by J. R. Ward
But fell to his knees instead.
Confused, he looked down at himself. There was a hole the size of a melon in his abdomen.
"Wrath!" Beth limped over.
"I'm… hit, leelan."
"Oh, God." She ripped the robe from her body, stuffing it against his stomach. "Where's your phone?"
He lifted one hand feebly as he fell over on his side. "Pocket."
She grabbed the cell and dialed the house. "Butch? Butch! Help! Wrath's been shot in the belly! I—I don't know where we are—"
"Route 22," Wrath murmured. "Ranch house with a black Hummer in front."
Beth repeated his words, pressing the robe into his wound. "We're in the barn. Come fast! He's bleeding."
A low growl came from the left.
Wrath looked over just as Beth did. The surviving pit bull, bloodied, but still angry, was advancing.
Beth didn't hesitate. She unsheathed one of Wrath's daggers and crouched.
"Just get here, Butch. Now." She flipped the phone shut and dropped it. "Come on, you ugly-ass dog. Come on!"
The dog circled, and Wrath could feel himself being eyed. For some reason the animal wanted him, maybe because he was bleeding so badly. Beth moved with the pit bull, arms held wide.
Her voice throbbed. "You want some of him? You're going to have to get through me."
The dog leaped at Beth, and as if she'd been trained to kill, she got down low and plunged the knife up into the animal's chest cavity. The thing dropped like a stone.
She left the knife in place and scrambled back. She was shaking so badly, her hands were like birds as she lifted the cloth at his stomach.
"It doesn't hurt," he whispered, smelling her tears.
"Oh, Wrath." She grabbed his hand, gripping it hard. "You're in shock."
"Yeah, probably. I can't see you, where are you?"
"I'm here." She put his fingers to her face. "Can you feel me?"
Barely, but it was enough to keep him going.
"I wish you were pregnant," he said hoarsely. "I don't want you to be alone."
"Don't say that!"
"Ask Tohr and Wellsie to take you in."
"No."
"Promise me."
"I will not," she said fiercely. "You're not going anywhere."
She was so wrong about that, he thought. He could feel himself slipping away.
"I love you, leelan."
Beth started to sob. Her strangled cries were the last sound he heard as he fought against the tide and lost.
Beth didn't look up when the cell phone started ringing.
"Wrath?" she said again. "Wrath…"
She put her ear to his chest. His heart was still working, but the beats were faint, and he was breathing, though slowly. She was desperate to help him, except she couldn't do CPR. Not until his vitals crashed.
"Oh, God…"
The phone kept ringing.
She grabbed it off the dirt floor, trying to ignore the spreading pool of blood around Wrath's body. "What!"
"Beth! It's Butch. I'm with V. He and I are going to be there soon, but he needs to talk to you."
There was a whirring noise in the background, as if a car engine was screaming.
Vishous's voice was intense. "Beth, here's what you need to do. Do you have a knife?"
She eyed the remaining dagger on Wrath's chest. "Yes."
"Get it. I want you to cut your wrist. Do it vertically down the forearm, not horizontally, otherwise you'll just hit bone. Then put it to his mouth. It's his best chance of surviving until we can get him help." There was a pause. "Put the phone down, honey, and get the knife. I'll talk you through it."
Beth reached over and extracted the blade from Wrath's holster. She didn't hesitate to slice her left wrist open. The pain made her gasp, but she didn't dwell on the burning as she put the wound to Wrath's mouth. She picked up the phone with her free hand.
"He's not drinking."
"You've already cut yourself? Good girl."
"He's not… he's not swallowing."
"Hopefully some's getting down the back of his throat."
"He's bleeding from there, too."
"Jesus… I'm driving as fast as I can."
Butch spotted the Hummer. "Over there!"
Vishous drove right across the lawn, and they leaped from the car, punch running for the barn.
