stared at the baby in his arms. Holding her was starting to grow awkward, but she smelled rather nice. "This was supposed to be just a dalliance with Ingrid. But it's very clearly not. Or perhaps I should say... it's rather rapidly leading in another direction. What if I can't feel the same way she does? What if I break her heart? Or don't want what she wants?" Rosa's words hammered doubt into his he
art.
"Byrnes, I think the question you have to ask yourself is how you felt the second you realized she was in danger."
Terrified. He looked up. "Certain for the first time in my life that she was mine, and that I had to protect her."
"Can you walk away?"
"I tried that," he snapped. The baby shifted at the sound of his voice and he froze. "We weren't going to pursue this. But... Christ, I left her to work alone today, and this is what happened! She was injured because I'm too bloody scared of what's happening between us. I should have been at her side. I should have been there."
"You were there," Garrett said, "when she needed you. And this decision doesn't need to be made in a day. You have time to woo her, time to sort out your feelings."
"She wants children."
Garrett paused. "Do you?"
"I don't know. I've never really thought about it before, or about taking a wife." He looked down at the baby, feeling that age-old surge of panic light through him. First Debney pushing his way back into his life, now Ingrid.... It was easier not to have them there, easier to control all of the old feelings that Debney brought back into his heart if he didn't have to confront them, but the idea of pushing either of them away made him feel sick.
"And the darker side of your nature? What does it think?"
"The hunger is me, Garrett. I'm not going to pretend we're two separate identities, like you and Lynch do."
Garrett shrugged. "I know that. I also know that it represents everything primal about a man—or woman. If you want to know what you want, or what's happening, then it will know. There are no lies there."
He'd always been in control of himself, unlike a lot of other blue bloods. Lynch had praised him for it, but it was vexing now when all of these urges began to overwhelm him. He wasn't used to it. "It wants her. No, it's already claimed her, I think," he said, then cursed himself for an idiot for giving into thinking of this as the others did. "I want her. I'm claiming her."
"Go back to her side then," Garrett suggested. "Work out where you want to go from there. You have all the time in the world, and frankly, Ingrid deserves a say in this too. It wouldn't surprise me if she's completely in the dark about what's going on in that head of yours."
