by J. R. Ward
Phury lifted his battered face, blood glistening on his swollen lips and beat-to-hell nose. The lesser with the brass knuckles whirled around and seemed momentarily confused.
Zsadist aimed his gun at the fucker, but the slayer was right in front of Phury: The slightest miscalculation and the bullet was going to drill into his twin. Z dropped the muzzle, squeezed the trigger, and nailed the lesser in the leg, shattering his knee. The bastard screamed and dropped to the floor.
Z went for him. Except just as he got a hold on the undead, another popping sound went off.
The blaze of pain shot through Z’s shoulder. He knew he’d been plugged a good one, but he couldn’t think about that right now. He focused on getting control over the lesser’s gun, which was the same thing the SOB was trying to do to Z’s Sig. They struggled on the floor, each trying to get a grip on the other in spite of the blood that was oiling them up. Punches were thrown and hands grabbed and legs thrashed. Both guns were lost in the grappling.
About four minutes into the fight Z’s strength started to flag with alarming speed. Then he was on the bottom, the lesser sitting on his chest. Z gave a push, willing his body to throw the weight on it off, but though his mind gave the command, for once his limbs refused to obey. He glanced at his shoulder. He was bleeding out, no doubt because that slug had hit an artery. And that shot of morphine didn’t help.
In the lull of the fighting, the lesser was panting and wincing, like his leg was killing him. “Who…the fuck…are you?”
“The one…you want,” Z shot back, breathing just as hard. Shit… He had to work to keep his vision from phasing out. “I’m the one…who took her…from you.”
“How…do…I know that?”
“I watched the scars…on her stomach heal. Until your mark…on her disappeared.”
The lesser froze.
Now would have been an excellent time to get the upper hand, except Z was too spent.
“She’s dead,” the slayer whispered.
“No.”
“Her portrait—”
“She lives. Breathes. And you will…never find her again.”
The slayer’s mouth opened and a primal scream of fury came out like a blast.
In the midst of the noise Z calmed down. Suddenly breathing was easy. Or maybe he’d just stopped altogether. He watched as the slayer moved in slo-mo, unsheathing one of Z’s black daggers and lifting the thing overhead with both hands.
Zsadist tracked his thoughts carefully because he wanted to know what his last one was going to be. He thought of Phury and wanted to weep, because no doubt his twin wouldn’t last long. God. He’d always failed that male, hadn’t he…?
And then he thought of Bella. Tears came to his eyes as images of her flickered through his mind…so vivid, so clear…until from over the lesser’s shoulder, a vision of her appeared. She was so real, it was as if she were actually standing in the doorway.
“I love you,” he whispered as his own blade came down toward his chest.
“David,” her voice commanded.
The lesser’s whole body jerked around, the dagger’s trajectory getting transferred so it landed in the floorboards next to Z’s upper arm.
“David, come here.”
The lesser lurched to his feet as Bella held her arm out.
“You were dead,” the lesser said, voice cracking.
“No.”
“I went to your house…. I saw the portrait. Oh, God…” The lesser started to cry as he limped closer and closer to her, black blood trailing after him. “I thought I’d killed you.”
“You didn’t. Come here.”
Z tried desperately to work his mouth, gripped by an awful suspicion that this was no vision. He started to yell, but it came out as a moan. And then the lesser was in Bella’s arms and weeping openly.
Z watched as her hand came around and went up onto the slayer’s back. In it was the little handgun, the one he’d given her before they’d gone to her house.
Oh, Sweet Virgin…No!
Bella was in a state of weird calm as she brought the gun higher and higher. Moving slowly, she kept murmuring words that soothed until the barrel was on a level with David’s skull. She leaned back, and as he lifted his head to meet her eyes, he brought his ear right to the muzzle.
“I love you,” he said.
She pulled the trigger.
The explosion kicked her hand out and spun her arm away, throwing her off balance. As the sound faded she heard a thud and looked down. The lesser was on his side, still blinking. She’d expected his head to blow up or something, but there was just a neat little hole at his temple.
Nausea hit her hard, but she ignored it, stepping over the body and going to Zsadist.
Oh, God. There was blood everywhere.
“Bella…” His hands lifted off the ground and his mouth worked slowly.
She cut him off by reaching for his chest holster and taking the remaining dagger from him. “I need to do it in his sternum, right?”
Ah, hell. Her voice was as bad as her body. Wobbly. Weak.
“Run…get…out of—”
“In the heart, right? Or he’s not dead. Zsadist, answer me!”
When he nodded, she went over to the lesser and pushed him onto his back with her foot. His eyes were staring up at her, and she knew she was going to be seeing them in her nightmares for years to come. Grabbing the knife with both hands, she put it up over her head, and plunged it down. The resistance the blade met sickened her to the point of gagging, but the popping sound and the flash of light were a closure of sorts.
She let herself fall back and hit the floor, but two breaths were all she could spare. She went to Zsadist, tearing off her coat and fleece. She wrapped the pullover around his shoulder, then stripped off her belt, looped it around the thick wad, and cinched it up tight to keep it in place.
The whole time Zsadist struggled against her, urging her to run, to leave them.
