A sizzling noise reached his awareness, and slowly it dawned on him that the sound was coming from the floor, where his palms and knees were braced on the carpet. An acrid smell reached his nostrils. What the hell?
Smoke. The carpet, smoldering.
Lunging for the lamp he switched it on and blinked, clearing his vision. The carpet was singed and blackened where he’d been kneeling.
“Shit!” Unreal. He was about to set his goddamned apartment on fire.
Scrambling into his bathroom, he sat on the tile, panting. He’d never been this freaking hot since he’d developed his gift as a Firestarter. In fact, he was burning up. Literally. Sweat rolled down the sides of his face, down his chest and spine. God, it was so hard to breathe. And his canines ached with the need to claim the woman who was hundreds of miles away, sleeping soundly. Unless that had been her calling?
Before he could check his phone, he had to try to get cooled off. Pushing himself up, he staggered to the shower and turned the water on cold. Climbed inside and leaned against the tile, facing the spray, watching the droplets hit his skin, then hiss and sizzle. At first he relished the cold water. It felt so good.
Then the soothing effect seemed to wear off. He was so hot he could barely draw in air. His knees gave out and he collapsed onto the floor of the shower stall, barely able to raise his head. Without his mate, his so-called gift had finally turned against him.
“Oh, God.”
But there would be no reprieve this time. To ease the pain, he imagined Rowan’s sexy face, how gorgeous she’d looked as he made love to her. How lost in the pleasure of their bodies joined.
At least he’d gotten to say good-bye, if only in their dreams.
Nick surfaced from sleep, wondering if he’d heard his cell phone—how long ago? He wasn’t sure. Middle of the night calls never boded well, and he had a feeling he should check. Wasn’t like he’d get more sleep if he ignored it. So he rolled over and grabbed the thing off his nightstand.
One call, from Rowan at three fifteen. It was three twenty-five now. Gut clenching, he turned on the lamp and pressed the button to play her message.
Cursing, he jumped out of bed, completely awake now. Foreboding slithered through him and he knew this was no false alarm. Quickly, he threw on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt and stuck his feet in his tennis shoes without bothering with socks. Then he jogged from his quarters down the hallway to Aric’s room, pausing only long enough to pound on Jax’s door.
The man opened a long minute later, wearing boxers, smoothing his goatee and peering blearily at Nick. “Boss, what the fuck?”
“I think something’s wrong with Aric. I need your help.”
Jax came awake, eyes wide. “Give me twenty seconds.”
“Tell Kira to go get Mac and Melina,” he called after Jax.
In no time the RetroCog was back. “Kira’s throwing on some clothes. They’ll be right behind us. Think we should get Zan?”
“Good idea.”
One more stop, and the three of them were running down the hall to Aric’s room. Time was of the essence. He felt the urgency, pressing down. He didn’t bother to knock but punched in his override code to access the door. Then he ran, his men behind him.
The sound of the shower relieved him, but only for a moment. There were no splashing noises, like someone taking a shower. Just a steady stream. No other sounds.
Then he yanked open the stall door and saw why. Aric was sprawled naked on the floor, unconscious. Dark auburn hair streamed over his face, stuck to his chest. Steam rose from his body as the water hit, fogging the glass.
“Jesus Christ,” Zan cried, jumping in. He turned off the water and placed a palm on his friend’s chest. “He’s fucking burning up, from the inside out. I can’t—God, I can’t heal this. His temperature is out of control.”
Jax tossed in a large towel. “Wrap that around him. Can you carry him without getting burned?”
“Yeah, I can neutralize the heat, as long as he doesn’t burst into flames.”
It was a distinct possibility. Nick watched as Zan tucked the towel around Aric’s middle, then grasped him under his knees and behind his back, lifting his friend into his arms. Aric’s head lolled back, lashes dark against his pale cheeks.
Goddamnit, they were going to lose him—unless they got Rowan here, fast.
They met the women in the corridor, and the group hurried toward the infirmary. When they got there, a rumpled-looking Noah met them, obviously having been dragged from his bed as well. Mac stopped Nick from following Zan into the room where they were getting Aric settled.
“Let us help him. You’d only be in the way right now.”
“But he’s—”
“I know,” she said gently. “Let us do our job.”
Blowing out a breath, he relented. “Sure. I’m sorry.”
Squeezing his arm, she disappeared into the room. In moments, Zan emerged, having been booted out to wait with the rest of them.
“If that snarky bastard dies,” the Healer ground out, “I’m going to play nonstop country music over his grave as punishment. What the fuck is wrong with him, Nicky?”
Everyone felt his pain. The desperation of possibly losing a great soldier. A good friend and fine man. They deserved to know.
“Rowan is his mate, remember? And he let her go without telling her—and more important, without claiming her.”
“I can’t believe we let the dumb-ass do that,” Jax croaked. “He saw what happened to me!”
“He doesn’t feel like he deserves Rowan because of what happened to Micah and the team. He didn’t say anything about Beryl, and she ended up hurting all of you. Half your number are still missing, and he blames himself for that, too.”
Zan punched the wall, leaving a dent. “What a bunch of shit! Nobody blames him! Why can’t he wrap his stupid brain around that fact?”
“Now what?” Kira asked.
Nick took his cell phone from the pocket of his sweats. “We get a certain cop here, pronto. I’m sending the jet to L.A. Who wants to pilot?”
“I’ll do it,” Jax volunteered. “My license is current.”
Kira spoke up. “I’ll go with you. I’m betting she’s going to need another woman to talk to about the mating thing.”
“Good idea,” Nick said. “Go. I’ll tell her to meet you at our landing strip east of the city.”
The couple left and Nick went to the waiting area to make the call. Zan followed and sat across from him, silent. Nick waited, not surprised when she answered on the second ring.
“Hello? Nick?”
“It’s me. Rowan, listen to me—you were right. Something has happened and I need you here right away.”
“Oh, God! It’s Aric, right? What’s wrong with him?”
“Jax and Kira are on their way in our jet, and they’ll explain when they arrive. Pack your stuff and be at the landing strip in two hours. Can you do that?”
“Of course. Give me directions and I’ll be there.” Her voice had calmed, taking on that cop tone he’d come to know so well.
Right then he knew without a doubt that Rowan would do whatever she could to save Aric. She loved the man. There was hope.
He gave her directions to the strip and hung up, slumping in his seat. He and Zan didn’t speak. They just listened to the clock tick on the wall, and prayed that Jax could get Rowan back here in time.
