“We’re not that far.”
Qhuinn looked down at Luchas. “Oh. Right. Of course he couldn’t have… made it very long.”
Backing off a little, Blay got out his phone and stared at the thing. It was a moment before he could remember how to work it, his brain seizing up from everything. But then the Samsung was at his ear and ringing.
Who had he called, he wondered—
“What do you need?”
Ah, Vishous. Of course. Because the Brother would know how to use the GPS search function on the phones, just in case they were farther away from the escape hatch than Blay had thought—
“Transport,” he said roughly. “We need to bring Luchas back home.”
“What… wait, is he alive?”
Blay looked over at Qhuinn. With incredible tenderness, he had taken his brother’s frozen hand into his own, the ice-cold, mangled digits lying against a warm and vital palm.
“No. He’s not.”
There was a pause. Then V’s voice resumed its normal clipped tones. “I’m coming right now. You’re only a hundred yards out.”
Almost immediately, there was a flare of headlights in the darkness and the sound of a vehicle approaching. And that wasn’t all. Ghostly figures materialized around the periphery, the Brothers and the other fighters standing among the trees, silent sentries in the subzero darkness.
As V got closer, the headlights were canned, and then the Tahoe halted about twenty feet away.
The Brother got out and just stared for a moment, as if he were catching up on the inexplicable math—and the incomprehensible tragedy.
Qhuinn looked up. “My brother has died.”
V nodded grimly. “Yes, he has, son. I am very sorry.”
“He went out into the storm last night.”
There was a sad pause. “I have a vehicle here, Qhuinn. Would you like to carry him into the back?”
“I would.”
The words were stilted. Formal.
“Okay.”
After which, no one moved. No one spoke. Then again, there was no hurry, and it was all up to Qhuinn. Yet he seemed frozen.
Blay put his hand on his mate’s shoulder. “Let’s gather him up, shall we?”
“Okay.”
Qhuinn leaned back down, stretching his arms toward the upper torso and down to the thighs. But when he went to push his hands under the remains, he clearly met resistance, the ice and snow fighting the removal of that which it had claimed.
“We can help,” Blay said as he motioned to Vishous. “We’ll just—”
“No.” Qhuinn put his palms out. “No.”
But instead of struggling further to pick up his brother, the male sat back on his heels and stared at the folds of the black robe.
“This is where he chose to die. He chose this.”
The words were not a condemnation. They were a lonely statement of fact. And maybe a first attempt to try on the reality of what had happened.