Butch couldn't believe the scene inside. A couple of slaughtered dogs. Blood everywhere. One really dead body—Jesus, that was Billy Riddle.
And then he saw Beth.
She was wearing a long T-shirt that was covered with blood and dirt, her eyes gone mad as she knelt by Wrath's body with one wrist to his lips. When she noticed them, she hissed and brought up her knife, prepared to fight.
Vishous went forward, but Butch grabbed his arm. "Let me go first."
Slowly, Butch stepped over to her. "Beth? Beth, you know who we are."
But the closer he got to Wrath, the crazier her eyes became.
She pulled her wrist away from the man's mouth, ready to defend him.
"Easy, girl. We're not going to hurt him. Beth, it's me."
She blinked. "Butch?"
"Yeah, baby. It's me and Vishous."
She dropped the knife and started to cry.
"Okay, it's okay." He tried to get her into his arms, but she dropped back down to Wrath. "No, baby. Let V look at him, okay? Come on, it'll just take a minute."
She allowed herself to be pulled back. As Butch tore off his shirt and wrapped it around her waist, he nodded to V.
Vishous dropped to Wrath's side. When he looked up from the other vampire's stomach, his lips were tight.
Beth sank down, putting her wrist back in place. "He'll be all right, won't he? We'll just move him to a doctor. To a hospital. Right? Vishous, right?" Desperation made her shrill.
And then suddenly, they weren't alone.
Marissa and a distinguished, frantic-looking man appeared out of nowhere.
The guy went to Wrath's body and lifted the wad of blood-soaked satin. "We've got to get him to my OR."
"My car's on the front lawn," V said. "I'll come back and finish things when he's safe."
The man cursed as he examined the neck wound. He looked at Beth. "Your blood's not strong enough. Marissa, get over here."
Beth was fighting back tears as she lifted her wrist from Wrath's mouth and looked up at the blond woman.
Marissa hesitated. "Are you okay with my feeding him?"
Beth offered Wrath's dagger handle first. "I don't care who he drinks from if it will save him."
Marissa cut herself easily, as if she'd done it many times before. Then she lifted Wrath's head up and pressed the wound to his mouth.
His body jolted like it had been hooked up to a car battery.
"All right, let's move him," said the man who'd taken charge. "Marissa, you keep that wrist right where it is."
Beth took Wrath's hand as the men got him up off the barn floor. They carried him as gently as they could over to Vishous's SUV, laying him out flat in the back. Marissa and Beth got in with Wrath as Butch and Vishous took the front seat. The other man disappeared.
As the Escalade roared over the back roads, Beth stroked Wrath's arm, up and down his tattoos. The skin was cold.
"You love him so very much," Marissa murmured.
Beth looked up. "Is he drinking?"
"I don't know."
* * *
Chapter Fifty-one
In the surgical suite's anteroom, Havers snapped off his latex gloves and threw them into a bio-trash container. His back ached after having spent hours leaning over Wrath, stitching up sections of the warrior's intestine and fixing the wound in his neck.
"Will he live?" Marissa asked as she came out of the OR. She was weak from all the blood she'd given. Pale, but intense.
"We'll know soon enough. I hope so."
"As do I." She walked past him, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Marissa—"
As the door slid shut with a hiss, Havers closed his eyes.
Oh, dear God, the pain in his chest. The pain of deeds that could never be undone.
Havers sagged against the wall, pulling the surgical cap off his head.
Thankfully, the Blind King had a true warrior's constitution. He was stout of body, fierce of will. Although he wouldn't have survived without Marissa's nearly pure blood.
Or, Havers suspected, the presence of his dark-haired shellan. Beth, as she was called, had stayed by his side throughout the operation. And even though the warrior had been unconscious, his head had stayed turned toward her. She'd spoken to him for hours, until she had only a hoarse whisper left.
And she was still in there with him now, though she was so exhausted she could barely sit up. She'd refused to let her own wounds be examined, and she wouldn't eat.
