Moments later we were sealed inside, speeding away from a battle that really had been my responsibility. Maybe I should’ve aborted the mission when I woke inside that Chinook with the taste of hell still fresh on my tongue. But I just couldn’t see the Department of Defense saying, “No, really, Ms. Parks, we don’t mind taking it up the wazoo because you were disturbed by something you saw in a dream.”
Unfortunately not all of my truckmates saw it that way. As soon as Dave lit the lantern, I encountered the blood-stained glare of Amazon Grace. She clearly wanted to slam me against the wall and pound me purple. I gave her a courtroom stare — no emotion whatsoever — and moved my gaze onward.
Most of the group was busy with the wounded. Special Ops folks cross-train like elite athletes, so while each has his or her specialty, they can also back each other up in a pinch. Cam and Natchez took turns laboring over Otto and Ashley, Cam with a couple of syringes that I assumed held painkiller, Natch with antibacterial spray, gauze, and tape.
Dave crouched beside Ricardo, who’d been shot in the arm and — “I know,” he muttered. “I’m never going to hear the end of it.”
“I keep telling you to keep your ass down,” Dave said. The bullet had gone clear through his right butt cheek, leaving his pants soaked with blood.
Dave glanced over at the medic. “Adela,” he said, “how’s Terrence?” The native New Yorker was by far the worst of the wounded. His ankle had nearly been torn off by a close-range shot. She’d tied a tourniquet around it, but nobody was sure he’d be able to keep his foot. He’d also suffered gaping wounds across his chest where, after repeated hits, the reaver’s claws had sheared through his body armor.
Adela shrugged. “They all need to be evacuated,” she told him. “The sooner, the better.” Her eyes darted to Vayl’s and then away so fast you’d have thought she had a crush on him. Until you saw the sign she made with her right hand.
Since I was sitting beside him it was easy to lean against his shoulder, give him the sideways nod.
See that?
The slight raise of his chin signaled he had. It was an ancient gesture made popular recently by a bunch of girls who’d achieved CNN status by declaring that a coven of vampires had tried to bewitch them over to the dark side. They said they’d saved themselves by using the sign to ward off evil. Called mano cornuto, it’s a gesture originated in Italy where the index and pinky fingers of the left hand are raised while the others are curled into the palm. So apparently if you’re a Texas Longhorns fan, making this gesture gets you both loyalty
and
protection from evil.
As soon as these teenyboppers opened their mouths I knew a couple of things for sure. The vampire community, the ones trying to blend, to live in peace with humans and other supernatural beings, were probably laughing their asses off at the girls’ choice of verbiage. Vamps don’t organize into covens. Nor do they do any bewitching. Hypnotizing, yeah, but not bewitching. And they probably agreed with me that the dark side is mainly reserved for people who need to replace their lightbulbs.
I also knew life wasn’t going to improve for Vayl or
others
like him while people like Adela were running around forking their fingers at them. And that was just the mild stuff. Before we’d boarded our Learjet for Germany, FOX News had reported that a group of drunken rednecks had lynched a woman in Alabama. They’d accused her of practicing black magic, hexing one of their buddies so that he couldn’t perform in the bedroom. And who knows, maybe they were right. Problem was, although the hanging had been carried out in broad daylight on the courthouse lawn, nobody would step up and point out the perpetrators.
It’s an old story, I guess. People get away with murder all the time. In the end it does matter who you know, how much money’s in your account, and who gives a crap about you. It shouldn’t. But it does.
On this mission, it would help a ton if our team of backup ass kickers felt friendly toward us. But sentiment seemed to be leaning hard in the other direction as the wounded sat stoically, staring at the ceiling, trying not to cry out as their comrades patched them up.
Bergman joined Cole, Vayl, and I at the far corner of the semi, closest to the doors. Cassandra moved toward us as well, lost her balance, and nearly fell. Dave half rose and caught her, his hands steadying her at the waist as she found her equilibrium. “You okay?” he asked kindly.
She nodded, but her lips began to tremble, and moments later tears rolled down her cheeks. She hid her face, turned to go, but Dave pulled her into his arms. He rubbed her back tenderly. Whispered into her ear. She made some soft reply. I strained to hear, wishing my enhanced Sensitivity involved audio. It didn’t. I’d just have to worm the information out of Cassandra the old-fashioned way.
I looked around the truck, gauging reactions to the chick flick. Most of the guys had decided to pretend it wasn’t happening. Adela flicked another warding gesture at Cassandra. How original. And Amazon Grace looked thunderously pissed. Only Cam and Natchez exchanged grins.
Vayl bent toward me to murmur, “Amazing, is it not?”
“What?”
“How effortlessly some slip into love.”
I snorted. “I’d hardly call it that,” I whispered, trying to keep the sibilance out of my voice. I didn’t want him to know his comment pissed me off. “They’ve known each other for what, five minutes?”
Vayl put his finger under my chin, lifting my face to make sure I met his eyes. It was only the second time he’d touched me in weeks. I’d tried to forget how the simple brush of his skin against mine could zap me like an electric wire. It disturbed me, made me feel like I spent most of my time operating on standby. Like I was only fully functional when I was aware of how much Vayl could rock my world, if I let him.
“Love knows no boundaries,” he said, his eyes that soft amber hue I’d begun to equate with the finer emotions.
“Neither do horses,” I drawled.
