by Bec McMaster
abdomen, painfully pale against the mess of blood,
and... other. Wide bronze eyes looked up,
startlingly vulnerable, as he settled at her side. She
was never vulnerable. It scared the piss out of him.
"I-I can't."
"You're not going to bleed out." The skin was
torn, a great, gaping wound. He didn't even know
where to start. What to do. Reaching up, he
pressed the comm at his ear. "Craigmore?" The
word came out half-hysterical.
"Sir?" Came the static-crackled reply.
"Is Dr. Gibson out there yet?"
"Just arrived, sir."
"Send him up immediately. Room fourteen.
I've got someone here who needs stitching and
bandaging. She's bleeding badly. I don't.... Hell,
just tell him to bring his entire kit."
"Will do, sir."
Byrnes shrugged out of his jacket, scrunching
it into a pillow and pressing it behind her head as
he laid her down. "Are you cold? Does it hurt?"
"Hot, actually." She was starting to shake
now, her teeth forming an indentation in that plump
lower lip. "Byrnes—"
"Hot?" A hand cupped to her forehead
revealed the truth; blisteringly hot. He jerked his
hand back in surprise before realizing. The loupe.
A hand caught his, wet with blood. Ingrid
gasped for breath, as if she’d been running.
"Ingrid, can you breathe?" Panic lit through
him like a struck match. He didn't know what to do.
All of his medic training evaporated like smoke in
his brain. Normal people didn't recover from
wounds like this, but if she were a blue blood he
wouldn't have been worried.
Don't be a fool. She's verwulfen. Nothing
can take verwulfen down.
Except a vampire, came that little whisper.
Christ, what could she survive? The color of
her skin scared the hell out of him, and the way she
was panting.
"N-normal," she managed, grinding the word
out between gritted teeth. Sweat darkened her hair.
"Burning up... normal. B-breathing... like this. I'll
fall asleep soon. Hard to... wake."
That eased his fear. Normal. This was
normal. "Can you survive this?"
She managed to nod. I can.
"Good." Byrnes grabbed the sheet off his
mother's bed and wadded it, pressing down over
her abdomen to slow the bleeding.
Then he finally lost it.
"Why?" It was a hoarse demand. "Why the
hell would you have entered this bloody place,
knowing there was a vampire on the loose?
Knowing you were alone? Why, damn it?"
"Your m-mother...."
Not his mother. She had done this for him. To
save someone he held precious. Emotion knotted
up in his throat, burning hot and heavy. For a
second Byrnes was afraid it would spill out of
him, that he wouldn't be able to choke it down.
"Don't you do this again," he snapped.
"Promise me."
Ingrid looked startled. "I t-thought you... didn't
care."
"I never said I didn't care," he snarled,
pressing his forehead against hers so that he
wouldn't have to look her in the eye. "Promise me
you won't ever go off alone like this again."
"P-promise."
His hands were shaking too. "I could wring
your bloody neck. You could have been killed."
"Byrnes," she whispered, weakly stroking his
hand. "Caleb?"
That lump in his throat felt like a fist now.
"I'm all right," she said, watching him with
wide, startled eyes.
He was shaking so violently he didn't know
what was wrong with him. "You are not bloody all
right—"
"Byrnes?" A sharp rap came at the door.
Gibson. Thank God. "Am I right to enter?"
Byrnes yanked the door open.
IN THE MEDIC VAN, Byrnes sat with Ingrid
curled in his arms, wrapped in a blanket. Gibson
had stitched her wounds closed and bandaged
them, but Byrnes didn't have it in him to set her
aside. Seeing Ingrid fade into a healing sleep as the
loupe fired through her blood made every dark
instinct within him rise.
"My mother?" he managed to ask.
"Garrett's got her," Gibson replied, watching
him carefully. "He's taking her to the guild and
making sure she's all right. He said to do what you
need to; he's got your mother for now."
Byrnes relaxed an inch. He hadn't even
noticed the guild master in the chaos, but there was
no one else he'd trust with his mother's care. She'd
been frightened and still rocking in the corner by
the time Gibson had managed to sew Ingrid up, but
she hadn't been injured.
Not like Ingrid.
"Like that, is it, lad?" Gibson reached inside
his coat, tugging out a flask and handing it over.
Byrnes stared at it hollowly. "No. It's... not.
It's—" He didn't know what it was. Or perhaps he
had the slightest suspicion.... After all, he had run
into a vampire-infested building after her, the very
same idiocy that he'd accused her of. Not a moment
of hesitation had afflicted him. All he'd known was
that he had to get to her before something bad
happened.
"Take a drink, boy. She'll steady your nerves."
"I don't have nerves," he replied flatly, though
he took the flask.