She just stayed with her hellren.
With a lurch, Havers went over to the deep prep sinks. He gripped the stainless-steel gunnels and stared at the drains. He felt like throwing up, but his stomach was empty.
The brothers were outside. Waiting for news from him.
And they knew what he had done.
Before Havers had gone in to operate, Tohrment had grabbed him around the throat. If Wrath died on the table, the warrior had vowed, the brothers were going to string Havers up by the feet and beat him with their bare fists until he bled out. Right in his own house.
No doubt Zsadist had told them everything.
God, if only I could go back to that alley, Havers thought. If only I hadn't gone there at all.
And he should have known never to approach a member of the brotherhood with such a treasonous request. Not even the soulless one.
After he'd made the offer to Zsadist, the brother had stared down at him with those terrifying black eyes, and Havers had immediately realized he'd made a mistake. Zsadist might have been full of hate, but he wasn't a traitor against his king, and he was offended that he'd been asked.
"I'll kill for free," Zsadist had growled. "But only if I were going after you. Get out of my sight before I get out my knife."
Rattled, Havers had rushed away, only to find himself being tracked by what he'd assumed must be a lesser. It was the first time he'd ever been close to one of the undead, and it was a surprise that the society member was so fair of hair and skin. Still, the thing was pure evil and ready to kill. Trapped in a corner in the alley, scared out of mind, Havers had started talking, as much to get the job he wanted done as to keep himself from getting slain. The lesser had been skeptical at first, but Havers had always been persuasive, and the word king, used liberally, had gotten its attention. Information had changed hands. The lesser had walked off. And the die was cast.
Havers breathed deeply, bracing himself to go out into the hall.
At least he could pledge to the brothers that he'd done the best he could with the surgery.
Although that hadn't been because he'd wanted to save his own life. Such an acquittal was impossible. He was going to be put to death for what he'd done; it was just a question of when.
No, in the OR, he'd performed to the best of his ability because it was the only way he could make up for the atrocity he'd committed. And because those five heavily armed males and that fierce human man waiting outside had looked like their hearts were breaking.
But neither of those had been his truest motivator.
He'd been galvanized most by the burning pain in that dark-haired Beth's eyes. He knew well that horrified, impotent expression. He'd been wearing it himself as he'd watched his shellan die.
Havers washed his face and went out into the hall. The brothers and the human looked up at him.
"He has survived the surgery. Now, we have to see if he holds on." Havers went over to Tohrment. "Do you want to take me now?"
The warrior stared down at him with hard, violent eyes. "We'll keep you alive to care for him. And then he can kill you himself."
Havers nodded and heard a soft crying sound. He looked over to see Marissa clasping a hand to her mouth.
He was about to go over when the human male stepped in front of her. The man hesitated before holding out a handkerchief. She took what he offered and then walked away from them all.
Beth put her head down on the far corner of Wrath's pillow. He'd been transferred to a hospital bed from the operating table, though he was not going to be moved into a normal patient room. Havers had decided to keep him in the OR in case he needed to be operated on again on an emergency basis.
The white-walled facility was cold, but someone had put a heavy fleece on her. Evidently, they'd also wrapped a blanket around the bottom half of her body, too. She couldn't remember who had been so kind.
As she heard a clicking sound, she glanced over at the mountain of machines Wrath was hooked up to. She measured each one of them without having much idea what the readouts meant. Provided that none of the alarms were going off, she had to imagine it was okay.
The sound came again.
She looked down at Wrath. And shot to her feet.
He was trying to talk, but his mouth was so dry, his tongue was thick.
"Shhh." She gripped his hand. Put her face in his line of vision in case he opened his eyes. "I'm right here."
His fingers twitched in hers. And then he faded away again.
God, he looked like hell. Pale as the ceramic tiles on the OR's floor. Eyes sunk deep into his skull.
