A Warm Heart in Winter (Black Dagger Brotherhood 18.50)

As a brownout registered the transfer of voltage, Balz was thrown back into thin air, his body stiff as a board, arms and legs fully extended.

Z reacted without conscious thought. He triangulated the fall and got under the male, bracing himself for the impact, arms cupped like he was going to catch a hay bale. At the last moment, as Balz dead weighted down toward the ground, Z pivoted, realizing he needed to be sideways to the load he was going to try to cradle.

Talk about electrical burns.

As he captured the heavy load, a whiff of burned flesh along with a metal tang hit his nose, and then he wasn’t thinking about smells at all. Lying the male out in the snow, he checked for breath and found none. Reaching for his own shoulder—

Fuck, no communicator. ’Cuz they were at home, not in the field.

Z whistled loud and long as he ripped off his gloves and felt for a pulse at the jugular. Faint. Or… maybe there wasn’t one? Yanking open the Bastard’s parka, he dropped his head down to make sure there was no breathing still. Then he put one of his palms on top of the other in the center of that big-ass chest, interlocked his fingers, and started straight-arming CPR.

“Stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive,” he said under his breath as he compressed with his doubled-up hands. “Ah, ah, ah… ah… stayin’ alive…”

He paused to give the male two breaths. Which, yes, he was aware was not what the American Heart Association recommended anymore, but he was hardly a casual bystander and rescue breaths were fine with him.

As he resumed chest compressions, he called out with various “Hey!” “My brothers!” “Fritz!”

He didn’t yell Help. He never had, and he wasn’t starting now.

Time to breathe for the Bastard again.

Inhal

e. Forced puff into that lax mouth. Inhale. Forced puff. And then more with chest compressions and the yelling.

Jesus Christ, what did he need to do to get someone’s attention around here?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

In the mansion’s foyer, the security lights came back on with the same lack of warning that they went out, and Blay braced himself for a paralyzed mahmen and a young with horrible injuries, for Wrath to be crazed with grief, for—

Halfway down the grand staircase, there was a tableau of off-kilter, and the great Blind King was in the center of it. L.W. was hanging from the back of his onesie in Wrath’s fist, the young screaming and red-faced—but safe from a fall that would have killed him for sure. And on the other side of the King, Beth had been caught by the arm, her whole body leaning out over the rest of the red-carpeted steps, only one foot planted, the other on a high kick to nowhere.

As for the fall? Down at the bottom of the steps… L.W.’s favorite toy, the nearly life-sized golden, with its beanbag paws and loosely stuffed legs, was lying in a tangled heap on the hard mosaic floor.

Wrath had saved his Queen and his son.

And beside him, George, the real-life dog, was frozen and panting in a panic, as if the animal knew that things had almost been a tragedy.

As everyone standing around exhaled in relief, the King pulled his loved ones into him, cradling both his shellan and his young close, L.W. settling down as soon as his mahmen was back in range and all was okay.

“Shit,” Qhuinn breathed. “I mean… just shit—”

There was a hiccup in the electricity, things faltering before surging again—and then the sconces on the walls flared back fully to life, the chandelier in the dining room reigniting and all kinds of illumination streaming from sources you only noticed when they weren’t working.

“I got you,” Wrath was saying in a soft voice. “I got both of you.”

Beth trembled as she hung on to the King’s enormous upper arm. “How did you catch us?”

“Eyes aren’t everything, leelan.” Wrath tucked her head under his chin and stared out into space, his wraparounds hiding his expression. “And I’ve got a knack for knowing where things are. It’s what keeps me on my feet.”

The feel of a hand on Blay’s waist brought his head around. As he looked into Qhuinn’s eyes, he mumbled, “I can’t even.”

“I know. Come here.”

It seemed unmanly to turn to his mate and drop his face into that strong neck and close his eyes. But like he gave a fuck? All he could see against the backs of his lids was a pile of bodies, all broken bones and blood spilled on the tiles.

Before he could think of what to do, what to say, he felt his hand get taken in that warm, solid grip he knew so well—and the next thing he was aware of was being drawn into the billiards room by Qhuinn. As the pair of them hit the layout of pool tables, he had no clue where they were going, but then—presto!—they were at the bar.