“Those men want you,” Phillips said. “And that can’t be a good thing.”
Johnathan took Reese by the arm and steered him to the back of the van.
“What about Luca?”
“Dr. Dante, this isn’t up for—” Johnathan opened the door.
A trail of blood led to a man sitting propped against a supply box. Reese barely had time to register the small odd-shaped gun in his hand before Johnathan stepped in front and Phillips put a hole in the middle of the man’s face. She climbed into the van and seized the spindly-bodied weapon.
Long thin barrel, a frame and no housing because it only needed an air cartridge and a place to hold the dart. They’d used them in the lab when a beta became agitated and getting close enough to administer a sedative wasn’t an option.
Phillips dropped her gaze. Reese followed it.
The tranquilizer-style dart protruded from Johnathan’s stomach and a black halo expanded from the impact point.
“Shit.” Johnathan yanked it out.
Phillips shoved the dead man out the door.
“We need to get him to Luca. His blood can counteract it,” Reese said
“Get him in the van.” Phillips went around to the driver’s side.
Johnathan tilted, and Reese leaned into him to keep him from falling and helped him into the back. The color had already leached from Johnathan’s skin by the time he collapsed on the floor.
“They went west,” Reese said. “You’ll have to hurry.”
Black spiraled out from the spreading bruise in diseased roots, and the muscle collapsed under shriveling flesh.
Johnathan gritted his teeth and ebony bled from his gums.
“Hang on, Phillips will get you to Luca. He can help you.”
Dark-tinted sweat left track marks on Johnathan’s face.
Phillips pushed between the front seats and joined Reese in the back.
“You’re supposed to be driving.”
The rot crawled down Johnathan’s hip and past his knee. The freshly healed wounds on Johnathan’s chest split and bone parted.
Ichor boiled to the surface with blood.
“He won’t make it to Luca.” Phillips held out a knife. “You want him to live, you’re going to have to give him blood.”
“I’m not a Cana.”
“You’re an Urja.”
“So?”
“Everything with the Varu, Mah or not, is linked to blood. And the Varu Clans feared Urja because they made the Mah stronger. There has to be a reason for that.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
Johnathan screamed and arched off the floor. The skin on his left side split. Blood laced with ichor puddled on the floor. His sternum collapsed. His ribs separated.
Reese took the knife. “What if it kills him faster?”