And with that, he raised his bloody claws and slashed at Liander's stomach.
I thrust to my feet and ran into the clearing. But I was slower, far slower, than my brother. Liander's skin had barely begun to split and bleed when suddenly Rhoan was there, a howl on his lips and murder in his eyes.
He hit Young full force and the two of them went flying, hitting the ground yards away and tumbling into a tree. I swerved around them and kept running toward Liander. His stomach was still opening and there was blood and bits and God knows what else beginning to spill from inside him.
"Why does the cavalry always arrive too late?" he said, the amusement in his cracked voice not hiding the pain suddenly evident in his expression and his eyes. I threw the stakes down and grabbed him around the hips, trying to take the weight off his arms with one arm, while I thrust my free hand against his bloody stomach. Only my grip slipped in all the blood, and suddenly my fingers were inside him.
Bile rose, but I swallowed hard and jerked my hand free, ignoring the metallic reek of blood and the stench of fear - fear that was mine as much as his - and grabbed as much of his innards as I could to stop them falling out any farther.
"Quinn," I screamed, not even taking the time to open the link between us. "I need a knife and some help here."
From behind me came a scream. A thick, high-pitched scream that didn't even sound like it had come from a human throat. Rhoan's, not Young's.
He knew Liander was dying.
They were soul mates, and he could feel it.
No, no, no.
The fighting behind me increased. I wanted to look, wanted to know that my brother was okay, but I didn't dare. I needed to look after his lover first, because without Liander, I'd have no brother.
"I'm not dying," Liander whispered, his skin so pale and his body shaking. "I won't die on you, Rhoan. I promise."
He couldn't keep that promise. Not if we didn't get help soon.
God, where were the fucking medics?
Where the hell was Quinn?
I'd barely even thought that, and he was there.
"Hold him," he said, and something silver flashed up high. Liander was suddenly a deadweight in my arms, and I grunted softly, holding him against me, my body trembling with the effort of not letting him drop.
Quinn freed the other man and lowered him to the ground, then stepped over him and came back to me.
"Okay, I've got him," he said, and suddenly Liander's weight eased away from me.
"Careful," I said, panic in my voice. "There's bits of his insides leaking from the wound."
"Small intestines, probably." He wasn't looking at me, but rather Liander, gently feeling his upper abdominal area. "Is that tender?"
Liander shook his head. Quinn grunted. "Hopefully, no liver or spleen damage, then." He glanced at me. "I saw a first-aid kit in the car. Run and grab it."
I couldn't figure out how the hell a first-aid kit was going to help, but I didn't argue. I simply got up and ran. Rhoan was fighting like a madman, and the real madman was getting beaten to a bloody pulp.
Rhoan had no intention of killing him fast. No intention of using the stakes lying nearby on the ground just yet. Young was going to pay.
I couldn't feel chilled by that. I really couldn't.
I reached the car, flung open the door, and saw the kit on the backseat. As I grabbed it, I heard the sirens and hope ran through me.
They'd get here in time to save him.
They would.
I had to believe that. For Rhoan's sake, and for mine.
I ran back to the clearing as fast as I could and dropped down beside Quinn. Liander's skin was pale and clammy looking, and his breathing seemed rapid.