The Beast

The massive attack seemed to be over . . .

Dear Lord, the carnage left behind. How were they going to clean this up? There had to be a hundred lessers on the ground writhing, even if they were just in bits and pieces.

Mary patted her palm against the tail’s thick base. “Thank you for keeping me safe. You can put me down now.”

The beast wasn’t as confident as she was and continued to survey the battle scene, the muscles of its shoulders twitching, those huge haunches tensed and ready to jump. Clouds of hot breath steamed out of its nostrils, flaring in the cold night air like part of a magician’s show.

“It’s all right,” she said, stroking those scales.

Funny, she would have thought the things would be rough, but they were smooth and flexible, a fine interlacing of layers that shifted with the dragon’s movements and flashed all the colors of a rainbow on top of a purple base.

“Really, it’s all right.”

After a moment, the beast’s barbed hold on her uncoiled, and she stepped off onto the ground. Tugging her coat and her clothes back into place, she glanced around.

Then she put her hands on her hips and stared upward. “Okay, big guy, you did a great job. Thank you. I’m proud of you.” As the thing chuffed and lowered its head, she petted the snout. “It’s time to go, though. Can you let Rhage come back?”

That great head tossed in the air, the black blood of the lessers it had consumed flashing like an oil coating down its throat and chest. Snapping its jaws twice, the teeth and fangs locked with a sound like two SUVs slamming into each other grille-to-grille. The roar that came next was one of protest.

“It’s okay,” she murmured as she stood at its feet. “I love you.”

The beast lowered its muzzle and chuffed out moist air.

And then justlikethat, its body collapsed, a sand castle hit with a wave, a wax figurine heated into a dissolved puddle. In its place, Rhage appeared facedown on the ground, his tremendous tattooed back curving around, his naked legs tucked in as if his stomach bothered him already.

“Rhage,” she said as she crouched beside him. “You’re back, my love.”

When there was no response, not even an I’m-about-to-barf groan, she frowned. “Rhage . . . ?”

As she put her hand on his shoulder, the tattooed image of the dragon in his skin came alive, shifting around so that its head was under her touch.

“Rhage?” she repeated

Why wasn’t he moving? Usually he would be disoriented and in pain, but he always turned to her, just as the beast’s tattoo did, blindly seeking her voice, her touch, their connection.

“Rhage.”

Reaching for his upper arm, she put all her strength into pulling him over flat against the ground.

“Oh . . . God . . . !”

There was red blood on his chest. In the midst of all the black stains from what the beast had consumed, there was a very real, very terrifying, and very expanding fount of red blood in the center of his torso.

“Help!” she screamed at the landscape. “Help!”

The Brothers were already coming from every direction, abandoning their covers, sprinting across the battlefield that was strewn with mutilated slayers. And right on their heels, like a beacon from a benevolent god, was Manny’s mobile surgical unit—and the RV was heading for them like the good doctor’s foot was heavy on the accelerator.

Mary sought Vishous out of the crowd because of his EMT experience. “You need to help him!”

That red stain . . . was right at Rhage’s sternum.

And her hellren had a strong heart—but it was not impenetrable.

What had happened?

SEVEN

Vishous was the first to get to Rhage as the brother reemerged from the flesh of the dragon—and shit had gone from pre-beast bad to post-curse worse. The guy wasn’t moving, wasn’t responding even to his shellan. His coloring was gray as a granite grave marker, and there was a lot of red blood.

Which was merely the tip of the iceberg. The real issue was how much had to be in that chest cavity.

“Help me!” Mary said as she put her hands over the wound and pushed down like she was trying to stem the leaking. “Help him, oh, God, V—”

The good news was that the surgical unit was hitting its brakes and Jane had come with Manny, having transferred over from her own vehicle. As soon as the surgeons popped the front doors of the RV, both docs hit the ground running with black duffel bags full of medical equipment.

“They’re here,” V said. Not that the pair could do much of anything.

“Has he been shot? I think he’s been shot— Oh, God—”

“I know, come here. Let them look at hi—”

Mary shook her head and fought against being pulled back. “He’s dying—”

“Give them some room to work. Come on.”

Goddamn it, this was his fault. If he hadn’t confronted . . . but what the fuck. The vision had been what it had, and it was this right here and now: Rhage flat on his back naked, his blood everywhere, V holding Mary as she strained and wept.

“Single gunshot wound,” V announced. “Probable cardiac bleed with tamponade and pleural effusion.”

God, he wished he could cover Mary’s ears as he spoke, but like she didn’t already know what was up?

The doctors didn’t waste a moment, checking vitals as Ehlena jumped out of the back of the RV and brought the stretcher with her.

Vishous caught his mate’s eye as Jane listened to Rhage’s heart sounds, and when she shook her head, he knew without any further words that everything he was guessing was true.