He had a thick bandage on his throat. His belly was wrapped in gauze and cotton pads, with drains leading out of the wound. There was an IV pumping fluids and painkillers into his arm and a catheter bag hanging off the bedside. A tangle of EKG wires were stuck on his chest, and an oxygen sensor was clipped onto his middle finger.
But he was alive. For now.
And he'd stirred to consciousness, even if it was just for a moment.
It was like that for the next two days. He would surface and sink, surface and sink, as if he had to keep checking that she was with him before he went back to the herculean job of healing his body.
Eventually, she had to sleep, so the brothers brought in a more comfortable chair, and someone gave her a pillow and a blanket. She woke up an hour later, still clutching Wrath's hand.
She ate when she was forced to, because Tohrment or Wellsie demanded that she did. And she took a shower in the anteroom. Quickly. When she got back, Wrath's legs and arms were flailing wildly and Wellsie had called for Havers.
The instant Beth took Wrath's hand, he calmed right down. She didn't know how long the waiting would go on. But every time he came back to her, she drew a little strength. She could wait. For an eternity, she could wait for him.
Wrath's mind came back online in a rush of activity. One minute he wasn't aware of anything; the next, his circuits started firing again. He didn't know where he was, and his eyelids were too heavy to open, so he did a quick scan of his body. Lower half felt okay, toes moved, legs were still attached. Whoa, ouch. His stomach felt like it had been punched with a tire iron. But his chest was solid. Neck was burning. Head was achy. Arms were good. Hands—
Beth.
He was used to feeling her palm against his. Where was she?
His eyes flipped open.
She was right beside him, sitting in a chair, her head down on the bed as if she were asleep. His first thought was that he shouldn't wake her up. She was obviously exhausted.
But he wanted to touch her. Needed to.
He tried to reach out with his free hand, but his arm felt like it weighed four hundred pounds. He struggled, willing the limb across his body, dragging it over the bedcovers inch by inch. He didn't know how long it took. Maybe hours.
But then he finally touched a lock of her hair. The silken feel of it was a miracle.
He was alive, and so was she.
Wrath started to cry.
The instant Beth felt the bed shudder, she woke up in a panic. The first thing she saw was Wrath's hand. His fingers were wrapped around a long strand of her hair.
She looked up at his face. Tears were rolling out of his eyes.
"Wrath! Oh, love." She leaned up to him, smoothed his hair back. He was totally distressed. "Are you hurting?"
He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. He started to panic, his eyes peeling open until the whites showed.
"Easy, love, take it easy. Just relax," she said. "I want you to squeeze my hand, once for yes, twice for no. Are you in pain?"
No.
She gently stroked the tears from his whiskered cheeks. "Are you sure?"
Yes.
"Do you want me to get Havers?"
No.
"Do you need anything?"
Yes.
"Food? Drink? Blood?"
No.
He began to get agitated, his pale, wild eyes imploring her.
"Shhh, it's okay." She kissed his forehead. "Just calm down. We'll figure out what you need. We've got plenty of time."
His eyes fixated on their linked hands and came back to her face. Then his gaze locked on their hands and returned again.
"Me?" she whispered. "You need me?"
He squeezed and wouldn't stop.
"Oh, Wrath… You have me. We're together, love."
Tears poured out of him in a mad rush, his chest quaking from the sobs, his breathing jagged and raw.
She took his face in his hands, trying to soothe him. "It's all right. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going to leave you. I promise you. Oh, love…"
Eventually he relaxed a little. The tears slowed.
A croak came out of his mouth.
"What?" She leaned down.
"Wanted to… save you."
"You did. Wrath, you did save me."
His lips trembled. "Love. You."
She kissed him gently on the mouth. "I love you, too."
"You. Go. Sleep. Now."
And then he closed his eyes from exhaustion.
Her vision went blurry as she put her hand over her mouth and started to smile. Her beautiful warrior was back. And trying to order her around from his hospital bed.
