Dimly, Gage heard voices, but they were smothered by a drowning fog of pain. He saw the sky, saw it was going blue again, but the faces that leaned over him were blurred and indistinct.
Had it killed him? If so, he wished to Christ death would get a damn move on so the agony would end. It burned, burned, boiling blood, searing bone, and inside his head he screamed. But he had no breath to make a sound, no strength even to writhe in the torment that squeezed, that clawed like flaming talons.
So he closed his eyes.
Enough, he thought. Enough now. Time to go.
So, in surrender, he began to float away from the pain.
The sharp slap to his face irritated him. The second pissed him off. Couldn’t he die in relative peace?
“You come back, you son of a bitch! Do you hear me? You come back. You fight, you fucking coward. You are not going to die and let that bastard win.”
The pain-goddamn it-the pain flooded back. When he opened his eyes in defense, Cybil’s face filled his blurry vision, and her voice just kept badgering, hammering. Those dark eyes of hers were drenched with fury and tears.
He wheezed in an agonizing breath. “I wish you’d shut up.”
“ Cal. Fox.”
“We’ve got him. Come on, Gage.” Cal ’s voice came from some strange distance-miles off, it seemed, and buried in mud. “Focus. Right shoulder. It’s your right shoulder. We’re with you. Focus on the pain.”
“How the fuck am I supposed to do anything else?”
“He’s saying something.” Fox’s face edged into Gage’s view. “Can you hear him? He’s trying to tell us something.”
“I am telling you something, you asshole.”
“His pulse is weak. It’s getting weaker.”
Who was that? Gage wondered. Layla? He saw her words as pale blue lights, drifting at the corner of his eye.
“The bleeding’s stopped. It’s already stopped. The punctures aren’t that deep now. It has to be something else. Some sort of poison.”
And Quinn chimed in, Gage thought. Gang’s all here. Just let me go, for God’s sake. Just let me go.
“We won’t. We can’t.” Cybil leaned closer, but this time her lips rather than her hand laid over his cheek. Blessedly cool. “Please. You have to stay. You have to come back. We can’t lose you.”
Tears spilled out of her eyes, dropped gently onto the wound. They washed through his blood, into the bite, and eased the burn.
“I know it hurts.” She stroked his cheeks, his hair, his screaming shoulder, and wept. “I know it hurts, but you have to stay.”
“He moved. His hand moved.” Fox’s fingers tightened on Gage’s as Gage’s flexed. “ Cal?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Right shoulder, Gage. Start there. We’ve got you.”
He closed his eyes again, but not in surrender this time. Bearing down, he concentrated on the source of the pain, followed it as it spread from his shoulder, down his arm, across his chest. He felt his lungs open again as if the hands that had squeezed them closed now slipped away.
“His pulse is stronger!” Layla called out.
“His color’s coming back, too. He’s coming back, Cyb,” Quinn said.
From where she sat on the ground, cradling his head in her lap, Cybil leaned back down, watched his eyes. “It’s almost over,” she crooned. “Just a little more.”
“Okay. Okay.” He saw her clearly now, felt the grass under him, the grip of his friends’ hands over his. “I’ve got it. Did you call me a fucking coward?”
Her breath drew in on a watery laugh. “It worked.”
“Welcome back, man,” Fox said to him. “The wound’s closing. Let’s get you inside.”
“I got it,” Gage repeated, but couldn’t so much as lift his head. “Okay, maybe I don’t.”
“Give him another minute,” Quinn suggested. “The wound’s closed now, but… there’s a scar.”
“Let’s go inside.” Cybil sent looks to Quinn and Layla that said more than her words. “We’ll make Gage some tea, get his bed ready.”
“I don’t want tea. I don’t want a bed.”
“You’re getting both.” Cybil shifted his head from her lap, patted his cheek, then rose. If she understood men at all-and Gage in particular-he’d prefer the women out of sight when his friends helped him into the house.
“I want coffee,” Gage said, but the women were already headed back to the house.
“Bet you do. Quinn’s right about the scar,” Fox added. “Nothing’s ever scarred us since the blood brothers ritual.”
“None of us had a demon try to take a bite out of us either,” Cal put in. “It’s never been able to do anything like that before, not even during the Seven.”
“Times change. Give me a hand, will you? Let’s just start with sitting up.” With his friends on either arm, Gage managed to make it to sitting. Where his head spun for three wicked revolutions. “Jesus.” He sat, with his head braced by his updrawn knees. “I’ve never felt pain like that and I’ve had plenty of pain. Did I scream?”
“No. You went white, dropped like a stone.” Cal swiped sweat off his own face.
“Inside I was screaming like a little girl. Where’s my shirt?” he demanded when he lifted his head and realized he was naked to the waist.
“We had to rip it off you, get to the wound,” Fox told him. “You didn’t move, not a flicker, Gage. You were barely breathing. I swear to God, I thought you were gone.”
“I was. Or nearly.” Cautiously, Gage turned his head, pressed fingers to the scar on his shoulder. “It doesn’t even ache now. I feel pretty weak, a lot shaky, but there’s no pain.”
“You need to sleep. You know how it goes,” Cal added. “It sucks you dry, that intense a healing.”
“Yeah, maybe. Get me up, will you?”
With an arm slung around each of his friends, Gage gained his rubbery legs. When half a dozen steps toward the house left him kitten-weak, he accepted he’d need that bed. But there was satisfaction in his belly as he looked at the empty porch rail.
“Bastard blew that rock to hell and back.”
“Yeah, he did. Can you make the steps?”
“I can make them.” In fact, he was smiling through gritted teeth when Cal and Fox all but carried him into the house.
Since he was too tired to fight off a trio of females, he drank the tea Cybil foisted on him. And he dropped onto the bed with its freshly smoothed sheets and plumped pillows.
“Why doncha lie down with me, sugar?”
“That’s sweet, honey.”
“Not you.” Gage waved off Fox, pointed to Cybil. “Big brown eyes there. Fact, maybe all the pretty women oughta lie down here with me. Plenty of room.”
“What the hell did you put in that tea?” Cal demanded.
“Secret ingredient. Go ahead.” Cybil sat on the side of the bed. “I’ll stay with him until he drops off.”
“Come on over here and say that.”
Smiling, Cybil waved off the others, then angling her head, studied Gage’s face.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he mumbled.
“Hello, handsome. You’ve had a busy morning. Go to sleep.”
“Pissed you off.”
“Pissed you off back. That was the plan.”
“Damn good plan.”
“Risky, potentially stupid plan.”
He smirked. “Worked.”
“You have me there.”
“Didn’t mean that shit about your father.”
“I know. Shh.” She bent down, kissed his cheek.
“Maybe meant some of the other shit-can’t remember. Did you?”
“We’ll talk about it later.”
“She said-Ann Hawkins said-you’d cry for me. That it would matter. You did. It did. You brought me back, Cybil.”
“I gave you a jumpstart. You did the rest. Gage.” Shuddering once, she laid her cheek against his. “I thought you’d die. Nothing’s ever scared me like that, or torn at me like that. I thought you’d die. That we’d lose you. That I would. You were dying in my arms, and until that moment, I didn’t realize that I-”