"Hitting the bridge right now. "
At least they had a straightaway.
"Real steady, angel, we clear?"
"Roger that. "
Unsheathing one of his daggers, he put it on the carpeted floor by Wrath's head. Then he shed his water pack and ripped it apart: Taking the flexible plastic tubing that snaked from the mouthpiece to the bladder, he drew the thing out flat and cut it at both ends; then he blew the water out of the inside.
He leaned down to Wrath. "I'm going to have to cut it into you. "
Shit, the breathing was even worse, nothing but hitches.
Tohr didn't wait for consent or even acknowledgment. He palmed his knife and, with his left hand, probed the soft, fleshy field between the terminals of the king's collarbones.
"Brace yourself," he said hoarsely.
It was a damn shame he couldn't sterilize the blade, but even if he'd had a bonfire to draw it through, he didn't have time for the thing to cool down: Those jerking breaths were getting quieter, instead of louder.
With a silent prayer, Tohr did exactly as V had trained him: He pressed the sharp point of his dagger through the skin to the tough tunnel of the esophagus. Another quick prayer. . . and then he cut deep, but not too deep. Immediately thereafter, he shoved the flexible hollow tubing into the king.
The relief was fast, the air rushing out with a little whistle. And right thereafter, Wrath sucked in a proper breath, and another. . . and another.
Planting a palm on the floor, Tohr focused on keeping that tube right where it was, sticking out of the front of the king's throat. When blood started to seep from around the site, he ditched the prop-up routine and pinched the skin around the plastic lifeline, keeping the seal as tight as possible.
Those blind eyes with their pinprick irises found his, and there was gratitude in them, like he'd saved the guy's life or something.
But they'd have to see about that. Every subtle bump that registered through the van's suspension made Tohr mental, and they were still too far from home.
"Stay with me," Tohr murmured. "Stay right here with me. "
As Wrath nodded and closed his eyes, Tohr glanced over at the Kevlar vest. The damn things were designed to protect vital organs, but they were not a home-safe guarantee.
On that note, how the hell had they managed to get the van out of there at all? Surely Xcor's soldiers would have been manning the garage - those bloodthirsty bastards would have known that that was the only escape route for an injured king.
Somebody must have covered it - no doubt one of the Brothers arriving in the nick of time.
"Can you drive any faster?" Tohr demanded.
"I got the pedal to the metal. " The angel looked back. "And I don't care what I have to mow over. "
Chapter Forty-Two
No'One was down in the training center, pushing along a bin full of clean linens to the recovery beds, when it happened again.
The phone rang in the main exam room, and then she heard through the open door Doc Jane talking fast and pointedly. . . and using the name "Tohr" -
What began as a hesitation turned into a dead stop, her hands tightening on the bin's metal rim, her heart beating hard as the world tilted wildly, spinning her round and round -
Down at the far end of the hallway, the office's glass door burst wide and Beth, the queen, skidded into the hallway.
"Jane! Jane!"
The healer stuck her head out of the examination room. "I'm on the phone with Tohr right now. They're bringing him in right away. "
Beth tore down the corridor, her dark hair streaming out behind her. "I'm ready to feed him. "
It took a moment for the implications to sink in.