Blood-Bonded by Force (36 page)

A paroxysm of emotions rippled up his throat. He glanced sideways at his right bicep, still neon blue with shirt-paint, and wrestled with the monsters in his head, a myriad craptacular images of all the ways his wife could’ve possibly died. What had the Om Rău done to her? How had she spent her last hours on—?
C’mon, Costache, don’t kill her off. Get in the zone, man, and keep hoping
. A bone-rattling shudder clonked his vertebra together. He tried to squeeze breath through his lungs, but didn’t have much success. It felt like he was operating off deflated bota bags. His pain was severe enough that, even if by some miracle Pändra wasn’t dead, she had to be hurting. Bad. That thought was about as welcome as the others.

He snapped his head up. The muted cadence of footsteps had just rolled down the Tunnels…hadn’t it? He whipped his attention over to Jaċken. His boss had gone hyper-still. Yeah, dammit, Jaċken had heard it, too.

Thomal struggled to his feet, his heart beating wildly, every hair on his head standing at attention.

Steel
hissed
as Jaċken unsheathed his blade. There was no other sound quite like it, and it called the other warriors milling about to move forward, their own knives drawn, ready to fight in case it was a gang of Om Rău headed their way, instead of the three people who’d been
presumed dead
the moment they’d gone into the Hell Tunnels.

The sound of running grew louder, ringing out sharply in the stillness, beating a rhythm of urgency.

Thomal did the pins-and-needles thing, one hand braced against the wall of The Shank Tooth.

Nỵko reeled out of the Hell Tunnels, dust flying from his heels, flecks of sweat and blood flinging off his back. He had Pändra and Faith supported on each of his enormous shoulders and a hand fisted in the scruff of Shọn’s shirt, dragging him along beside—
Shọn
?

Nỵko stumbled down onto his knees and deposited the women on the cave floor. Naked.

Oh, shit
.

“Help h-her!” Nỵko wheezed out. “I think she’s dead.”

All the blood drained from Thomal’s head. It was obvious who Nỵko meant. Thomal’s pinging radar notwithstanding, Pändra’s skin was an ominous grey color and her nose…
holy crap
. It wasn’t even there anymore. Vomit scaled his throat and horror burned at the backs of his eyeballs. A sound rushed out of him. He didn’t know what it was—a yelping growl?—alarm, worry, desperation, and grief mashed together. A whole lot of stuff he hadn’t even known he was capable of feeling.

Tonĩ held onto her pregnant belly as she hurried over to Pändra and knelt down at her sister’s side. She felt for a pulse. “Thready and weak,” she told Dr. Jess. “She’s barely alive.”

The words washed over Thomal in a numb tide. He stood on the perimeter with his arms hanging loose.
Alive
,
but
barely
. “Barely” wasn’t good.

Tonĩ fumbled in her lab coat pocket, pulled out a small box, and slipped Pändra’s immortality ring onto her finger.

“Don’t leave it on for too long,” Dr. Jess warned. “Or her face will heal like that. Just stabilize her enough so we can get her to the operating room.”

The numbness rolled up and peaked inside Thomal’s head, bright animated Pac Men eating across the screen of his vision. “Operating room” wasn’t good, either.

Thomal sank into a hospital waiting room chair and let his head wilt backward off his neck. The fluorescent lights glowed through the threads of his blond lashes as he relived the look on Pändra’s face when she’d been on that shelf of cave rock. Her eyes had been such deep wells of pain, full of sorrow and regret, as if she wished things had worked out between them.

His lids fell closed. What the hell had he ever done to warrant her
regret
? Or her willingness to make the ultimate sacrifice of her life for him? The shutter clicked across the screen of his mind and he saw Jøsnic punching her. Pändra letting him. Because she’d wanted to die. For him. So
he
could be free. Him.

His own bitter regret climbed up into his throat like bile. He leaned forward, propping his elbows on his thighs, and clasped the back of his neck. He’d wasted a lot of time confused about what he wanted from Pändra, but he knew with absolute, no holds barred certainty that he didn’t want her dead.
Might’ve been nice if you’d said something to her about that
. Because now his barely alive wife was going through hardcore surgery to have her face reconstructed, maybe on the verge of—

“What are
you
doing here?”

The question came at Thomal in a flat, hard tone. He didn’t recognize the voice, and when he glanced up, he barely recognized the scowling face.

