Dark Flame (Flame 3)

She caught Keelen’s gaze, and more tears ran down her cheeks. “It’s Brannick.”

“Holy fuck.” More obscenities flew. He shook his head back and forth several times. “We can’t lose him. He’s made a difference in Revel. He’s one of the few men I know who’ve even tried.”

“I know.” Her rib cage felt way too small, she couldn’t seem to breathe, and the tears still fell.

Keelen suddenly shouted. “Incoming.” She watched him kneel on one leg as another officer moved up next to him in support, weapon drawn. Keelen held his Glock in both hands pointing into the night sky.

She turned her head and saw the distant flyers. She reached out telepathically to the woman. Emma, is that you?

Yes, call off your dogs.

“Keelen, it’s the help I summoned. Emma Delacey is a witch with a gift for healing, and she’ll have a vampire with her.”

“Okay, got it. Right, that’s Vaughn. I know him, though I haven’t seen him in some time.” He whistled softly. “He’s engaged to the witch, isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is.”

“And they run a safe house for abducted human teens.”

“That they do.”

Emma flew in quickly, a violet satchel over her shoulder. She put on speed at the end then landed next to Juliet. She took one look at Brannick and spoke to Vaughn over her shoulder. “I’ll need your help, Babe. Juliet, please let go and move out of the way. You don’t have to go far, but I’ve gotta have room to work. And it’s urgent.”

Juliet scooted backward on the grass. Both her hands and her dress were covered with Brannick’s blood, but she didn’t care.

The odd pair moved into position.

Without warning, power boiled from the couple. Once again, Juliet couldn’t breathe but for a totally different reason this time. She’d never felt anything like it.

But hope rose as well. No wonder Brannick had told her to call them.

Vaughn remained behind Emma but kept his hands gently on her shoulders, or maybe they were just hovering. Their connection seemed profoundly intimate.

There were times in the dreamglide when she’d felt that way with Brannick, that they had a similar connection. Oh, God, she couldn’t lose him.

She grew dizzy as she watched the couple work on Brannick. But to Juliet’s eye, their movements appeared to change as though they now operated in slow-motion. When Vaughn spoke to Emma, his voice was in the bass range his words slurred. Emma’s were as well.

Juliet knew she was in shock. Had to be. She wanted to touch Brann, to yell at him to live, to wake up, to kiss her again. But none of that would help, and might even hurt the process. So she stayed very still, her hands in her lap.

Emma looked worried as a sheen of sweat appeared on her forehead. She was lovely with long, thick wavy red hair that she wore with the front half pulled into a top knot. Energy rose off her body like a mirage of heat waves above a distant asphalt highway.

After a few minutes, Emma leaned back, her face pale and drawn. There was still no movement in Brannick.

Juliet swallowed hard. “Is he dead?” Speaking aloud somehow shook Juliet out of her slow-motion stupor.

Emma turned slightly in her direction. “Yes and no. He’s hovering in a very distant place that I can’t seem to reach.” Her lips were compressed and she had tears in her eyes.

Vaughn held Emma’s shoulders. He looked gut-shot himself as he stared down at Brannick’s inert form. Juliet knew how much Vaughn meant to Brannick. They’d been friends and brothers-in-arms for a long time.

Vaughn’s voice rolled through the space. “I’ve known him from the time I entered Five Bridges. He got me into the border patrol and saved my life. Jesus, he was with us a month ago when we rescued those girls in Savage and later at Loghry’s mansion.”

Juliet swallowed hard, sliding her gaze slowly back to Brannick’s wound. Despite the level of healing that Emma and Vaughn had given Brannick, the cut still seeped, and his breaths were shallow and infrequent.

But Emma wasn’t done. She reached for her satchel, drew out a jar and unscrewed the lid. She then pushed Brannick’s bloody, black tank up above the wound. Pulling the salve out in a big glob, she spread it over the wound, then pressed it in with the palm of her hand. The ointment had a pale violet color and smelled like flowers.

Brannick still didn’t move. The witch’s concoction melted into his skin and appeared to stop the bleeding.

&nbs