“Yes?” His hands were shaky. She slid the Bible under one.
“Do you know what did that to me? What made my body do those terrible things?”
“Not yet. I will.”
He studied her a moment with weary eyes. “I ’spect you will. Yes, ma’am, I ’spect you will.” His eyes drifted closed.
Once again, Dr. Patel indicated that Lily should precede him out of the room. And when he closed the door on Hodge’s room, he said, “That was nicely done. Although I can’t say you remind me of my grandmother, not when—Agent Yu?” He reached for her.
Lily didn’t quite fall. The dizziness had hit so suddenly, between one breath and the next, that her legs buckled, but she didn’t fall. Dr. Patel’s arm helped. “Give me a minute.”
“You must sit.”
“No, I have to . . .” Had to get her breath, which was being squeezed out of her, making her so weak it was an effort to get words out.
She knew what was wrong. Dammit to hell. She knew.
After months of quiescence, the mate bond had picked now to act up. Now, when Rule was in a car with Toby . . . “I need to go that way,” she said, nodding to the south. That’s where Rule was, and she had to close some of the distance between them. Fast.
She needed the doctor’s help. He didn’t want her moving, but she wasn’t going to do what he wanted, so he gave in and helped. She shuffled back out of the ICU, all the way down the hall, past the entrance to the waiting room . . . and finally, just as she reached the elevators, it eased.
She drew a deep breath. “Okay. I’m okay now.”
“You most certainly are not.” The doctor was angry. “I don’t know what is wrong, but you certainly must be examined.”
She dug her phone out of her pocket. “My condition is . . . unusual, nothing you would have heard of. Trust me. I’m all right now.” She hit speed dial, her heart pounding and her mouth dry, and remembered to add, “Thank you for helping me.”
“Whether you wish it or not, I am not finished helping you.” He grabbed the hand that wasn’t holding the phone and took her pulse.
And then, thank God, she heard Rule’s voice. “We’re fine. I pulled over in time and am turning around now. The dizziness eased enough for me to do that, which I assume means you’re mobile? Unhurt?”
“I’m fine. You’re coming back.”
“I have to, don’t I?”
EIGHTEEN
IT was ten o’clock and full dark when Lily pulled into the driveway at Toby’s home.
The yard was empty once more. Rule would still be able to smell the blood, she thought as she climbed out of the car. She couldn’t. In the yellow glow from the porch light, the grass looked trampled and weary.
About the way she felt. Lily dragged her tote out of the car, closed the door, and clicked it to lock.
The front door opened before she could knock—but it wasn’t Rule who stood there.
“I saw the headlights,” Toby’s grandmother said. She wore a long cotton robe in cheerful green stripes. “Come on in. You must be exhausted.”
“It’s been a long day,” Lily agreed. And not just for her. She stopped in the foyer, studying a face that seemed to have aged ten years in a day. Oh—Mrs. Asteglio wasn’t wearing makeup. Lily had never seen her without it. “Are you all right, Mrs. Asteglio?”
“Not yet, but I will be. And do call me Louise. It’s time, past time . . .” She glanced behind her. The kitchen lights were on; in the den the television was on. She sighed. “I’ve never asked him to use my first name. I wanted to keep him at a distance, but it hasn’t helped, has it?”
It took Lily a second to realize what she meant. “This is happening sooner than you’d expected, but you knew Toby would have to go to his father eventually.”
“I know. That’s why I wanted his father on a last-name basis. Foolish, but I’m not in the mood to be reasonable now, dear. I will be later, but not tonight. Have you eaten? I saved you a plate. Chicken and rice with broccoli.” She turned and headed for the kitchen. She was limping slightly.
“I haven’t, and bless you. But I can get it.”
“I don’t want you to get it.” She paused, looking over her shoulder. “I don’t know what happened to make Rule turn around and come back. He won’t tell me. Oh, he says he got sick suddenly, but they don’t get sick, do they? And Toby had that look he gets when he isn’t supposed to tell me something.” Her lips tightened. “They are so fond of secrets.”
“They have reason,” Lily said quietly, knowing that “they” meant lupi. She’d noticed that Mrs. Asteglio—whom she was now supposed to call Louise—seldom used the word. She’d thought it was lingering prejudice, but maybe not. Maybe the woman had trouble putting a name to something that would inevitably take Toby away from her. “That doesn’t mean we have to like it, though, does it?”
“I don’t expect he has many secrets from you. But never mind me—I’m gloomy tonight. Whatever is wrong, I think he needs you. He’s watching those stupid news reports.” She shook her head, baffled by such behavior. “Toby’s asleep,” she added, and flipped on the light in the kitchen.
Lily followed instructions and her heart. She went into the den.
Rule sprawled on the couch, staring at the television. A perky brunette anchor with a familiar face was solemnly informing viewers that tragedy had struck a small Southern town.
Lily slipped off her jacket and unbuckled her shoulder holster. It was as much a relief to take that off as it would be later when she removed her bra. She draped jacket and rig on the coffee table and curled up with Rule. He took her hand. Neither of them spoke.
Tension drained from her shoulders, her neck. The headache that had started that morning, which ibuprofen had dented without eliminating, slowly drew its talons out of the base of her skull. Almost dizzy with the sudden easing and exhaustion, she closed her eyes. The television switched to a commercial.
Rule would be feeling much the same things. The mate bond—infernal, even dangerous, as it could be—did pay its way. Most lovers instinctively reach for each other when life bitch-slaps them, but for the mate-bonded the comfort of touch was as heightened as it was inescapable.
Not that Lily wanted escape. At the moment all she wanted was right here—a comfortable couch, no need to move, and the feel of Rule, the subtle scent of him.
She noticed another scent just as the microwave dinged. One that made her stomach growl. A second commercial began, and Mrs. Asteglio—Louise—brought Lily a steaming plate. “I’m going on to bed now. You two don’t stay up too late.”
The older woman headed for the stairs. Lily turned to Rule. “What is it about her that makes me want to mind without tripping any of my mother switches?”
“Years of practice.” His fingers toyed with her hair, but his gaze stayed fixed on the TV.
Lily watched, too, in between bites of chicken and rice.
First there was Rule saying, “You are here because of my son. So am I.” The sheen in his eyes couldn’t have been planned, Lily thought. Then there was a shot of all of them together on the porch swing. The brunette gave a brief voice-over about the child custody hearing of “lupus prince Rule Turner,” then said, “but no one could have foreseen the tragic turn events would take” as the image of Rule sprang to his feet—leaped—and Changed.
The camera caught even less of the process than Lily’s eyes. At the moment of Change, Rule seemed to burst into static, a second’s frozen explosion of colorful confetti hanging in midair. Then he was wolf, landing on his feet and streaking through the crowd.
The cameraman had been blocked by that crowd, thank God. There were no shots of Rule knocking Hodge to the ground and lunging for his throat.