Tohr smacked his own head in lieu of the angel's. "Lassiter. . . come on, man - "
"Look, I'm still here, aren't I," the guy muttered as he muted the screaming and hopping up and down on Maury's stage. "As long as I'm still here, there's work to be done. "
Tohr let himself fall into a chair. Propping his head in his hand, he bit down on his molars. "I don't fucking get it. Destiny wants blood, sweat, and tears - well, I've fed from her, we've - ah, sweated, for sure. Shit knows I've cried enough. "
"The tears don't count," the angel said.
"How is that possible?"
"It just is, my man. "
Great. Fantastic. "How much longer do I have to get my Wellsie free?"
"Your dreams are the answer to that. In the meantime, I suggest you go feed your female. I gather by your wet pants that you just gave her a helluva workout. "
The words, She's not mine, rose up automatically into his throat, but he clamped down on them in the hopes that keeping them inside would help somehow.
The angel just shook his head back and forth, as if he were well aware of both the sentiment that had remained unspoken. . . and the future that was as yet unknown.
"Goddamn it," Tohr muttered as he got to his feet and started for the kitchen. "Goddamn me. "
Some thirty miles away, at the Band of Bastards' farmhouse, the sound of wheezing drifted up into the stale air of the cellar, rhythmic, ragged, wretched.
As Throe stared into the candlelight aimlessly, he didn't feel good about where his leader was.
Xcor had been in one hell of a hand-to-hand contest toward the end of the engagement at Assail's house. He had refused to say with whom, but it must have been a Brother. And naturally, he had had no medical attention since then - not that they had much to offer in that regard.
Cursing to himself, Throe crossed his arms over his chest and tried to remember the last time the male had fed. Dearest Virgin Scribe. . . had it been back in the spring with those three prostitutes? No wonder he wasn't healing up. . . and he wouldn't until he was better nourished -
The wheezing shifted into a rough cough. . . then resumed at a slower, more painful rate.
Xcor was going to die.
That dire conclusion had been dawning with relentless vigor ever since that breathing pattern had changed hours ago. To survive, the male needed one of two things, preferably both: access to medical facilities, supplies, and personnel the likes of which the Brotherhood enjoyed; and the blood of a female vampire.
There was no way of getting him the former, and the latter had proven to be a challenge over the last few months. The vampire population in Caldwell was slowly increasing, but since the raids, females had been at an even higher premium. He had yet to find one who was willing to service them, even though he was able to pay handsomely.
Although. . . considering Xcor's condition, mayhap even that might not be enough. What they needed was a miracle -
Unbidden, an image of that spectacular Chosen he'd fed from at the Brotherhood's facility came to mind. Her blood would be a lifesaver for Xcor right now. Literally. Except obviously it was not obtainable on so many levels. How would he be able to reach out to her, for one thing. And even if he could connect with her, she would undoubtedly know he was the enemy. . .
Or would she? She'd called him a soldier of worth to his face - mayhap the Brotherhood had kept his identity from her to insulate her delicate sensibilities -
No more sound. Nothing.
"Xcor?" he called out as he sat up in a rush. "Xcor - "
At that point, there was another round of coughing and then the labored breathing resumed.
Dearest Virgin Scribe, he had no idea how the others slept through all this. Then again, they had been fighting for so long on nothing but human blood that sleep was their only chance for any kind of recharge. Throe's adrenal gland had overridden that imperative as of two in the afternoon, however; whereupon he had begun his vigil over Xcor's respiratory process.
As he reached for his cell phone to check the time, he struggled to focus on the numbers that were displayed, his mind frantic.
Ever since that incident between them in the summer, Xcor had been a different male. Still autocratic, demanding, and full of calculations that could shock and stun. . . but his stare was different when he looked upon his soldiers. He was more connected to all of them, his eyes opened to some new level of relating, the likes of which he hadn't appeared to have been aware previously.
Shame to lose the bastard now.
Rubbing his eyes, Throe