Lover Enshrined (29 page)

Mr. D capped the vase and put it in the corner, then went into a bag and pulled out four red Rubbermaid buckets, the kind his mama had called sloppers. He positioned one under each of the vampire’s arms and legs as the Omega went around and opened cuts in the wrists and ankles to drain the body of blood. It was amazing how fast the vampire’s skin lost its color, moving through the spectrum past white into a bluish gray.

“The serrated knife now.”

Mr. D didn’t waste his effort on the blade’s plastic lockdown. The Omega burned right through the thing, then took the knife and put his free hand down on the table. Curling his fingers into a fist, the master sawed through his own wrist, the sound as sharp as if he were working through aged hardwood. When he was finished, he passed the knife back, picked up his hand, and placed it inside the empty chest.

“Be of good cheer, my son,” the Omega whispered as another hand appeared at the blunt end of his forearm. “You shall feel mine blood course through you in but a moment.”

With that, the Omega streaked the other knife across his newly formed wrist and held the wound over the black fist.

Mr. D remembered this part from his own induction. He’d screamed in what had been more than physical pain. He’d been duped. So duped. What he’d been promised weren’t like what he’d received, and the agony and terror had made him pass out. When he’d done woke up, he’d been something else entirely, a member of the living dead, an impotent, roaming body doing evil work.

He’d thought it was just a gang. He’d thought what would happen to him was just going to be some hazing and maybe a branding to mark that he was in with them.

Didn’t know that he were never getting out. Or that he wouldn’t be human no more.

Whole thing reminded him of something his mama used to say:
If you make a deal with a copperhead, you can’t be surprised you get bit.

All at once, the electricity went out.

The Omega stepped back and a hum started. This time it weren’t no Disney crib musical, but the calling of a great gathering of energy, an impending reaping of some unseen potential. As the vibrations grew louder, the house started to shake, dust falling from cracks in the ceiling, the buckets vibrating on the floor until they were doing the do-si-do. Mr. D thought of the bodies in the kitchen and wondered if they was dancing, too.

As he put his hands to ears and ducked his head, he got back just in time.

A blast of lightning hit the farmhouse’s roof in what had to be a direct line of contact. With the noise it made, it couldn’t have been a ricochet or the feathering off of a larger piece.

Yup, this weren’t no chip of a stone that got in your eye; this was the whole boulder landing smack down on your head.

The sound registered as pain in the ears, at least to Mr. D, and the shattering force of the impact made him wonder whether the house was going to crash in on them. The Omega didn’t have that worry, ’parently. He just looked up with Sunday-preacher zeal, all rapt and orgasmic, like he was a true believer and someone had just brought out the rattlers and the strychnine.

The lightning funneled through the house’s electrical highways, or in this case its back roads and beaten paths, and came out in a liquid shaft of brilliant yellow energy right over the body. The chandelier’s hanging wires gave it its guidance, and the vampire’s open chest with its oiled heart was the basin.

The body exploded off the table, arms and legs flapping, chest inflating. In a flash, the master blanketed the male, as if forming a second skin so that the four quadrants of flesh didn’t fly apart like blown tires.

As the lightning receded, the male hung suspended in midair with his Omega blanket shimmering in the darkness.

Time . . . stopped.

Mr. D could tell because the cheapie cuckoo clock on the wall halted. For a span, there was no longer any moment-to -moment, just an infinite now as what had been without breath found its way back to the life it had lost.

Or rather, had been robbed of.

The male floated gently back down to the table, and the Omega removed itself from it, taking form once more. Gasping noises came from the vampire’s gray lips, and a whistle let off on every inhale as air passed into its lungs. The heart flickered in the open chest cavity, then got its act organized and started pumping in earnest.

Mr. D focused on the face.

The death pallor was slowly replaced by a freaky rosy glow, the kind of thing you saw in a kid’s face after they’d been running around in the wind. But that weren’t no health. Nope. That was reanimation.

“Come to me, my son.” The Omega passed his hand over the chest, and the bones and flesh cleaved together and soldered shut from navel to the stitched-up throat wound. “Live for me.”

