Rans groaned, lifting a bloody palm to his neck as the fleshy ruin began to knit itself together, and I could breathe again.
“Get him on the bed,” Rans said hoarsely. “Blimey. Can’t say I’ve missed that part of things over the past couple of centuries.”
Nigellus stooped to lift Guthrie as though the broad-shouldered black man weighed nothing, carrying him to the bed with its rumpled covers. I fell onto my knees next to Rans, my hands flying to his face and neck.
“Are you all right?” I begged, offering up my latest entry for the stupid question of the month award. The rug beneath my knees felt spongy, and my stomach rolled as I realized the place I was kneeling was soaked in blood.
“Ugh. Yes... just about,” he said, wincing as he rolled onto an elbow. “Bit of a rough day at the office, if I’m being honest.”
Beneath my fingers, the skin on his neck that had been ripped and torn was once again unblemished—even though it was still sticky with blood. I let my hands fall away.
“You need to feed,” I said, because that was easier than dealing with... well... everything else.
He caught my right hand in his and kissed the knuckles before letting it slip free. “Yes. But not from you. You’re about to fall over, love. I’ll nip down to the garage in a few minutes and grab a bite from someone in a quiet corner. I just want to make certain our friend is truly down for the count first.”
I nodded wordlessly, feeling everything hitting me at once. My eyes slid to Guthrie’s still form on the bed, the front of his white cotton t-shirt stained red from his messy feeding.
“I... need some air,” I managed, and stumbled out of the room. I could feel two pairs of eyes following me as I left.
My feet carried me down the hallway to the spartan workout room with its glass wall and sliding door. Beyond it lay the peaceful rooftop patio, with its atmospheric lighting and carefully tended planters full of flowers. My hand left a bloody palm print on the glass as I steadied myself against it. I stared at the red mark for a long moment.
It was probably both rude and disgusting of me, but once I was outside, I walked to the hot tub in a daze and swished my hands in the water until the blood was mostly gone from my skin. I scrubbed at the blood on my knees as well; then I took a few more unsteady steps until I could turn and sink down on the concrete, my back resting against the low wall surrounding the edge of the roof.
I stared at nothing for quite a while, my mind going blissfully blank. Time passed, the sounds of the city below filtering up to the rooftop retreat, but only distantly. The night air gradually dried the front of my rain-soaked shorts and the shirt borrowed from Rans, but the fabric at my back remained clammy where it pressed against the cool concrete of the building.
The door slid open, and I looked up, pulling my vision into focus with difficulty. Rans crossed the distance separating us and slid down to sit next to me, shoulder to shoulder. He’d cleaned himself up and found a shirt to wear. He didn’t look as pale as a walking corpse, either, so I gathered he’d found an unsuspecting blood donor somewhere in the building, as he’d promised he would.
There was... so much to say that I didn’t really know where to start, but what came out of my mouth was, “Is Caspian dead?”
Christ. I’d shot him. More than once, I was pretty sure. Of course, I’d only done it because he’d just ordered his goons to kill me—slowly. But even so...
“Was the gun you were using firing iron bullets?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t... think so? I mean, I took it off one of the police officers Caspian had in his thrall...”
“Most likely not, then,” Rans agreed. “In which case, no, Caspian isn’t dead. Just temporarily inconvenienced.”
“You killed one of the cops,” I said, not even sure why I felt the need to bring it up.
“And you killed another three of them, based on the number of heartbeats I could make out, compared to the number of bodies piled around you,” Rans replied. “Possibly four of them, since the one you shot in the thigh appeared to be bleeding out from the femoral artery. Welcome to the jungle, where the only law is kill or be killed. I’m sorry you had to be introduced to it like this.”
I tried to say something—I wasn’t even sure what—but I couldn’t seem to get enough air into my lungs to make the words come out. A moment later, I realized it was because I was sobbing, fat tears and snot slicking my face. An arm snaked around my shoulders, tucking me against a cool body.
It took me a few minutes to wrestle everything back under control. What would the authorities make of the grisly scene in California? A dozen armed cops—one shot with another officer’s gun, one with a broken neck, and the rest in a pile with their life force mysteriously drained to the point of unconsciousness or death. Would the massacre be front-page news tomorrow? Or would the Fae somehow cover the whole thing up?
“I need to leave for a bit,” Rans said when I was no longer crying like a leaky fountain. “I’ll have to acquire some blood bags from the nearest hospital, for when Guthrie wakes up.”
I nodded against his shoulder. “Okay. When will he wake up?”
“Within the next few hours,” he replied. “It varies from person to person. I should warn you up front that