Gibson merely looked amused. "Of course
not."
Bloody rotting bastard. Gibson knew him too
well. Better perhaps than he himself did, for he
hadn't realized how he felt until this moment.
Garrett was going to laugh himself silly. Of all the
things to happen, falling for a stubborn verwulfen
lass was the last thing Byrnes had expected.
But fall he had. The truth was unexpected, but
how could he fight it? He felt like he wanted to
squeeze her unconscious body against his chest, as
if afraid she'd somehow be taken from him. That
moment... the moment he smelled her scent and
realized that she'd gone in there, alone....
Cold rushed through his body, as if he relived
it. Byrnes took a swig and choked as whiskey
burned down his throat. By the time he handed it
back, Gibson merely looked old and tired.
"Not much for me to do there, lad. A bloody
shame." Gibson upended the flask himself. "So
many bodies."
"I thought she was going to be one of them."
Gibson made a clicking noise in his cheek.
"Never had much to do with her type before, but by
the look of it, she'll heal. You can't dwell on
'thought.' She's here now, and she'll be whole and
hearty in no time."
Byrnes merely grunted. When he looked
down, he found Ingrid's face tucked against his
chest, her cheeks flushed with red, and the fingers
of her right hand curled in his shirt collar as if she
hadn't wanted to let go.
Realization was dawning upon him like a sun
precious to him. She was the strongest, toughest
woman he'd ever met, but seeing her like this
gouged out a piece of him inside.
He couldn't fight the truth anymore: Her
smiles made him smile.
Her pain made an awful knot twist in his
stomach.
Her anger and fear made him feel protective.
It was a textbook case of a blue blood
claiming. Garrett had been just as irrational. Even
Lynch had played the bloody fool, following
around on Rosa's heels, and Byrnes hadn't
understood then. He'd mocked the both of them, not
even realizing how helpless one was against this
emotion.
Swiftly, he ran their past few encounters
through his mind, trying to work out precisely
when it had begun.
Byrnes frowned, brushing a strand of sweat-
slicked hair off her cheek. He couldn't think of a
single moment that seemed to define this sudden
momentous shift within him. Instead it had been a
slow slide, taking him unawares, and it had begun
the second he walked into Garrett's office a year
ago and a pair of breathtaking bronze eyes had
lifted to his as Garrett introduced his new partner.
“I work better alone,” he'd promptly retorted.
“Afraid you'll be outclassed?” came the husky
reply, and a part of him had known then that this
woman was unlike any other he'd ever met.
In his arms, Ingrid gave a soft sigh and shifted
in her sleep. And Byrnes couldn't stop himself
from resettling her until her head rested against his
chest where she'd hear his heart racing. What was
he going to do? They wanted different things out of
life, didn't they?
An image of baby Phillip shot to mind,
dribbling on Ingrid's shoulder, and Byrnes
panicked. Because he wasn't that man, he'd never
been that man, and yet he didn't know if he could
do the right thing again and walk away from her.
"Well and truly done in by the look of you."
Gibson snorted.
And for once, he couldn't for the life of him
disagree.
TWENTY-ONE
TWO HOURS LATER, Byrnes found himself at the
guild.
A warm patient voice read some of Shelley's
poetry in the guild master's office, and Byrnes
eased the door open, slipping inside so as not to
startle his mother. Garrett sat by the fire, book
open in his lap as he read over the head of a
sleeping infant tucked over his shoulder. His blue
eyes flickered up and he nodded to Byrnes, then
kept reading.
On the sofa lay his mother, her head resting
against a pillow and her eyes sleepy.
"Hello," Byrnes said, kneeling by her feet and
clasping her paper-thin hands in his. "Has Garrett
been looking after you well?"
His mother smiled, blue eyes watery and
distant. "H’lo, dear."
Dear. His chest squeezed.
A part of him wanted to say, “It's Caleb.” But
that wouldn't make any difference. In her mind
Caleb was a young boy and she often worried
about feeding him, or where he was and who was
watching out for him. Just saying the name would
rouse her panic as she tried to find her little boy.
She patted his cheek and Byrnes slid onto the
sofa beside her, trying to move quietly. Having two
of them in the room at once would agitate her a
little, as if she couldn't quite pay attention to the
both of them, so he simply held her hand and
gestured for Garrett to keep reading.
It took almost another ten minutes for his
mother to fall asleep, her head resting against his
shoulder, and Byrnes stared into the flames in the
grate until Garrett fell silent.
"Where's Perry?" he whispered.
"Coordinating the hunt," Garrett whispered
back, setting the book aside and rubbing the back
of his daughter. "I didn't want to leave your mother
alone. She was quite settled with me sitting here,
but when I tried to leave she grew upset again."
