Antonietta felt Byron’s body shift, move off of her, allowing her to crawl out from beneath him. “You were an idiot to bring a gun with you. Where in the world did you get a gun, anyway? Why would you even have one?” She was frantically trying to find the wound, searching for a pulse.
Paul moaned loudly. “He’s dead, Antonietta, there’s no pulse.”
She shoved her cousin hard. “Get away from him! He’s not dead. I won’t let him be dead. Byron! Don’t you dare leave me alone. Come back! Damn you, Paul, how could you do this?”
She couldn’t find a pulse either, and for a moment her world stopped. There was no air to breathe. Her vocal cords wouldn’t work. There was nothing. Emptiness. A black void where there had been life and laughter and her music. She had nothing.
The struggle started in her mind. A voice whispering to her from far away. Soothing her. Telling her it wasn’t so.
I must see him.
The words were the first she understood.
Look at him. I must see him.
She had never heard the voice, but it was low and compelling and insistent on obedience. He spoke in her language but with a definite accent, so velvet soft he seemed to purr.
Antonietta took a breath, let it out slowly, her hands gripping Byron as if she could hold him to her. She forced herself to follow the path of that faraway voice. She wouldn’t waste time on fearing it. She feared that the meaning of her entire life was spilling blood on the tiles there in passageway. Nothing mattered to her but to save Byron.
I am blind. I cannot show you what I see.
The borzoi pushed his nose against her face as if to remind her he was there.
A dog is with you? This dog was Byron’s dog? I have it now. Yes, the wound is bad. He is not dead but has shut down his system to conserve blood. He will need special care. Do you have help? My cousin. Paul is the one who shot Byron.
There was a moment of silence and Celt shifted his body, his dark eyes focusing on Paul. “I don’t like the way that dog keeps looking at me,” her cousin said, “I think it wants to tear my throat out.”
“I should let him,” Antonietta snapped, furious that Paul would want sympathy.
Are you near soil of any kind? Rich soil? You will need to pack the wound with it. The bullet exited and tore a hole through his back. Your shoulder is injured as well.
“I’m going for help, Antonietta. We’ll need the doctor,” Paul said decisively. “I think you were shot, too.”
She didn’t notice, she concentrated on the voice.
Tell me what to do. She had to believe that distant voice. Who are you? Jacques. Byron has family in the area. If you can get him out of there into the open, they will come and care for him. I want to care for him.
But Antonietta was already on her feet, tugging at Byron’s dead weight, trying to drag him down the tunnel. The dog caught at Byron’s jacket, adding his strength to hers.
“What the hell are you doing?” Paul demanded. “He’s dead, Antonietta. We have to get you medical attention.”
“Just help,” she snapped. “Don’t say anything, or I may pick up that gun and shoot you myself! I can’t believe you brought that thing into my home.”
“I have people after me,” Paul admitted, reaching down to help pull Byron along the floor. “I got into some trouble with some people I owe money to. They aren’t the kind of men you want to meet up with without a gun.”
“I thought you quit gambling, Paul.”
“Aren’t we going the wrong way? We’re going downhill, toward the cove.”
“That’s right.”
“You aren’t going to just dump the body, are you, Antonietta? I mean,
grazie
, but we have to inform the authorities. I could have killed you, too. We have to give them the body, well, we should give them the body, but if it was found in the sea, or never found—”
“He isn’t dead,” she said between her teeth. “Shut up and concentrate. We have to get him outside.”
“You aren’t making sense, Antonietta.” But Paul continued to help pull the body down through the maze of tunnels until he could smell the sea.
It took hard work, but between Antonietta, Paul, and the borzoi, they managed to get Byron outside. The rain was falling steadily, sheets of it, so that they were instantly soaked through. The wind whipped at them.
“Find me soil, Paul, rich soil, not sandy sod. I want good soil.”
Paul muttered and shook his head, but he did as his cousin wished, taking off his shirt to heap the soil from the beds the gardener had planted just above the cove. He was well aware Antonietta had remarkable powers as a healer, but even she couldn’t bring back the dead. He rushed back to her side and knelt to watch as she packed the wounds, front and back, with the soil. “If you did manage to bring him back, he’d just die again with gangrene.”
“That’s not funny.” Antonietta wanted the reassurance of the voice again.
We’re outside, near the cove. I’ve packed the wounds with soil, but he isn’t responding. Call to him. He will hear you.
Antonietta didn’t hesitate. Her insides were churning, and she wanted to scream and scream. To let the wind carry her horror and the fear held so tightly in check out over the sea and away from her. She never wanted to feel so afraid, so empty and dead again. She leaned close, sheltering his face from the rain.
Byron. Byron, open your eyes.
Her hand trembled as she stroked back his hair in a small caress.
Don’t leave me now that I’ve just found you. Wake up before I begin to weep and scream and plead like a ninny. I’m really afraid, and I need you.
Byron became aware of many voices. At first he couldn’t sort them out. There was chanting in the ancient tongue. Antonietta, summoning him imperiously back to her. Someone was yelling his name. He identified his sister Eleanor’s voice. She sounded close to him, yet he knew she was far away. A man’s voice called to him calmly yet with command. Jacques. Byron was certain he was hallucinating. He hadn’t spoken telepathically with Jacques in years. “Maybe I really am dying.” He muttered the words aloud to test his voice.
“No you’re not! I refuse to allow it,” Antonietta replied firmly. The relief was so tremendous she felt ill.
Pain spread through him, and before he was fully aware, through her, so that she gasped and caught at him. “You need a doctor desperately. You’ve lost so much blood, Byron. You appeared dead, I couldn’t even find a pulse.”
“No, I do not need a doctor, but I would not mind strangling your cousin. Was he trying to kill you or me or both of us?” Byron’s black eyes had already found Paul kneeling beside Antonietta. Paul was very pale. He shook his head in denial. Byron noted Celt had positioned his body for a full-out attack should one be necessary. The dog was in alert mode, watching Paul’s every move. Byron’s dark gaze went back to Antonietta’s white face. There were dark circles under her eyes and blood all over her. It took a minute before he realized not all the blood was his.
“Antonietta, you are injured.” Byron made an effort to rise despite the weakness sweeping through him. The world tilted alarmingly, and blood gushed from his abdomen. His fingers found the gash in her shoulder, lingered there.
Strangely, at his touch, the pain in her shoulder lessened. She pressed him back. “It’s nothing, lie still. Your friend Jacques told me your family was close. He said they would come for you.”
“I had no idea any of my people were near. Go into the house. Keep Celt with you at all times. I will come as soon as I am able. Go now, Antonietta, or you will catch a chill. Your shoulder needs attention.”
“I’m not leaving you alone.”
Byron waved his hand to still all speech. His concentration couldn’t be broken when his reserves were nearly gone. The rain fell steadily. The waves crashed and boomed endlessly. Paul knelt motionless, unable to move or speak. Celt stood over the man, eyes burning alertly. Byron reached for Antonietta. No one else mattered. Nothing else mattered. Not even his broken, torn body. He caught her to him, drew her down, his mouth finding her torn wound. He didn’t have the energy to leave his body and enter hers, but he took his time, using precious minutes to heal her shoulder.