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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
I have to go to his parents. No, I have to—I have to tell them—”
As Shuli rambled and gestured with his hands, the Black Dagger Brother Tohrment leaned down so that the only thing Shuli could see was the warrior’s face and his deep blue eyes.
“We will take care of notifying his bloodline, son. You’re injured and need treatment.”
“You don’t understand. I know the family. It’s my responsibility—”
“No, it’s not. You’re staying right where you are.”
When a heavy hand landed on his shoulder, Shuli realized he was lying on a gurney—and with that, the rest of the interior of the mobile surgical unit came into focus. Bench seats ran down either side of the open bay, and all around, medical supplies in see-through-fronted cabinets were within ready reach. Above him, a set of bright lights made him blink.
Or maybe that was the tears.
He grabbed on to the Brother’s leather sleeve. “Please. It’s my fault so I have to go to the family.”
The Brother Tohrment sat down on the bench and took his hand. “Listen to me. You saved Nate and Rahvyn, as well as the other male. If you hadn’t stabbed that lesser, God only knows what would have happened—”
“No, no, no.” Shaking his head, Shuli didn’t want to be a party to any kind of stolen valor. “That was Rahvyn. She was the one who saved us. The slayer overpowered me and got my gun. He put it to my head and if she hadn’t thrown him off me, I’d be dead.” He’d be like Theox. Oh, fuck. “She somehow got his knife—and when she stabbed him, there was an explosion of light and this popping sound—”
“Wait, wait, slow down. You’re saying she was the one who—”
“It wasn’t me. It was Rahvyn.” He put his hands over his eyes, as if he could block out what had happened. “Right before she tore the lesser off me, that was when… I was trying to shoot the slayer and that was when I hit Theox—”
In the background, something started beeping furiously, and someone said something in a sharp warning.
“Shh,” the Brother Tohrment said. “Lay back and relax, son. You’re bleeding.”
“I don’t care about that—where’s Nate?” At least he hadn’t had to worry about that guy dying. “I need to talk to Nate—”
“He’s with his dad. Murhder came right away.” The Brother Tohrment squeezed his hand. “Listen to me, son. You’ll get a chance to talk to your friend, I promise. But right now, I need you to breathe nice and slow with me. You have to calm down, okay?”
“I don’t feel so good.”
There was some whispering, and then a human took the Brother’s spot. It was the one who had done the assessment on Theox, the one who had subtly shaken his head at Vishous and then moved on to take Shuli’s vitals.
Oh, right. That was how he’d ended up in this high-tech OR. The human had ordered the Brothers to get the gurney.
“I’m just going to take a look,” the man said in a calm, confident tone.
“At what,” Shuli mumbled.
And that was when he saw the blood. Jesus… his whole arm was stained red.
“My shirt is ruined,” he noted absently.
Like that mattered. Like his clothes ever should have mattered as much as they had.
“I’m going to have to cut the sleeve off, okay?” the human asked.
Shuli nodded, because what the hell did he care—“Oh. Shit.”
As a pair of snub-nosed scissors made quick work of the stained silk, a deep, jagged gash on the inside of his arm was revealed: The thing ran up from his elbow nearly into his armpit.
“How did that happen?” he wondered out loud. “I didn’t feel anything.”
“Sometimes,” the doctor murmured as he looked over the wound from various angles, “you don’t know what you run into when you’re fighting. The parking lot has a lot of broken bottles. I think you caught the sharp edge of one and stayed with it.”
“It will heal.”
“Only with stitches—”
One side of the back double doors opened, and a Brother with a skull trim and a scar on his face leaned in. “He’s here. Can I let him in?”
When the human nodded, the other Brother stepped back—
“Father,” Shuli said numbly.
His sire was dressed in a tuxedo, Arcshuliae’s fine black jacket set off by a pop-collared white shirt and a bow tie, his dark hair slicked back, a pocket square of white and black sitting with a jaunty pouf at his breast. He was still handsome, even at his age, still very fit and alert, as the patriarch of a noble bloodline should be.
Shuli turned his face away. He had been a disgrace before with all his loafing and his partying and his not taking anything seriously. Now… he was a curse. And in a way, perhaps his father would be happy that he now had an excuse to kick out—
