Panic flared along with a good dose of pissed-off, but her emotions couldn't seem to connect to her body, the surge of feeling diffusing in the lethargy that clothed her. She blinked and tried to focus without drawing attention to herself -
Her lids popped wide.
The guy in the Red Sox hat came in with an astonishingly beautiful blond woman at his side. He stood close to her, and though they weren't touching, it was clear that they were a couple. They just belonged together.
The patient spoke up in a rasp. "No."
"You've got to," Red Sox said.
"You told me... you'd kill me if I ever - "
"Extenuating circumstances."
"Layla - "
"Fed Rhage this afternoon, and we can't get another Chosen here without tangoing with the Directrix. Which would take time you don't have."
The blond woman approached the patient's bed and sat down slowly. Dressed in a black suit with tailored pants, she seemed like a lawyer or a businessperson, and yet she was wildly feminine with her long, luxurious hair.
"Use me." She extended her wrist over the patient's mouth, hovering it just above his lips. "If only because we need you strong so you can take care of him."
There was no question who the "him" was. Red Sox looked sicker than he had when Jane had first seen him, and the clinician in her wondered exactly what the "taking care of" involved.
Meanwhile, Red Sox stepped back until he hit the opposite wall. Wrapping his arms around his chest, he held on to himself.
In a soft voice, the blonde said, "He and I talked about it. You've done so much for us - "
"Not... for you."
"He's alive because of you. So that's everything." The blonde reached out as if she were going to smooth the patient's hair, but then took her hand back as he flinched. "Let us care for you. Just this once."
The patient looked across the room at Red Sox. When Red Sox nodded, the patient cursed and closed his eyes. Then opened his mouth...
Holy shit. His pronounced canines had elongated. Sharply pointed before, now they were positively fanglike.
Okay, clearly this was a dream. Yup. Because that just didn't happen to cosmetically enhanced teeth. Ever.
As the patient bared his "fangs," the man with the multicolored hair stepped in front of Red Sox, braced both hands on the wall, and leaned in until their chests almost touched.
But then the patient shook his head and turned away from the wrist. "Can't."
"I need you," Red Sox whispered. "I'm sick from what I do. I need you."
The patient fixated on Red Sox, a powerful yearning flashing in his diamond eyes. "Only for... you... not me."
"For both of us."
"All of us," the blond woman interjected.
The patient took a deep breath, then - Christ! - bit into the blonde's wrist. The strike was fast and decisive as a cobra's, and as he locked on, the woman jumped, then exhaled with what seemed like relief. Across the room, Red Sox trembled all over, looking bereft and desperate while the one with the multicolored hair blocked his way without coming into contact with him.
The patient's head started to move in a rhythm, as if he were a baby nursing at a breast. But he couldn't be drinking from there, could he?
Yeah, the hell he couldn't.
Dream. This was all a dream. A loony-bin dream. Wasn't it? Oh, God, she hoped it was. Otherwise she was stuck in some kind of Gothic nightmare.
When it was done, her patient eased back onto the pillows, and the woman licked herself where his mouth had been.
"Rest now," she said, before turning to Red Sox. "Are you okay?"
He shook his head back and forth. "I want to touch you, but I can't. I want in you, but... I can't."
The patient spoke up. "Lie with me. Now."
"You can't handle it," Red Sox said in a reedy, hoarse voice.
"You need it now. I'm ready."
"The hell you are. And I have to lie down. I'll be back later after I have a rest - "
The door flew open again, light spilling in from what looked like a hallway, and a huge man with black hair down to his waist and wraparound sunglasses on stalked in. This was trouble. His cruel face suggested he might get off on torturing people, and the glare in his eyes made her wonder if he wanted to start in on someone right now. Hoping to avoid his notice, she slammed her lids shut and tried not to breathe.
His voice was as hard as the rest of him. "If you weren't already assed out, I'd put you on the ground myself. What the f**k are you thinking, bringing her here?"
" 'Scuse us," Red Sox said. There was a shuffle of feet and the door shut.
"I asked you a question."
"Supposed to come with," the patient said.
"Supposed to? Supposed to? Are you out of your goddamned mind?"
"Yes... but not 'bout her."
Jane cracked an eye open and watched through her lashes as the mammoth guy glanced at the one with all the fabulous hair. "I want everyone in my study in a half hour. We need to decide what the hell to do with her."
"Not... without me..." the patient said, his tone getting stronger.
"You don't get a vote."
The patient shoved his palms into the mattress and sat up, even though it made his arms shake. "I get all the votes when it comes to her."
The towering man pointed a finger at the patient. "Fuck you."
From out of nowhere, Jane's adrenaline kicked in.
Dream or no dream, she should to be counted in this happy conversation. Straightening in the chair, she cleared her throat.
All eyes snapped to her.
"I want out of here," she said in a voice she wished were less breathy and more ass-kicking. "Now."
The big man put a hand to the bridge of his nose, popped up the wraparounds, and rubbed his eyes. "Thanks to him, that's not an immediate option. Phury, take care of her again, would you?"
"Are you going to kill me?" she asked in a rush.
"No," the patient said. "You're going to be fine. You have my word."
For a split second she believed him. Which was nuts. She didn't know where she was, and these men were clearly thugs -
The one with the beautiful hair stepped in front of her. "You're just going to rest for a little bit more."
Yellow eyes met hers and suddenly she was a TV unplugged, her cord yanked out of the wall, her screen blank.
Vishous stared at his surgeon as she slumped down once more in the armchair across the bedroom.
"She all right?" he said to Phury. "You haven't fried her, true?"
"No, but she's got a strong mind. We want to get her out of here ASAP."
Wrath's voice cracked through the air. "She should never have been brought here."
Vishous eased gingerly back onto his bed, feeling like he'd been punched in the chest with a cinder block. He wasn't particularly concerned that Wrath had his leathers in a knot. His surgeon had to be here, and that was that. But at least he could tray - up a rationale.
"She can help me recover. Havers is complicated because of the Butch sitch."
Wrath's stare was level behind his shades. "You think she'll want to help you after you had her kidnapped? The Hippocratic oath only goes so far."
"I'm hers." V frowned. "I mean, she'll take care of me because she operated on me."
"You're grasping at straws to justify - "
"Am I? I just had open-heart surgery because I was shot in the chest. Doesn't feel like straws to me. You want to risk complications?"
Wrath glanced at the surgeon, then rubbed his eyes some more. "Shit. How long?"
"Till I'm better."
The king's sunglasses dropped back onto his nose. "Heal fast, brother. I want her scrubbed and out."
Wrath left the room, shutting the door with a clap.
"That went well," V said to Phury.
Phury, in his peacekeeping kind of way, murmured something about how everyone was under a lot of stress, blah, blah, blah, then went over to the bureau to change the subject. He came back to the bedside with a couple of handrails, one of V's lighters, and an ashtray.
"Know you'll want these. What kind of supplies is she going to need to treat you?"
V whipped a list up off the top of his head. With Marissa's blood in him, he was going to be back on his feet fast, as her lineage was nearly pure: he'd just put high-test gas in his tank.
Thing was, though, he found himself not wanting to heal all that fast.