Chapter Twenty-Four
Jamming his hands in his pockets, Dom hurried away from his father’s hospital room. He stalked down the hallway, huffing air laden with too many man-made chemicals. The switchblade was a worthless weight, mocking him.
He…hadn’t been able to do it.
He’d tried, he really had. He’d let his dad see the weapon, see his intent. Hope had lit his father’s face—hope that had withered and died when he hadn’t been able to follow through.
“You’re no son of mine.”
The whispered words sliced, deeper than any knife. His loyalty, a wishbone yanked between the two men, had finally cracked, leaving the Alpha holding the larger piece. When push had come to shove, he’d obeyed the Alpha rather than his father.
He’d chosen self-preservation over principle.
The hallway blurred, and his jaw and fingernails gave a warning throb. If only he could shift. Escape. Lose himself, for days, in a full-out run. Howl at the moon. But…now wasn’t the time, and downtown wasn’t the place.
Shove it back, shove it down. He took a stingy sip of breath. Concentrate. Shifting here would be too stupid for words. No one inside the hospital would be surprised, but once he went outside? Too many people, too many cars...
Just step off the curb.
It would be so damn easy…
No. Damn it, the Alpha was right: New days meant new ways. Their culture had to change, had to evolve, in order to survive. It would serve no useful purpose for Dom to go to prison for…for…ending his father’s suffering.
He suffers.
A ragged sob escaped. Why the hell wouldn’t Dad listen to reason? He still had eyes, still had a voice. Still had normal brain function, something half the patients on this floor would kill for.
Kill for. How fucking ironic.
When he’d yelled at his dad that he could still be useful, could still work—they could work together—his father had rejected the idea out of hand. Rejected him out of hand.
If Dad could move his hands, Dom could leave the blade in his hospital room and let Dad take care of things himself.
But he hadn’t. Because Dad couldn’t.
The fist at his throat tightened, squeezing tears from his eyes. Ducking into an empty family room, he made a beeline for the one chair the moonlight didn’t reach. Finally safe in the dark, he let weeks of misery boil over. He sat in the silent shadows and cried, waiting out his wolf, ignoring the angry red stare of the coffee maker’s perpetually-lit ON button. Once the tears dried up, he watched the colorful fish, swimming lazily in their aquarium.
What was he going to tell his mom? That Dad was suicidal? That he and Dad had fought? Both were old news. That he was the Alpha’s bitch? “Yeah, that’s new,” he muttered.
So was the fact that Dad had told him to never come back.
Picking up his cell, he glanced at the screen. Mila had called, and left voice mail. “At least one thing’s going right.” But as he listened to the message, his stomach fell to the floor.
Hearing ‘‘we need to talk’ from any woman’s mouth rarely boded well.
“Damn.”
Did it really matter who broke up with whom, as long as the deed was done? Ever since discovering Mila’s sister had had Down’s Syndrome, he’d known they couldn’t last. And on the positive side, Mila sounded mad enough to do the dirty work for him.
Exhaling, he reached for his backbone. He hadn’t been able to put his father out of his misery, but he could fulfill his responsibility to his bloodline. He and Mila couldn’t afford a birth control mistake, and the longer they slept together, the higher the risk became.
Might as well get this over with.
Pushing wearily to his feet, he trudged from the family room. Once he reached IT, luck was with him: a dude with a badge had just walked through the security door without a backwards glance. Dom put on a burst of speed and caught the door before it closed. After a slight hesitation, he slipped inside, and headed down the hall. Bright fluorescent lights burned overhead, but thankfully the place was empty. Privacy was a good thing. Did Mila yell when she got upset? Did she cry?
Her door was slightly ajar, with lights on inside. Working, of course. He took a deep breath, and let it out again. “Mila?” When he tapped on the wood with his knuckle, the door swung open.
Mila was on the floor, crawling shakily toward her desk chair.
Shit. “Are you hurt?” There was no blood, nothing looked broken... Her face was white as snow, but she seemed more disgusted than anything else. “Mila, are you hurt?”
“Not this time.”
“Huh?”
“I got light-headed,” she said, reaching for the chair.
He slipped his hands under her armpits, lifted, and set her on the chair. “What do you need?”
