They were soul mates, and he could feel it.
No, no, no.
The fighting behind me increased. I wanted to look, wanted to know that my brother was okay, but I didn’t dare. I needed to look after his lover first, because without Liander, I’d have no brother.
“I’m not dying,” Liander whispered, his skin so pale and his body shaking. “I won’t die on you, Rhoan. I promise.”
He couldn’t keep that promise. Not if we didn’t get help soon.
God, where were the fucking medics?
Where the hell was Quinn?
I’d barely even thought that, and he was there.
“Hold him,” he said, and something silver flashed up high. Liander was suddenly a deadweight in my arms, and I grunted softly, holding him against me, my body trembling with the effort of not letting him drop.
Quinn freed the other man and lowered him to the ground, then stepped over him and came back to me.
“Okay, I’ve got him,” he said, and suddenly Liander’s weight eased away from me.
“Careful,” I said, panic in my voice. “There’s bits of his insides leaking from the wound.”
“Small intestines, probably.” He wasn’t looking at me, but rather Liander, gently feeling his upper abdominal area. “Is that tender?”
Liander shook his head. Quinn grunted. “Hopefully, no liver or spleen damage, then.” He glanced at me. “I saw a first-aid kit in the car. Run and grab it.”
I couldn’t figure out how the hell a first-aid kit was going to help, but I didn’t argue. I simply got up and ran. Rhoan was fighting like a madman, and the real madman was getting beaten to a bloody pulp.
Rhoan had no intention of killing him fast. No intention of using the stakes lying nearby on the ground just yet. Young was going to pay.
I couldn’t feel chilled by that. I really couldn’t.
I reached the car, flung open the door, and saw the kit on the backseat. As I grabbed it, I heard the sirens and hope ran through me.
They’d get here in time to save him.
They would.
I had to believe that. For Rhoan’s sake, and for mine.
I ran back to the clearing as fast as I could and dropped down beside Quinn. Liander’s skin was pale and clammy looking, and his breathing seemed rapid.
“Shock,” Quinn said. “Has the kit got sterile bandages?”
My fingers were shaking so hard it took several attempts to open the kit. “Yes,” I said, looking at him.
“Open it and give one to me.”
I did, adding, “It’s moist.”
“Perfect.” He covered the leaking intestines with it. “Is there a large abdominal or universal dressing in there?”
“There’s a thick bandage.”
“That’ll do.”
A scream hit the air, a thick sound of pain that went on and on, and vaguely sounded like words. My eyes, my eyes…
Rhoan, still bent on revenge. I closed my eyes and said, “Rhoan, end it. Liander needs you here.” I looked up at Quinn. “There’s an ambulance on its way.”
“Then get up there, and get them down here fast.” His voice was grim. “We need to get him to a hospital.”
I got up and turned around. Saw Rhoan grab Young by the neck and snap it sideways. There was a crack and Young went limp. Not a killing blow, because broken necks didn’t kill vampires outright, but it was certainly disabling.
I closed my eyes. “Finish it, Rhoan.”
He looked at me briefly, his bloodied face free of emotion, his gaze still that of a killer. Then he turned, grabbed a stake, and plunged it into Young’s heart. Young screamed, but the sound was abruptly cut off as blue fire erupted from the wound, spreading rapidly across Young’s body, consuming and destroying.
Rhoan watched dispassionately for a moment, then turned away. His gaze went past me and his face crumbled, and suddenly he was sobbing and running toward Liander.
I resisted the instinct to grab him, comfort him, and ran to find the only hope Liander had.
Chapter 11
Twenty-four hours later, I was sitting in a waiting room in a Melbourne hospital, holding my brother’s hand and hoping for the best.
Liander had lost a lot of blood and was now in emergency surgery to fix cuts to both his bowel and small intestines. He might be a werewolf, but there were some wounds that even a werewolf needed help to heal.
Rhoan hadn’t said a word since we’d arrived. Other than acknowledging Liander’s parents as they’d come in, he simply held my hand and stared at the wall, a blank expression on his face.
Not allowing himself to think.
Not allowing himself to feel.
In some ways, the very lack of emotion scared me, simply because I knew it was all there, bottled up, ready to explode should the worst happen. And I wasn’t entirely sure the four of us would be able to contain his wrath and grief if Liander did slip away.
I hoped Ben was right. Hoped that he wasn’t an exception to the rule, and that losing a soul mate didn’t necessarily mean death. I didn’t want to lose my brother—and especially not like this.
I swallowed the bitter taste of fear and pushed the negative thoughts away. Liander would live. He’d promised, and he wasn’t a man to make such promises lightly.
Quinn came back into the waiting room, a tray of coffees in his hands. He placed it down on the small table in front of us, then offered one to Liander’s parents. Yann, a heavier-set version of Liander himself, shook his head, but Raina—another silver wolf—accepted a cup gratefully, a small smile of thanks breaking the worry etched into her lined features.
Quinn held a cup out to me and I took it gratefully, sipping at the hot liquid and wincing a little at its bitter taste. Hospital coffee was on par with the muck we got at work.
“Rhoan?” Quinn said, offering him one of the remaining plastic mugs.
“No, thanks.”
“Rhoan—” I said, but he cut in sharply.
“No!”
His voice cracked with a mix of worry and barely repressed fury—everything that wasn’t showing on his face. I squeezed his hand. I could only imagine what he was going through, and as frustrating as his reactions were at the moment, they were also totally understandable. Hell, there was no way known I would have been as calm as he currently was if it had been my soul mate out there in the operating room.
Quinn sat back down beside me, pressing his warmth against my side and helping to battle the chill threatening to overwhelm me. He, like me, smelled of old blood, but my scent was also mixed with the aroma of fear and dried sweat, and it was decidedly unpleasant. As was my dress, which had become stiff and uncomfortable with all the dried blood on it. I plucked at the material lightly with my fingers. It was yet another dress that would end up in the trash. This job was playing havoc with my wardrobe. And my life.
God, please, let Liander be okay.
I took another sip of coffee, then leaned against Quinn a little more, resting my head lightly on his shoulder. He didn’t say anything, simply wrapped his arm around my shoulder and hugged me.
It was good that he was here, and not just because his mere presence had an oddly soothing effect. Quinn was convinced Liander would pull through, and that conviction rolled off him like a blanket, smothering the flames of panic that might otherwise be present.
But I was also glad that he was there for me. Glad I had someone that I could lean against when I needed to. There hadn’t been a whole lot of people I could say that about in my life, and the fact that I was feeling it now, with Quinn, made me realize that no matter what the difficulties were between us, we had to give this a fair go.
I might be an independent, stupid bitch at times—okay, most of the time—but even I needed someone to turn to occasionally. Someone who wasn’t my brother or his lover.
My phone rang into the silence. I took a breath and blew it out slowly. I knew without looking that it would be Jack.