"Thank you." He knew how difficult it was
for Garrett to let his wife coordinate a hunt for a
dangerous vampire whilst he was forced to stay
behind, especially now that Perry was a mother.
But that was Garrett—he knew how to calm
people, and listen to them, and charm them. There
was no one else who'd have been able to keep
Moira quiet. And Byrnes was fairly certain that
Perry wouldn't be anywhere near the danger.
"There’s word on the street that there’s some
sort of monster stalking the city," Garrett
murmured, closing the book of poetry and setting it
aside. "My Nighthawks have been dealing with
hysterical people ever since. I know we said to
wait….”
Byrnes eased the rug up over his mother's
shoulders, then stroked his hand through her thin
hair. "It’s time to take action. We need to start
hunting these creatures, and Ulbricht’s mistress. It
wouldn't hurt to have more men to help work out
where they're holing up, if you’re willing to send
the Nighthawks into danger?"
“That’s our job.” Garrett sighed. "I thought
that after the blood frenzy case I'd never have to
deal with something like this again."
"You hoped."
"And how is Ingrid?"
There was a fist lodged in his chest at the
mere thought of her, but he wasn't about to admit
that. "Healing. She's lucky she's verwulfen."
Garrett considered him. "Gibson called in,
after he'd seen to her."
"I'll just bet he did. And what did he have to
say?"
"That apparently the mighty have fallen."
Byrnes cursed under his breath. Garrett had
been waiting years for this to happen. Byrnes had
thought it never would. "If you say one more word
about it, I swear I'll strangle you."
Garrett's grin had something of the Cheshire
cat about it. "What would I say? That Lynch owes
me a bottle of his finest. Thank you, old friend." He
clapped Byrnes on the shoulder as he stood.
"Though it took you long enough."
"Nothing's happening."
"Are you fouling it up so badly?"
"I'm not—" Byrnes shut his mouth. "Get me
something to drink." He glanced down as his
mother shifted. "And lower your voice."
"At the risk of being told to go to hell, I'm not
the one shouting," Garrett mock-whispered, then
glanced at the baby on his shoulder as she stirred.
"And I've learned the consequences of being loud.
Here. Hold her while I get us a drink."
Byrnes found himself with a bundle of
blankets and baby. Christ. Garrett rolled his eyes
and helped settle her properly in Byrnes’s arms.
"You're a natural," Garrett said dryly.
"Sometimes I wonder why I bother to visit
you." He h
eld the bundle awkwardly. "Which twin
is this?"
"Ivy," Garrett replied. "Grace has been
struggling with colic, so Doyle's pushing her in the
perambulator to try and get her to sleep."
"Jesus." The Nighthawks had turned mad. He
couldn't picture loud, swarthy Doyle pushing a
perambulator. "It's probably a good thing I'm out of
here."
"Whether you like it or not, we're all a part of
your life, Byrnes. And Perry's adamant you're
going to teach the twins how to use knives."
Garrett poured him a glass of blud-wein. He
cleared his throat. "Is there a problem? You
couldn't take your eyes off Ingrid and Phillip the
other day at dinner."
He wanted to bang his head against a wall.
Garrett's instincts were too good. "No problem.
Just... life is changing."
"Some of us have been through such a thing
before. It's not all bad. Actually, its mostly rather
wonderful, once you get through the confusion at
the start. There's nothing like waking up—"
"Please. Don't." Byrnes curled up his lip.
"Perry's like my sister."
"Which is precisely why I allow you near
her," Garrett replied, and a flare of possessive heat
filled his blue eyes.
"I seem to recall a moment where you thought
I was a threat." That bought a touch of humor to the
surface. "You thought there was something going on
between us."
"I was an idiot."
"Well," Byrnes replied, "I'm not going to
disagree."
"But now the shoe is on the other foot, and I'm
not going to pretend I'm not enjoying the hell out of
this. May I offer you some advice?"
"I'm fairly certain I'm going to receive it,
regardless of whether I want it or not," Byrnes
grumbled.
"You're a hard man to get to know sometimes,
Byrnes. You've been with the Nighthawks nearly as
long as I have, and I only found out your mother
even existed two years ago," Garrett said, setting a
glass down beside Byrnes and sinking into his own
chair.
"Is there a point to this?"
"Yes, there is." Garrett eased back in his
chair, looking into the distance of the past. "If you
don't let Ingrid in, then you'll lose her, and trust me
when I say that I've come very close to losing
Perry in the past. I don't recommend it."
"I came very close to losing her today,"
Byrnes admitted, and a chill rose in his chest once
more. "I don't.... This is not my area of expertise."
Garrett let out a snort. "Clearly."