She reached for a half-empty glass of blood sitting on her desk, drinking deeply, thirstily. When she lowered the glass, she looked wobbly as a newborn fawn, but her eyes glinted with anger.
He moved out of range, leaning against the wall next to the print he’d hung. There was an awkward silence. “Your message said we needed to talk?”
Some version of “it’s not you, it’s me” shouldn’t take very long.
“I had an unexpected visitor today.”
Damn it, he wasn’t in the mood for chit-chat. Just get on with it. Break up with me, and let me leave. Let me leave, before I—
“Jack Kirkland was here.”
“Kirkland?” He’d met the Security and Technology Second for the first time at Mila’s parents’ party. Nice enough guy, but Dom’s self-esteem had withered just shaking the man’s hand. An ugly jealousy rose, jealousy he had no right to feel. His fingernails started to tingle. “Why was he here?”
“I wondered the very same thing.” There was no mistaking the sarcasm. “With everything else he has going on, why would the Underworld Council’s Security and Technology Second ask me questions about Memorial Hospital’s patient data management procedures?” A tiny fang flashed. “About how I do my fucking job?”
He shifted uneasily, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Did he say?”
“Of course not, but it didn’t take long to figure out he was investigating a data breach.”
His stomach clutched. “Um…wow.” This…wasn’t good.
“Yeah.” She looked him dead in the eye. “Wow.”
Yeah, she knew.
“He took a metric buttload of documentation with him, as well as paper samples and an example of my handwriting. He also asked a lot of questions about how we managed outgoing mail.” A baffled expression crossed her face. “I have no clue what that was about.”
I do. Sweat popped all over his body, and foreboding descended like a hangman’s noose. The letters. Somehow, Kirkland had connected Mila—or Mila’s workplace—to the letter he’d sent Bailey Brown.
“I can tell from your expression that you know something.”
Shit, this whole thing was spiraling out of control. “Mila, I never meant—”
“Mila?” Wyland hurried into the office, followed by Tia Quinn. “Are you okay?”
Tia Fucking Quinn.
“Oh.” Tia stopped short, smiling. “Hi, Dominic. I didn’t see you back there.”
If only she’d done her job. If only she’d listened to him.
This was all her fault.
Wyland ignored him, focusing on Mila. “You called me? Do you feel faint?”
Mila called the Vampire Second because she didn’t feel well? Talk about privilege. He was surrounded by privilege, but there’d be none for him. If Kirkland had him in his crosshairs, Dom had no expectation that the Alpha would swoop in and save him.
Blood rushed to his face, pounded at his temples, as the noose slowly tightened. His nose and mouth pulsed, and his vision bled red around the edges. The switchblade was suddenly in his hand, warm from his body heat. With a flick of his thumb, the blade silently snicked into place.
“Did you have fun at Lyudmila and Stanton’s party?” Tia asked, approaching him.
“Yes.” If only she’d done as he’d asked. If only she hadn’t ignored his messages. If only she’d done her job, he wouldn’t have to…
He grabbed her, whirled her around in front of his body, and whipped the blade up against her neck.
If he was going down, he was damn well taking her with him.
“Red brindle fur,” Tia gasped as Dominic dragged her toward the door. His hair was a visual match for the hair Chico had found in the garage at the Archives.
The blade bit in. “Quiet,” Dom ordered, closing the door.
“Just calm down,” Wyland said. Are you okay?
Her neck stung, and wetness dripped down her neck. You tell me.
Shallow cut. Hang on.
“Dom, what in the world are you doing?” Mila asked.
His hand jerked. Tia winced and rose to her toes as the blade dug in again. “I said be quiet,” Dominic snapped. “Everybody be quiet. Let me think.”
Too late for that. Though she was bleeding like a stuck pig, she felt oddly calm and steady. Standing across the room in his suit and tie, Wyland radiated control, but his fangs were exposed. His blue eyes burned with unleashed power.
No way was Dominic getting away with this.
No sudden moves.
Roger that.
“Let’s all calm down,” Wyland said. “What’s going on here?”
“Jack Kirkland was here earlier, investigating a data breach,” Mila explained, rising from her chair. “I think the breach is my fault. Dom was visiting me here in my office and I think he saw Bailey Brown’s hospital records, revealing that she has succubus heritage—but I don’t know what in the world he did with the information.”
