His jaw wasn't a good shock absorber - in fact, it was an amplifier, as his lower teeth banged into his upper ones and his skull sucked up the brunt of the impact. Stunned, he went limp, his arms loosening their hold, his defensive position weakening.
They weren't supposed to kill him, because Lash was still alive if they were doing this. If the guy had died, he would have been taken in front of the king by his cousin's parents, and they would have argued that he should be put to death even though he was technically a minor. No, this beat-down was just an eye for an eye for a bodily injury. Or at least, that was the way it was meant to be.
Trouble was, they kicked him over onto his back, and then one of them took a running start and planted both his combat boots in the center of Qhuinn's chest.
His breath shot out of him. His heart stopped pumping. Everything came to a halt.
And that was when he heard his brother's voice, "Don't do that again. It's against the rules."
His brother... his brother... ?
This wasn't for Lash's injury, then.
This was from his own family, to recoup the injury to their name.
Qhuinn gasped for air and got nowhere with the inhales as the four argued with one another. His brother's voice was the loudest.
"That's enough!"
"Fucking mutant bastard, he deserves to die!"
Qhuinn lost interest in the drama as it dawned on him that his heart still hadn't started up again - and not even the panic he suddenly felt at the realization kick-started the damn thing. His eyesight went checkerboard and his hands and feet started to numb out.
That was when he saw the bright light.
Shit, the Fade was coming for him.
"Christ! Let's go!"
Someone leaned down to him. "We'll be back for you, ass**le. Without your f**king brother next time."
There was a scramble of boots, a lot of doors opening and closing, and then a screech as the car took off. When another approached close on its heels, he realized the lights on him were not the afterlife, but someone else driving down the road.
Lying in the heap he'd been left in, he had some passing thought that maybe he could pound on his own chest. Like pull a Casino Royale and do self-CPR.
He closed his eyes. Yeah, if only he could 007 it... Not a chance, though. He couldn't get his lungs to work in more than shallow draws and his heart was still nothing but a loose knot of muscle in his chest. The fact that he had no pain anymore was even more worrisome.
The next white light that came to him was like the mist that hung over the road, a gentle and soft fog that bathed him, eased him. As he was illuminated, he went from being terrified to utterly unafraid. This, he knew, was not a car. This now was the Fade.
He felt himself levitate off the pavement and he soared, weightless, until he was at the head of a white corridor. Down at the far end, there was a door he felt compelled to go and open. He walked toward it with growing urgency, and the moment he reached it, he went for the knob. As his hand wrapped around the warm brass, he had some vague thought that once he walked through, that was it. He was in between as long as he didn't open the door and step into what was on its other side.
Once he was in, there was no going back.
Just as he was about to twist his palm, he saw an image on the panels of the door. It was hazy and he paused, trying to figure out what it was.
Oh... God... he thought, when he realized what he was looking at.
Holy... shit.
Chapter Eighteen
Cormia was not in her bedroom or her bath.
As Phury went downstairs to the foyer to look for her, he came to a decision. If he ran into Rhage, he wasn't going to ask the questions that were on his mind. The shit with the trainees and the lessers and the war was no longer his territory, and he'd better get used to it.
The answers about the Brothers and the trainees were not due to him anymore.
Cormia was his business. She and the Chosen. And it was about damn time he manned up.
Phury stopped short as he got to the dining room's arch. "Bella?"
His twin's shellan was sitting down on one of the chairs next to the sideboard, her head bent, her hand on her pregnant belly. She was breathing in little puffs.
She lifted her eyes to him and smiled weakly. "Hi."
Oh, God. "Hi. Whatcha doing?"
"I'm fine.And before you say...I should be in bed... I'm headed there now..." Her eyes shifted over to the grand staircase. "It just seems a little far away at the moment."
For propriety's sake, Phury had always been careful not to seek Bella's company outside of communal meals, even before Cormia had come into the house.
Now was not the time for distance, though.
"Why don't I carry you?"
There was a pause, and he geared himself up for her arguments. Maybe she'd at least let him take her arm -
"Yes. Please."
Oh... shit. "Look at you, being all reasonable."
He smiled, as if he weren't completely freaking out, and went over to her. She seemed light as air as he picked her up with one arm under her legs and the other around her back. She smelled of night-blooming roses and something else. Something... not quite right, as if her pregnancy hormones were out of whack.
Maybe she was bleeding.
"So how are you feeling?" he asked in an amazingly calm voice while he took her to the stairs.
"The same. Tired. But the young is kicking a lot, which is good."
"That is good." He got to the second floor and strode down the hall of statues. As Bella laid her head on his shoulder, she shuddered a little and made him want to start running.
Just as he came up to her bedroom, the doors at the end of the corridor opened. Cormia came through them and faltered, her eyes going wide.
"Could you get this door," he said to her.
She sprang forward and opened the way so that he could step through into the room. He headed straight for the bed and laid Bella out in the wedge created by the sheets and blankets that were folded back.
"Would you like some food?" he asked, trying to ease into the whole let's-get-Doc-Jane thing.
Some of the old sparkle came back into her eyes. "I think that's the problem - I just ate too much. I kicked two pints of Ben and Jerry's Mint Chocolate Chip."
"Good choice, if you're going to spoon up." He tried to sound casual as he murmured, "So how about I call Z?"
"For what? I'm only tired. And before you ask, no, I wasn't up for more than the hour I've been allotted. Don't bother him, I'm fine."
Maybe so, but he was still calling his twin. Just not in front of her.
He glanced over his shoulder. Cormia was standing just outside of the room, a silent, robed figure with worry on her lovely face. He turned back to Bella. "Hey, how would you like some company?"
"I would love some." She smiled at Cormia. "I TiVo'd a Project Runway marathon and was about to watch it. You want to join me?"
Cormia's eyes shot to his, and his pleading must have come through in what she saw. "I'm not sure what that is, but... yes, I would like to join you."
As she came in, he took her arm and whispered, "I'm getting Z. If she shows any signs of distress, dial star-Z on the phone, okay? That's him."
Cormia nodded and said softly, "I'll take care of her."
Giving her arm a little squeeze, he murmured, "Thank you."
After saying good-bye, he shut the door and went down the hall a number of yards before he dialed Z on his cell. Pick up, pick up...
Voice mail.
Shit.
"That ain't him. That ain't him!"
Standing in the rain at the ass end of the alley next to McGrider's, Mr. D wanted to take the slayer in front of him and use the guy as a speed bump out in the middle of Trade Street.
"What the f**k is your problem?" the lesser shot back while pointing to the civilian vampire at their feet. "This is the third male we got tonight. More than we've bagged in a year - "
Mr. D whipped out his switchblade. "And they're not the one we need. So you saddle on up again and hit that there pavement or your Rocky Mountain oysters are on my plate."
As the slayer took a step back, Mr. D bent down and sliced open the jacket of the civilian. The male was out cold and worse for the wear, looking like a limp suit in desperate need of dry cleaning. There was red blood all over his clothes, and his face was like a Rorschach test, nothing but blotches.
Fishing around for a wallet, Mr. D agreed with his subordinate up to a point, but he kept that to himself. It was hard to believe that they'd got three snatch and grabs in one night - and he was still shitting in his pants like he'd been sucking on prunes for days.