A light shone on him everywhere her palms lay over his skin, and heat blasted through her core, welling up like a volcano to feed the instruments she needed to wield to save him. It was long, tedious, meticulous, exhausting work. She didn’t know how many times she swayed and almost collapsed, only to have Diego wipe her face with a cool cloth, lift a bottle of water to her mouth and whisper to her that Rubin was still breathing.
She knew Rubin was still breathing. Just. She kept track of that. Kept track of his blood supply. He’d lost so much. She couldn’t afford to give him what he needed.
We had already called in our team—they’re on their way, Diego said. They have our blood on hand. Another ten minutes out.
She hadn’t known Diego was monitoring her, and then, for one moment, she realized she was on her knees beside Rubin’s body and Diego was behind her, his hands supporting her. She was able to continue, repairing the artery and then moving to the heart, where the bullet had damaged one small portion of that as well. She had rerouted the blood flow earlier so she was able to evaluate the damage and see what needed to be done. Again, it was a matter of taking her time and making certain she didn’t make one mistake no matter how tired she was. Finally, when she had triple-checked her work over and over, she took a deep breath and allowed the blood to flow through the artery she’d repaired to his heart and the damaged chamber. She watched for leakage. For any sign of weakness. When she could find none, she slowly pulled her vision out of Rubin.
Her eyes nearly refused to work. There were others surrounding her, men she didn’t know, and it made her uncomfortable. She was too weak to move, collapsing back into Diego.
I’ve got you, he whispered. These are GhostWalkers. They’ve come to take us home. You’ll be safe with us.
“Do you know what she is?” the man beside Diego asked, his voice very quiet, keeping the question between the two of them, but she heard.
Jonquille was too tired to turn her head and really look at him. Everyone knew what she was. She was a lightning rod. Rubin called her his lightning bug, but he said it affectionately.
“She’s a psychic surgeon, Diego. I couldn’t have done what she did, and I’m a trained healer. I’m good at what I do, but I’m not capable of that level of expertise. I watched her closely and she performed surgery just as precisely as Rubin does, but with her mind. Did you know?” The man whispered the question.
“Yeah, Joe, Rubin said it was a possibility because he is and she’s his woman. His other half. He knew she was his right away. He’s completely bonded to her. Gone on her. I’m telling you that because we have to keep her safe. You know Rubin. He’s seriously one-track minded when you get him riled. She’s family to me, so I feel the same way about her.”
There was a little warning note in Diego’s voice. Jonquille didn’t want to sort out what it all meant. She just wanted to sleep. She leaned back, let her lashes droop all the way and was out.
Jonquille heard someone crying. Sobbing. It was a great distance away, but the woman was really in distress. She needed to get up and help her. She tried to move, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. Her arms and legs felt like leaden weights. Her head, when she tried to roll over, felt like it might shatter, and every organ in her chest felt as if it had shifted in her body. There was no way to pry her eyelids open. It was too much trouble, but that persistent crying was heartbreaking and she couldn’t stand not to help.
“There, there, sweet girl,” a voice said. “You’re safe here. Everything’s fine. Everyone’s fine. There’s no need to cry like that, you’ll make yourself sick.”
Someone patted her arm. The voice sounded gentle and older, had a very pronounced Cajun accent. A cool cloth wiped her face.
“You’re among friends. Diego and Rubin are here.”
More face wiping. The cool cloth felt good. Too good to be just water. There was some kind of natural healing compound blended together being stroked over her skin. It felt just as soothing as that voice.
“I’m Grace Fontenot. Everyone calls me Nonny. You’re here at my home and very welcome too. I understand you saved Rubin’s life. Thank you for that. We all thank you for that. Shh, honey, you’re all right, just exhausted.”
Her mouth and throat were so dry. Why did it feel as if her insides were torn apart? She tried to lift her arm again, but she had no strength. She tried to ask what was wrong with her, but no sound came out of her mouth, and that was terrifying. Her heart accelerated, pumping far too fast, but she couldn’t control the fear coursing through her. Something was terribly wrong with her, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. If Rubin was alive, where was he? Why couldn’t she move?