The male vampire bared its fangs. Opened its eyes. And roared.

Qhuinn didn’t float back down into his body. Nope. As he stepped back from the white door in front of him and then ran like a bastard, life on Earth returned to him in a rush, his spirit landing in his skin like he’d been bootlicked in the ass with the Fade’s All-mighty Converse All Star.

Someone’s lips were crushed against his mouth, and air was being pushed into his lungs. Then there was a pounding on his chest, with someone counting along with the push and shove. There was a little pause, followed by more breathing.

It was a nice alteration of things. Breathing. Pounding. Breathing. Breathing. Pounding—

Qhuinn’s body gave a sudden heave-ho, as if it were bored with having training wheels on its respiration. Riding the jerky spasm, he broke contact with the other mouth and sucked in a breath of his own.

“Thank you, God,” Blay said in a strangled voice.

Qhuinn caught a brief impression of his friend’s wide, teary eyes, then he curled onto his side and cramped up into a ball. Sucking air down his throat in shallow huffs, he felt his heart pick up the ball and run with it, fisting and releasing on its own. He had a moment of the oh-goody-I’m-alives, but then the pain hit him, washing over him, making him want to go back to being out of it. His lower back felt as if it had been dug out with a hammer claw.

“Let’s get him into the car,” Blay barked. “He needs to go to the clinic.”

Qhuinn cracked an eye open and looked down his body. John was at his feet, nodding like a bobble-head.

Except, hell, no . . . they couldn’t take him there. That Honor Guard wasn’t finished with him. . . . Shit, his own brother . . .

“No . . . clinic,” Qhuinn wheezed.

Fuck that
, John signed.

“No. Clinic.” He might not have much to live for, but that didn’t mean he was in a big hurry to eat a Death Whopper with fries.

Blay leaned down, getting eyeball to eyeball with him. “You were in a hit-and-run with a fucking car—”

“Not . . . car.”

Blay got silent. “What was it?” Qhuinn just held the guy’s eyes and waited for him to figure it out. “Wait . . . it was an honor guard? Lash’s family sent an honor guard after you?”

“Not . . . Lash’s . . .”

“Yours?”

Qhuinn nodded, because the energy it took to move his swollen lips was too much like work.

“They aren’t supposed to kill you. . . .”

“Duh.”

Blay looked at John. “We can’t take him to Havers’s.”

Doc Jane
, John signed.
Then we need Doc Jane.

As John took out his phone, Qhuinn was about to shoot down that idea when he felt something flutter against his arm. Blay’s hand was shaking so badly, the guy couldn’t even grab on to anything. Shit, the guy’s whole body was shaking.

Qhuinn closed his eyes and reached out for that palm. As he listened to the soft clicking noise of John texting, he squeezed Blay’s hand to comfort his friend. And himself.

A minute and a half later there was a beep announcing the text had been replied to.

“What is it?” John must have signed something, because Blay breathed out, “Oh . . . my . . . God. But she’s coming, right? Good. My house? Right. Okay. Let’s move him.”

Two sets of hands lifted him up off the road shoulder, and he grunted from the agony . . . which he supposed was good, because it meant that the whole back-from-the-dead thing was probably for real. After he was settled in the backseat of Blay’s car and his buddies were in with him, he felt the subtle vibrations of the BMW accelerating.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to meet John’s stare. The guy was in the front seat, but he was cranked all the way around so he could keep a look-see on Qhuinn.

The guy’s stare was worried and wary. Like he was not sure Qhuinn was going to make it . . . and he was thinking about what had gone down four hours and ten million years ago back in the locker room.

Qhuinn lifted his busted hands and signed in a messy way,
You are still the same to me. Nothing has changed.

John’s eyes shot to the left and he stared out one of the windows.

Headlights from a car behind them splashed against the guy’s face, pulling it free of the darkness. Doubt was written clear as day in those proud, handsome features.

Qhuinn closed his eyes.

What a horrible night this was.

Chapter Twenty-one

"OH. My. God. That dress is a train wreck.”