“Shut up,” she told him, and bit into her own wrist. “Drink this or die, your choice. But make up your mind quick, because I need to check on Phury and then I’ve got to get the two of you out of here.”
She held her arm out to him, right over his mouth. Her blood welled and dripped onto his closed lips.
“You bastard,” she whispered. “Do you hate me so much—”
He lifted his head and latched onto her vein, his cold mouth telling her all she needed to know about how close to death he was. He drank slowly at first and then with increasing greed. Little sounds came out of him, sounds at odds with his big warrior body. He sounded as if he were mewing, a starved cat at a font of milk.
When he let his head fall back, his eyes closed with satiation. Her blood seeped into him; she watched him breathe through his open mouth. But there was no time to stare. She raced across the shed to Phury. He was unconscious, chained to the table, bloody as hell. But his chest was going up and down.
Damn it. Those steel chains had Master locks dangling from them. She was going to have to cut him free with something. She went over to the left, to a horrific selection of tools—
And that was when she saw the body in the corner. A young female with short blond hair.
Tears welled and flowed as she checked to make sure the girl was dead. When it was obvious she had passed unto the Fade, Bella swiped her own eyes clear and forced herself to focus. She needed to get the living out of here; they were her first priority. Afterward…one of the Brothers could come back and…
Oh…God…oh…God…oh…God.
Shuddering, close to hysterical, she picked up a Sawzall, fired the thing up, and made quick work of Phury’s restraints. When he didn’t come around after all the shrill noise, she got terrified again.
She looked at Zsadist, who had fought to get his upper body off the floor.
“I’m going to go get that truck by the cabin,” she said. “You stay here and conserve your strength. I need you to help me move Phury. He’s out cold. And the girl
…” Her voice choked up. “We’ll have to leave her….”
Bella ran across the snow to the cabin, desperately hoping to find the truck’s keys, trying hard not to think what she would do if she didn’t.
Merciful Virgin, they were on a hook by the door. She grabbed them, raced for the F-150, started the damn thing, and gunned it around to the shed. A quick skidding turn and she backed it bed-first to the doorway.
She was just getting out of the driver’s side when she saw Zsadist weaving like a drunk between the jambs. Phury was in his arms, and Zsadist wasn’t going to last long holding up all that weight. She popped the lip on the bed and the two fell in, all tangled limbs and blood. She shoved at their bodies with her feet, then jumped up and pulled them farther back by their belts.
When they were in far enough, she threw one leg over the gunwale of the truck and hopped to the ground. She slammed the lip shut and met Zsadist’s eyes.
“Bella.” His voice was a mere whisper, just a movement of his lips backed up by a sigh of sadness. “I don’t want this for you. All this…ugliness.”
She turned away from him. A moment later she hit the gas.
The one-lane road that led away from the cabin was her only option, and she prayed she didn’t meet anyone on the way. When she came out onto Route 22, she said a prayer of thanks to the Scribe Virgin and headed for Havers’s at a dead run.
Tilting the rearview mirror, she looked into the truck bed. It must have been freezing back there, but she didn’t dare slow down.
Maybe the cold would slow the blood loss for both of them.
Oh…God.
Phury was aware of an icy wind blowing over his bare skin and across his bald head. He moaned and curled up into himself. God, he was cold. Was this what you had to go through to make it into the Fade? Then thank the Virgin it only happened once.
Something moved against him. Arms…there were arms coming around him, arms that took him in close to a kind of warmth. Shivering, he gave himself up to whoever it was who held him so gently.
What was that noise? Close to his ear…a sound other than the roaring wind.
Singing. Someone was singing to him.
Phury smiled a little. How perfect. The angels that were taking him unto the Fade truly did have beautiful voices.
He thought of Zsadist and compared the lovely melody he heard now with the ones he had listened to in real life.
Yes, Zsadist had had a voice like an angel, as it turned out. He truly had.
Chapter Forty-seven
When Zsadist came awake, his first instinct was to sit up.
Bad fucking idea. His shoulder let out a holler and nailed him with a shot of pain so intense, he blacked out again.
Round two.
This time when he woke up at least he remembered what not to do. He turned his head slowly instead of trying to get vertical. Where the hell was he? The place seemed halfway between a guest bedroom and a hospital setup—Havers. He was at Havers’s clinic.
And someone was sitting in the shadows across the unfamiliar room.
“Bella?” he croaked.
“Sorry.” Butch leaned forward, into the light. “Just me.”
“Where is she?” Man, he was hoarse. “Is she all right?”
“She’s fine.”
“Where…where is she?”
“She’s…ah, she’s leaving town, Z. Actually I think she’s already gone.”
Zsadist closed his eyes. Considered briefly the merits of passing out again.
He couldn’t blame her for getting away, though. Christ, the situations she’d been put in. Not the least of which was killing that lesser. It was better that she get far away from Caldwell.
Although he ached all over from the loss.
He cleared his throat. “Phury? Is he—”
“Right next door. Bunged up, but okay. The two of you have been out to lunch for a couple of days.”
“Tohr?”