Nỵko never scowled; the dude was generally all about playing down the child-butcher disguise he wore.

Only one explanation for the uncharacteristic frowny face. Everyone had seen the telltale bruise on the side of Faith’s neck. Nỵko had fed on her, but odds were he hadn’t had time to close the deal with some doinking. Being inside the Hell Tunnels and chased by a crapload of Om Rău dipshits wasn’t exactly conducive to the old in-out. So Nỵko was half-bonded, which meant he was caught in a torturously painful, crazy-making state, the kind of condition that could turn a man even as mild-mannered and agreeable as Nỵko into something rabid.

Thomal came to his feet, keeping a careful eye on the oversized Vârcolac. Where was a horse tranquilizer when a guy needed it? “My mate’s in surgery, so I’m—”

“Pändra’s not your mate,” Nỵko snapped. “You heard what she said in the van on the way back from the mission. She’s a blood source to you. That’s it. So don’t you call Pändra a mate. Not till you’ve
earned
it.” Nỵko closed in on Thomal with several clipped strides and stopped nose to nose in front of him. Like in, literally, Nỵko’s nose touched his. “You hear me?”

The flow of Thomal’s blood sped up, aggression sizzling in his veins, priming him for violence.
Stupid, stupid
. Nỵko outweighed him by at least the body weight of two extra warriors and his fists were each as large as Thomal’s head. He was likewise pumped up with Royal Fey blood and his every cell probably felt covered in cactus prickles. Best response would be to treat Nỵko like a wounded bull on steroid overdose: with caution and probably a prudent spoonful of fear. Buuuut…

Worry had Thomal too hosed up right now to act wise and careful about anyone trying to hand him more bullshit. He stepped back, not in retreat, but to better clash eyes with Nỵko’s. “I appreciate the heads-up, brother, but last I checked, my marriage wasn’t any of your fucking concern.”

Nỵko snarled, the noise making it sound like his Rău was jonesing for some flesh to munch. “I almost died saving Pändra. So I’m not letting your critical, unfeeling face be the first thing she sees when she wakes up. I’m not letting
you
”—he rammed his index finger into Thomal’s chest—“hurt her anymore.”

Thomal snatched up Nỵko’s finger and bent it backward. Anybody else’s finger would’ve had the decency to break. Nỵko merely took his hand back and squared off for a punch, his eyes alive with fury.

Thomal angled his body sideways and flexed his shoulder muscles in readiness, his weight poised on the balls of his feet.
Bring it, you jumbo-sized bitch.
Coldness gathered inside him.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” Dev was standing in the doorway that led from the waiting room into the hospital’s main hallway, a hand still propping open one side of the swinging double doors. The man wasn’t fooling anyone with his casual tone. He knew exactly what was going down.

Nỵko sniffed. “Only helping Thomal find the door. Deadbeat husbands who never do anything for their wives aren’t allowed to occupy this waiting area.”

Heat rose from Thomal’s neck to his hairline. Rage split his head. “You did
not
just say that. You
know
I couldn’t go into the Hell Tunnels after my mate, but I gave you—”

Nỵko threw a backhand blow, his bowling-ball-sized knuckles catching Thomal high on the face in a shock of ripping pain. The room went white as his chin snapped toward the ceiling, the skin along his cheekbone splitting open. Before he knew how he’d gotten there, he was sprawled on his hands and knees, Ferris wheels and tea cups spinning colorfully at the corners of his vision. He shook his head.
Ow
!

Nỵko’s huge feet bulged on the linoleum floor at the corner of Thomal’s vision, carnival fun house feet. “What did I say about calling Pändra your mate?”

Dev stepped into the waiting room. The door
shushed
once then vacuum-sealed shut. “Nỵko,” he said quietly. “C’mon, man. You’re not yourself right now.”

A steady rivulet of blood poured off the cut on Thomal’s face and gathered on the linoleum. His fangs came down. Absurdly, he had the urge to squish his hands into the red pool and finger paint around with it. There was just so damned much of it.