Cormia laughed and looked up at Bella and Zsadist’s television.
Project Runway
was a fascinating “show,” as it turned out. “What is that hanging down off the back?”

Bella shook her head. “Bad taste made manifest by satin. I think it started as a bow, though.”

The two of them were stretched out on the mated couple ’s bed, leaning back against the headboard. The house-hold ’s black cat was between them, enjoying the fruits of some two-handed petting, and Boo didn’t seem to like the gown any more than Bella did. His green eyes regarded the TV with distaste.

Cormia shifted her hand from the cat’s back to his flank. “The color is kind of nice.”

“That doesn’t make up for the fact that it’s like shrink-wrap for a boat. And has a grappling rope tacked on the butt.”

“I don’t even know what a boat is. Much less shrink-wrap.”

Bella pointed at the flat screen across the room. “You’re looking at it. Just picture something that looks like a floating car under that nightmare and voilà.”

Cormia smiled and thought that her time with the female had been both revelatory and strangely disorienting. She
liked
Bella. She honestly did. The female was funny and warm and thoughtful, as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside.

No wonder the Primale adored her. And as much as Cormia had wanted to stake a claim on him around Bella, she found there was no need to exert her First Mate status. The Primale didn’t come up as a topic of conversation, and there were no undertones to bump up against.

What she had perceived as a rival had turned out to be a friend.

Cormia went back to what was on her lap. The floppy booklet was big and thin, with glossy pages and lots of what Bella had told her were ads.
Vogue
, it said on the front. “Look at all these different kinds of clothes,” she murmured. “How amazing.”

“I’m almost done with
Harper’s Bazaar
, if you want it—”

The door burst open with such force that Cormia leaped off the bed and sent
Vogue
flapping into the corner like a startled bird. The Brother Zsadist was in the doorway, fresh from fighting, given the stench of baby powder he carried and all the weapons on him.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“Well,” Bella said slowly, “you’ve just scared the holy hell out of Cormia and me, Tim Gunn has called time for the designers, and I’m getting hungry again, so I’m about to call Fritz and ask for an omelet. Bacon and cheddar cheese. With hash browns. And juice.”

The Brother looked around as if he were expecting to see
lessers
behind the drapes. “Phury said you weren’t feeling well.”

“I was tired. He helped me up the stairs. Cormia started here as a babysitter, but now I think she’s staying because she’s kind of enjoying herself, aren’t you? Or at least she was, right?”

Cormia nodded, but didn’t take her eyes off the Brother. With his scarred face and his huge body, he’d always made her feel uncomfortable, not because he was ugly in any way, but because he appeared so fierce.

Zsadist looked over at her, and the oddest thing happened. He spoke in a shockingly kind voice and raised his hand as if to calm her.

“Easy, now. I’m sorry I scared you.” His eyes gradually turned yellow and his face softened. “I’m just worried about my
shellan
. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Cormia felt the tension in her release and found herself understanding better why Bella was with him. With a bow, she said, “Of course, your grace. Of course you are worried for her.”

“Are you okay?” Bella asked, looking at her
hellren
’s black-stained clothes. “Is everyone in the family okay?”

“The Brothers are all fine.” He went over to his
shellan
and touched her face with a hand that shook. “I want Doc Jane to have a look at you.”

“If that would make you feel better, by all means, have her come. I don’t think there’s anything wrong, but I want to do whatever makes you feel more comfortable.”

“Is it the spotting again?” Bella didn’t answer. “I’ll go get her—”

“It’s not much, and it’s nothing different from what I’ve had before. Doc Jane would probably be a good idea, except I doubt there’s anything to be done.” Bella turned her lips to his palm and kissed him. “But first, please tell me what happened tonight?”

Zsadist just shook his head, and Bella closed her eyes, as if she were used to getting bad news . . . as if she had gotten it so often that words about the exact situations were no longer needed. Speech could add nothing to her sadness or his. Nor could it relieve what they clearly felt.

Zsadist dipped his head and kissed his mate. As their eyes met, the love between them was so intense, it created an aura of warmth Cormia could swear she felt from over where she was standing.