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“Yes. We’re going to get you home, and you’ll get well,” he said, voice breaking.
“Tried. So hard. Didn’t want to leave.” It was important he know that.
“You won’t. Tarron and the rest of my team are on the way right now. They’re almost here, so I want you to focus on breathing.” His big hand stroked her sweat-soaked hair. “Just breathe.”
“Try.”
“You do that,” he whispered, kissing her forehead. “Keep trying.”
“Don’t leave me?”
“No. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good.”
After that, a buzzing started in her ears. She could tell Nick was speaking to her more, but had no idea what he was saying. There was more activity, then Tarron’s voice reaching out and demanding that she hold on.
“Bossy,” she murmured. Or thought she did.
Next she felt the brief sensation of teleporting, though that might have been her imagination. But now Tarron was yelling and she was being rushed at a dead run down a long, long corridor. She could hear boot steps clomping on stone.
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sp; Home. She was home. Didn’t have to open her eyes to know it.
Hold on. She would try. For her brothers.
For Nick.
* * *
The image was burned into Nick’s brain.
Calla, writhing on the table. Screaming herself hoarse, covered in blood. The scent of burning flesh. He’d tasted the hunter’s blood, and his team had finished off the rest. It was a poor retribution in his eyes. He wanted to capture the vampire bastard and tie him to the same table. Then rip his flesh apart piece by piece.
He would tear out his beating heart and feast on it.
Now, though, his only focus was Calla. He begged her to hang on until Tarron arrived, and he was proud of her for fighting so hard. She was stronger than any woman he’d known.
Kalen used his magic to spell clothes on Nick and the team. His talents didn’t extend to healing, however, and Zan was still on strict orders not to attempt something this serious. They were forced to hold out for what help Dr. Archer could provide for her at the stronghold.
Tarron’s absolute horror and rage matched Nick’s as he ran through the door ahead of Nick’s team.
“Calla,” he shouted, dropping to his knees beside the ragged sofa. Wasting not one second on useless words, he grabbed both his sister and Nick. “Hold on to me.”
The teleportation was usually disorienting, but this time Nick didn’t notice. In seconds, they appeared in the corridor that Nick recalled led to the coven’s hospital area. Tarron’s landing was a bit off, but at least they were there. Nick scooped her into his arms and ran toward the infirmary’s entrance.
“Viktor!” Tarron yelled. “Viktor!”
Nick burst through the double doors, and the young vampire doctor ran out to meet them. His eyes widened in alarm as he spotted Calla and noted her rapidly deteriorating condition.
“In here,” he ordered. Then he led them to what Nick guessed was their version of an OR/trauma room. “On the table, on her side. Carefully.”
This table was padded, unlike the torture device she’d been lying on earlier. Tarron helped Nick get her situated, and stood back looking devastated. Helpless. Viktor examined the shallow cuts on her body.
“Silver blade. This was done to bleed her slowly. She also has some bruising from an apparent beating. These would be easily treated, but . . .”
Walking around the table, he sucked in a breath as he saw her backside. Nick swallowed hard, and Tarron groaned. Her poor skin was red, bubbled, and blistered, as though she’d been boiled in oil.
