Page 49

Roman perked up at the invitation to say more. “Her legal name is Shayla Cousens. Works for the Riptide. Strawberry blonde hair, green eyes, waterdrop tattoo.” He skimmed the ink below his eye with a knuckle.

She shook her head. “Sorry, no. Aside from you two, I haven’t seen any other Darkslayers. But I’ve only been working emerg, and even if I tried checking the records, I don’t think they would tell us much. A lot—and I meana lotof people have come in today in conditions too critical to provide identification.” She sighed. “If the city manages to survive this, we’re going to have a hell of a time sorting everything out.”

The lift juddered to a stop on the third floor ICU. The doors hissed open, the floor of the hallway beyond freshly polished with bleach.

“Any chance you could have a look anyway?” Roman asked as they exited the lift.

They carried on down the hallway, past rooms filled with murmuring voices and beeping machines.

Finally, she said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

The room they were shooting for was about a five-minute walk from the elevator. They filed inside, and Darien took a seat in the lone chair by the door while the Healer retrieved the mat she would need to channel magic from the anima mundi. She spread it across the floor by his feet and knelt upon it.

It took longer than last time to mend the fractured bones in Darien’s hand. As for the pain, it was a thousand times worse. More excruciating than the countless other injuries—bullets, bites, stabbings—he’d sustained during his years as a Darkslayer.

He bit his tongue, sweat trickling down his spine. By the time she made it to the worst of the fractures, his teeth had pierced through the side of his tongue, and he could taste and smell nothing but his own blood.

His memory of Loren’s face was the only thing that kept his heart beating, the only thing that kept him from passing out. He had to do this—be strong—for her. If he couldn’t use hisdominant hand, how the fuck was he supposed to protect her properly?

“All done.” The Healer’s voice was muffled by the ringing in his ears.

With a deep breath, he opened his eyes, unaware that he’d shut them.

“You can’t take this off, can you?” She tugged on the thick, leathery sleeve of his bodysuit—the glove he couldn’t strip off. She’d taken advantage of the many rips in the material, needing skin contact for the healing shades of her aura to exit her body and flow into his.

He shook his head. Roman was watching from his spot near the examination table, looking white as a sheet. Having recently witnessed the brutal nature of Roman’s everyday life, Darien understood perfectly well why shit like this disturbed him so deeply.

“Would you like me to do anything for your face?” she asked, eyeing the bruises and cuts courtesy of Don.

“Don’t worry about it,” he managed to say. His hellseher healing would take care of that. “Thanks for letting me cut the line.”

“You’re welcome.” The Healer stood and picked up the mat. “I’ll give you a new compression glove to take home with you. Make sure you wear it twenty-four seven.” She rolled up the mat. “And don’t punch anyone this time.”

“Copy.” He took another deep breath, his hand on fire. “You got any painkillers?”

“I can grab you some from the nurse’s station.” She eyed the beads of sweat prickling across his brow. “Think you can manage a bit of a walk, or would you rather wait here?”

“I’m fine.” He didn’t come this far just to rot in a hospital room. If he didn’t keep moving, he’d feel like he was giving up.

The look on her face suggested she was surprised and more than a little impressed, but she masked it quickly. “Right this way.”

14

Intensive Care Unit

YVESWICH, STATE OF KER

“I don’t know what happened,”Jewels croaked. She was propped up in bed, looking more washed out than ever in that hospital gown, her pale fingers toying with the vinyl identification band on her wrist.

The rhythmic beeping of the equipment scattered throughout the shared space reminded Loren of her many visits to Angelthene General. She had been poked and prodded by more doctors than she could count, each and every one finding more questions than they did explanations for her long, baffling medical history. But her memory of the poking and the prodding wasn’t the only reason this place unsettled her.

Not long ago, she had been lying in a bed like this one, trapped in a coma with no hope of waking up. And just the other day, she’d found out that Darien had slept with her every night—he’d said so himself. Had stayed with her so she wouldn’t be alone, guarding her body while her soul drifted through the spirit realm.

With a deep breath that barely soothed the ever-growing ache in her chest, she focused on the female Reaper’s quiet voice as she recounted her final moments before her heart stopped.

“I’ve had seizures before, but…never that intense,” Jewels whispered. “It hurt so bad, it felt like my spine was going to snap in half.”

She let go of her wristband and scratched absently at a fleck of dried blood beneath her right eye—a spot the nurses had missed when they’d washed her face.