“He sent her a letter saying she had to die,” Wyland said.
Bailey has succubus blood?
Yes.
Mila stared. “Dom, what have you done?”
Mila apparently didn’t know the worst of it—that Dom had also threatened Coco Fontaine, the child of two sitting Council members, while she was still in the womb.
Dominic yanked her back against his body. “Everyone, shut up.” The blade skimmed her skin, but the pressure eased almost immediately. He yanked again, his breath gusting hot against her ear, but this time she didn’t feel the kiss of the blade.
Stand perfectly still…
Wyland was thralling Dom. Thralling him, and holding a conversation with her at the same time.
Something’s…very wrong with this boy.
This is no time for faerie empathy. This ‘boy’ is a full-grown man, and he’s holding a switchblade to your neck. “Bailey’s succubus heritage is closely guarded information,” Wyland said aloud. “Very few people know. Once Bailey ruled those people out as sources of the leak, she immediately suspected a data breach at the hospital.” He studied Dom, looking every bit the Vampire Second. “This information has no possible value to you. How much did Krispin Woolf pay you to—”
“He didn’t,” Dom blurted. “It was all my idea.”
“To use me?” Mila snapped.
“To stalk me?” Tia lifted a brow. “To leave snakes in my bedroom?”
He jerked.
Bullseye.
“What?” Mila looked at Tia, aghast. “Dom, have you’ve lost your bloody mind?”
“Mixed blood pollutes our bloodlines.” Dom’s arm tightened into a hard band. “Pure blood ensures our survival.”
It was classic batshit GPL, right from their manifesto.
“Look at the makeup of the Council,” Dom continued. The tip of the blade skated under her chin, and she hissed in a breath.
A surge of rage from Wyland, quickly throttled. Stay as still as you can…
“The Sebastianis, the Fontaines, the Schlessingers? You and Valerian? All purebreds. It’s no secret that in our culture, power—real power, physical and political power—runs along purebred lines.”
“Dom, do you actually believe what you’re saying?” Mila asked, aghast. “Or are you just repeating what you’ve heard your father or other GPL members say since you were a child?” She paused, making a visible effort to calm herself. “Dominic, you’re an educated man. Think. Think for yourself.”
“Shut up!” His voice and hand wobbled as he turned toward Wyland. “You—stay right there.”
The knife tip gouged under her chin, lifting her onto her toes. “Aah!” Behind her, Dominic sucked in a ragged, sobbing breath.
“Dom,” Mila said quietly, “there’s no reason to hurt anyone.”
Dominic was so upset right now, he probably wouldn’t recognize reason if it smacked him upside the head. His emotions were roiling like a springtime river, a vicious inner conflict banging him against the rocks and tearing him to pieces. How long until he realized he had very little to lose no matter what he did? “Dominic.” With the weight of her head balanced on the tip of the knife, every syllable stung, but she drenched her voice with empathy. “I know how it feels to be torn between two cultures, two schools of thought.”
“Faerie! Faerie witch!” Dom pulled the knife away and slapped his hand against his temple. “Get of my head!”
“I’m not in your head,” she reassured him. But Wyland was. She had to distract him. “I’m just saying, I know how you feel, Dominic. You’re not alone.”
Careful, Wyland cautioned.
“As a member of the press, you have a responsibility to ordinary citizens, not to the Council.” Dominic’s voice sing-songed, as if his words were a mantra he’d repeated to himself over and over again. “I sent you tip after tip. You ignored my comments. Modded them so others couldn’t see. You made them invisible.” His voice wobbled. “Made me invisible. You didn’t listen.”
“Dominic…” How could she explain this without setting him off? “In our culture, freedom of the press has some…constraints. Once I investigated the Council’s ‘misdeeds,’ what was I supposed to do, publish them on a freaking website for all of humanity to see? Break our most important law?” Silence as he digested her words. “Dominic, which misdeeds are you talking about?”
Careful, he’s starting to disassociate…
“The Alpha won’t let me put my father out of his misery, as honor dictates,” he whispered. “He said it was too risky, would draw too much attention.”
The Old Ways. She was no fan of Krispin Woolf, but in this case the Alpha had made the right goddamn call. But…this poor young man. Torn between two cultures. Two men. Two times.
