All of them.
Lifting his head, he glared at the apparition. “Don’t know… what you’re talking about.”
A wave of such intense cold came at him, he felt his heart stop, sure as if he were being freeze-fried on the spot.
You are your father’s son, and that is a curse upon my species.
Justlikethat, the light was gone, and all he could do was shake his head. He supposed it was so like him to fight with a savior showing up at just the right time—then again, it was undoubtedly just a hallucination—
Another light now, far dimmer. The actual sun popping up over the horizon this time?
“Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Heeeeeeelp!”
Okay, nowthatwas how you yelled for assistance.
And as L.W. drew in a breath, the scent that he woke up to on so many days courtesy of his dreams ran through his nose and went directly into his blood.
“Bitty…”
“Help! Yes, help—we need to move him! But gimme your belt—your belt!”
There was a moment of pause, and then a searing pain in his right thigh.
“Lift his leg up higher—I need… to get… this around his—”
“Fuck.”
“I’m sorry.” Bitty’s voice came close to his ear. “I need to get the tourniquet on. You’re bleeding out.”
L.W. tried to focus on her face, he truly did. When he couldn’t manage that, he had to be satisfied with memory playing a patch job on all that he couldn’t bring out of the darkness. She was wearing red, he knew that—oh. No, that was his blood on her sweater.
“Hold on,” she said. “We’re going to bring you inside—”
“Can’t. No males allowed—”
“When it’s life or death, it’s allowed. Now, hang on.”
That leg of his proved to be a fucking nightmare, especially as they rolled him over onto his back, and someone propped his injured leg up at what felt like a seven-thousand-and-eighty-degree angle. Then there was tugging, tugging, tugging—followed by a pinch that went right through his whole body. When shit settled, the constriction was set very high up his thigh, right under his groin.
Helluva way for her to learn his anatomy, huh.
And after that? The single worst transport of his life.
There were all kinds of people around him now, hands biting into his arms, his legs, his shoulders, his ribs. It was like piranha snacking on him, and that was before they started walking him across the lawn.
And up the porch stairs.
He knew exactly when they got him inside. Light. Warmth. The smell of chocolate chip cookies.
Bitty’s voice barked out, “Call Doc Jane—”
She was right next to his head again, and for a female who was usually so quiet, she was giving orders tonight.
Especially as she announced, “He needs to feed—”
L.W.’s eyes popped open. “No, I’m good—”
The scent of her blood, delicious and enticing, burrowed into his nose, and in spite of the condition he was in—cold as a block of ice,probably hypoxic, definitely in clinical shock—he could feel himself getting aroused as his fangs dropped down from his upper jaw.