Nỵko’s clown feet angled toward Dev. “Somebody’s got to talk some sense into him, Dev, and you sure as heck aren’t doing it.” Nỵko made a disgusted
huh
sound. “You’ve watched how Pändra has worked for Thomal’s forgiveness. You know she’s earned a second chance from him. She almost died saving Beth, for God’s sake—Faith, too! But you’ve let Thomal treat Pändra like dirt. Do you think keeping your mouth shut for the last eight months has done Thomal any favors, Dev? You think that’s being a
friend
?” Before Dev could answer, Nỵko pivoted toward Thomal again and grabbed him by the back of the neck, hauling him to his feet.

Thomal staggered a couple of paces before righting himself, then yanked out of Nỵko’s hold. “I’ve had just about enough of your shit, Nỵko.”

“Too bad. More’s coming.” Nỵko fixed him with a baleful glare. “First and foremost, you’re a coward.”

What little remained of Thomal’s good sense went the way of the dinosaur. “Excuse me?” His voice came from some dark, evil place. “What did you call me?”

“Ah, crap,” Dev murmured.

Ferocity boiled up in Thomal, uncontrolled, his pride short-circuiting important safety mechanisms in his brain as he bore down on Nỵko.

Another backhand lashed out.

Thomal blocked the punch, but,
hell
, that blow had been the decoy. The anvil that was Nỵko’s other fist slammed up under his chin in an excruciating uppercut.

Air roared through Thomal’s ears as he toppled backward off his heels and met the floor with a near rib-cracking jolt. His mouth hung open. He stared mindlessly for a technical knockout count of eight, watching blue cartoon birdies do laps in front of his eyes. Tweety Bird’s,
I tought I taw a putty cat
, wonged through his ears.

Nỵko stepped up to his side, looming over his supine form like heavy metal’s biggest and worst.

Dev maintained his position by the door.

Just gonna stand there, are you
?

Here was a man who knew how to employ caution when it was warranted. Probably the reason Dev had been promoted into leadership while Thomal remained a lowly swabby. But then again, Thomal had never known his friend to back down from a fight, no matter how big or crazy the opponent, so maybe Dev’s non-movement wasn’t a sign of caution so much as an indication that Dev was taking Nỵko’s lecture to heart and getting on board with the gotta-smack-some-sense-into-Thomal plan.

Jagoff traitor
.

Thomal probed the inside of his sore cheek was his tongue.
What to do, what to do
? Too bad backing down wasn’t his style. No. Foolish feats of self-destruction apparently were. He laughed up from the floor. Maybe it was a cackle. Whatever it was, it sounded insane. “Thanks, Nỵko. I think you cured my TMJ.” He rolled onto his hands and knees, then took in a strengthening breath to keep himself from just sagging there. His eyeballs were doing some serious
Chutes and Ladders
inside his skull. He pushed to his feet. The room rolled sideways. Fun! “But, hey, I’m thinking before you get all righteous with your fists again, maybe you should consider this about the whole coward thing.” He narrowed his eyes, even though it hurt his cheek to do that. “It takes one to know one, brother. You forgettin’ there’s another woman in this hospital who went into Oţărât to escape a man who’s been a complete chump to her. Gee, I wonder who she is? Oh, yeah, it’s
Faith
.”

Nỵko’s face reddened. Not any sort of red, but ripe plum red, raw meat red. Say-your-prayers red.

Sighing expansively, Dev glanced over his shoulder, probably confirming that the emergency call button was still on the wall by the double doors.

Thomal dug his heels in. This time he wasn’t worshiping the linoleum when Nỵko struck out.

“You know what? You’re right,” Nỵko said, his voice weirdly calm.

Confusion and surprise pressed in on Thomal’s temples.
What’s this
?
No hitting
? Couldn’t be. He’d probably passed out, after all.

“I made all the wrong decisions about Faith,” Nỵko admitted. “But at least
I
made them, Thomal. Me, myself. You hate Pändra because Arc does. It’s the only reason, I think, because I’ve watched you watch her, and I get the sense that deep-down you’ve wanted to forgive her. But you didn’t, you
don’t
, because you’re too weak to defy your big brother. A coward, like I said, and it’s pathetic.”

Scorching anger struck Thomal’s body like a lightning blast. He gave his nostrils a warning flare. “I’d rethink pissing in my Wheaties anymore, if I were you.”
Or I’ll smash my face into your knuckles some more
. “You didn’t see what your half-Rău pal did to my brother. But I’m reasonably sure you
do
see how badly it’s screwed up Arc.”