How many other similarly damaged souls walked invisibly among them?
“Would you have killed me?” Mila suddenly asked.
“What?” When Dom jerked, her purse bumped against her hip.
The purse.
“What do you mean?” Dom asked. “Why would I…”
“If this relationship had become something long-term, would you, at some point, have put me out of my misery, like you want to do for your father?”
The arm holding her around the shoulders tightened. Dom’s breath hitched. “You…you don’t have Down’s Syndrome.”
Tia surreptitiously slipped her hand into her purse, feeling about, subtly searching for… There, down at the bottom. Moving carefully, she gripped the smooth, hard plastic.
Careful… Wyland urged.
“Dom, you just found me collapsed on the floor. I have Wyland, the foremost hematologist on the planet, on speed-dial. Connect the damn dots.”
“You’re sick?”
“Yes.”
Dom recoiled. Gulped. “Mila, I—”
Jerking her hand from her purse, Tia jammed the stun gun against Dominic’s thigh.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt.
He spasmed, convulsed, and dropped like a stone, but he dragged her down with him. Pain exploded when they hit the ground, when the knife gouged in, but she rolled, rolled away…and suddenly Wyland was in the mix, twisting Dom’s knife hand. When the switchblade fell, he kicked it out of range, sending it skittering under Mila’s desk. The knife was still moving when Wyland’s fist lashed out with a cartilage-cracking punch that knocked Dom out cold.
Wyland kicked the stun gun out of Dominic’s reach, then speed-crawled to where she lay on the carpet. “Call Security, then the ER,” he ordered Mila. “Tell them we need three gurneys.”
Tia struggled to a sitting position, leaning back against the wall. “Not for me,” she gasped. “I’m going to walk out of here under my own goddamn steam.”
His fingers were at her wrist, taking her pulse. “Do you feel faint? Weak?”
“No. My ear really hurts, and I…can’t stop shaking.”
“Just stay here for a moment. Let me check you out.” His eyes and hands roved her body. “Any cuts I can’t see?”
“No, just my neck and ear. The ear hurts more.” Her T-shirt looked like a blood-soaked sponge. “How bad is it?” she asked. Wyland had his thoughts locked down tight.
“Superficial lacerations on your neck, but I’m afraid you’re going to need a few stitches in that earlobe.”
She reached for it. “It’s still attached?”
“Don’t touch it.” He grasped her wrist. “No need to risk infection.”
“It…burns.”
“I think the tip of his blade caught your earring when you fell.”
“He ripped my ear piercing? Seriously?” She glanced over toward Dom, who was still out cold. Sure enough, her sterling silver hoop lay next to his elbow, all bent all to hell. “Bastard.”
His lips flattened to a white line. “It could have been worse. You could have been killed.”
“Nah.” She smiled at him. “I could feel you thralling him. Between that and the stun gun, I was pretty sure we had him.”
“Indeed.”
The smile died when she noticed his right ring finger had a noticeable crook. “Your finger’s broken.”
He examined his own hand, palpating the area around the break. “Transverse fracture at the neck of the fourth metacarpal,” he concluded. “A quick set and splint should do it.”
It had to hurt like the dickens. “The ER’s going to be busy tonight.” So would the hospital’s security team. It wasn’t every day someone pulled a switchblade in the same room as an Underworld Council member. The hospital’s security chief was going to have a very long night.
Over at her desk, Mila hung up the phone. “Security’s on the way.” She made her way over to Dom. She looked down at him, hands on hips. Then she pulled back her foot and kicked him in the balls.
Dom groaned, clutched his groin, and curled into a self-protective ball.
Wyland sprang to his feet.
Mila pulled back her foot to kick him again, but she tripped and stumbled. Wyland caught her, and led her back to her desk chair. “Bastard.” Tears started to fall.
“Where are you hurt?” he asked.
“I’m not,” she sniffed, pushing him away.
Oh, she was hurt, all right—but neither of them could help heal the kick Mila had just taken to the heart.
Wyland hesitated at the side of the desk. How can I help her?
Just give her a tissue.
He did, murmuring words of comfort and patting Mila’s shoulder so awkwardly that she fell in love with him all over again. After several minutes, Mila sat up straight, blew her nose, and gave a decisive nod.