“No one has any idea where he is. It’s like he vanished.” The cop blew out his breath. “John’s supposed to be staying at the mansion, but we can’t get him out of the training center. He’s been sleeping in Tohr’s office. Any other updates you want?” As Z shook his head, the cop got to his feet. “I’ll leave you alone now. I just assumed you’d feel better knowing where things stood.”
“Thanks…Butch.”
The cop’s eyes flared at the sound of his name, making Z realize he’d never used it with the guy before.
“Sure,” the human said. “No problem.”
As the door eased shut, Zsadist sat up. While his head spun he yanked the monitors off his chest and his forefinger. Alarms started to go off, and he silenced them by pushing over the stand of machinery that was next to the bed. The tangle of monitors unplugged itself on the way to the floor and shut up.
He yanked the catheter out with a grimace and looked at the IV going into his forearm. He was about to rip it from his vein, but then figured chilling on that move might be smart. God only knew what was pumping into him. Maybe he needed it.
He stood up and his body felt like a beanbag, all loose inside his skin. The IV pole made a good walker, though, so he hit the hallway. As he started for the room beside his, nurses came running from all directions. He shrugged them off and pushed open the first door he got to.
Phury was lying on the king-size bed, lines plugged into him as if he were a switchboard.
The male’s head turned. “Z…what are you doing up?”
“Giving the medical staff a workout.” He shut the door and weaved into the room, heading for the bed. “They’re pretty damn fast, actually.”
“You shouldn’t be—”
“Shut up and move over.”
Phury looked startled as hell, but he pushed himself to the far side as Z heaved his exhausted body up onto the mattress. When he lay back against the pillows, the two of them let out identical sighs.
Z rubbed his eyes. “You’re ugly without all that hair, you know.”
“That mean you’re going to grow some?”
“Nah. My beauty-queen days are over.”
Phury chuckled. Then there was a long silence.
In the quiet, Zsadist kept picturing what it had been like to go into that lesser’s shed and see Phury strapped to that table, his hair gone, his face beat to shit. Having to witness his twin’s pain had been…an agony.
Z cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t have used you like I did.”
The bed wiggled as if Phury had jerked his head around. “What?”
“When I wanted to…hurt. I shouldn’t have made you beat me.”
There was no reply, and Z turned for a look, watching as Phury covered his eyes with his hands.
“That was cruel of me,” Z said into the dim, tense air between them.
“I hated doing that to you.”
“I know, and I knew it when I made you hit me until I bled. That I fed off your misery was the cruelest part. I’m never going to ask you to do that again.”
Phury’s bare chest rose and fell. “I’d rather it be me than anyone else. So when you need it, you let me know. I’ll do it.”
“Christ, Phury—”
“What? It’s the only way you’ll let me take care of you. The only way you’ll let me touch you.”
Now Z was the one covering stinging eyes with a forearm. He had to cough a couple of times before speaking. “Look, no more saving me, my brother, okay? That’s over now. Finished. It’s time for you to let go.”
There was no reply. So Z glanced over again—just as a tear slid down Phury’s cheek.
“Ah…fuck,” Z muttered.
“Yeah. Pretty much.” Another tear rolled out of Phury’s eye. “God…damn. I’m leaking.”
“Okay, brace yourself.”
Phury scrubbed his face with his palms. “Why?”
“Because…I think I’m going to try to hug you.”
Phury’s hands dropped and he looked over with an absurd expression.
Feeling like an utter ass, Z pushed himself over to his twin. “Lift up your head, damn it.” Phury craned his neck. Z slid his arm underneath. The two of them froze in the unnatural positions. “You know, this was a hell of a lot easier when you were out cold in the back of that truck.”
“That was you?”
“You think it was Santa Claus or some shit?”
Z’s hackles were rising all over the place. God… He was really exposed here. What the hell was he doing?
“I thought you were an angel,” Phury said softly as he laid his head back onto Z’s arm. “When you sang to me, I thought you were seeing me safely unto the Fade.”
“I’m no angel.” He reached up and smoothed his hand over Phury’s cheek, sweeping the wetness away. Then he closed the male’s eyelids with his fingertips.
“I’m tired,” Phury murmured. “So…tired.”
Z stared at his twin’s face for what felt like the very first time. The bruises were already healing, the swelling going down, the jagged cut he’d given himself fading. What was revealed were lines of exhaustion and strain, not much of an improvement.
“You’ve been tired for centuries, Phury. It’s time to let go of me.”
“Don’t think I can.”
Zsadist inhaled deeply. “That night I was taken from the family…No, don’t look at me. It’s too…close. I can’t breathe when you do…. Christ, just close your eyes, okay?” Z coughed some more, little chuffing sounds that were the only reason he could speak through his tight throat. “That night, it wasn’t your fault you didn’t get snatched. And you can’t make up for the fact that you were lucky and I wasn’t. I want you to stop looking after me.”
Phury’s breath shuddered out of him. “Do you…do you have any idea what it felt like to see you in that cell, naked and chained and…to know what that female had done to you for so long?”
“Phury—”
“I know it all, Z. I know everything that happened to you. I heard about it from males who…had been there. Before I knew it was you that they spoke of, I heard the stories.”