“Steady?” Wyland asked.
Mila glanced at Dominic, still curled up like a shrimp on the floor, then looked away with a sniff that had nothing to do with tears. “I’ll be fine.”
Take her at her word, she advised, pushing slowly to her feet.
“I’d rather you stay seated.”
She pointed to the visitor’s chair across the desk from Mila. “How about there?”
After a slight hesitation, he agreed. Once seated, she helped keep an eye on Dominic, who lay on the floor, still cupping his balls.
Wyland strode to Mila’s office door, peered down the hallway, then looked back at Dominic. “Where the hell is Security?”
“Calm down,” she soothed. “He’s not going anywhere.” Dominic seemed too quiet, too quiescent—or maybe he was just scared to death of Mila’s pointy-toed shoe, which had proven to be the most effective weapon in the room. “Poor kid. Between the GPL crap, his father’s accident, and Krispin Woolf, he’s really messed up.”
“Let the jailhouse psychologists figure it out.” With little regard for his broken finger, he reached into his jacket pocket for his phone. “I’m calling Gideon.” He swept a gaze over her ear, neck and shirt. “You’re pressing charges, right?”
She hesitated.
“Tia.”
“Yes.” Whatever was wrong with Dominic, assault with a deadly weapon wasn’t the way to fix it.
“Everyone, hands where I can see them.”
Commander Gideon Lupinsky stood at the door, his flat cop gaze taking in the details of the room: Her, bloody from the ears down. Dominic, lying on the floor clutching his balls. The stun gun, lying next to the bookshelf. His gaze went back to her neck. “Where’s the blade?”
Wyland set his phone down, then held his hands clear. “I kicked it under the desk.”
Lupinsky quickly patted everyone down, indicating that one of the uniforms should do the same with Dominic. He asked another officer to recover the knife. “Took care of this situation all by yourself, did you?” he said to Wyland, gesturing to his broken hand.
“By no means.”
“The stun gun’s mine,” she blurted. “It’s perfectly legal to use in self-defense.”
Lupinsky lifted a brow. “We’re clear here,” he called to the security team.
“Clear,” said the officer crouching beside Dominic.
“Ms. Quinn, why don’t you take a seat and tell me how you got those wounds?”
“Gideon, can’t the questions wait?” Wyland asked. “She needs medical treatment.”
Lupinsky’s gaze pinned her in place. “Ms. Quinn, who cut you?”
“Him.” She pointed at Dominic, still lying on the floor. “Dominic Reese.”
Lupinsky gestured to the uniform, who rolled Dominic onto his stomach and cuffed him. “Do you know why he pulled the knife?”
She glanced at the security guards, then lowered her voice. “I’ll need to make my statement in a confidential venue.”
Lupinsky’s gaze sharpened. “Certainly.”
“Medical treatment first,” Wyland said, scooping her into his arms.
“Hey, I can walk.”
“I know, but humor me.” He carried her from Mila’s office to the hallway, where three white-sheeted gurneys waited. “Let’s get you downstairs.”
Where she’d have to get her ear stitched up.
Needles.
A shiver wracked her frame. “Will you…” Thrall me? Take me away, take me out of my head when I start freaking out?
“Whatever you need.”
When he wrapped his arms around her, she burrowed into his embrace, allowing the strong thump of his heart to steady her. “Ah, crap.” She pulled away, ignoring the curious glances. “I’m getting blood all over your shirt.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll go downstairs, get fixed up, and then go home.”
She eyed his crooked finger. He needed treatment, too. “Home sounds great.” Exhaustion overwhelmed her, and suddenly she was glad for the gurney. As she lay back, she heard Wyland issuing orders for Mila and Dominic, and then their little caravan was on the move. The gurney’s bum wheel rattled as the orderly pushed it down the hall, but Wyland walked by her side, holding her hand.
When they paused by the elevator, her teeth started chattering.
Wyland stroked her hair. “Just relax…”
“Damn it,” she muttered. “Cut by a man holding a switchblade to my throat, but the thought of a tiny needle gives me the vapors.”
“Relax…” Sleep now…
His voice was a featherbed—soft and safe, promising the sweetest of dreams. Closing her eyes, she snuggled into the gurney’s hard mattress. The elevator chimed, and then she knew nothing.