Page 17

Unable to teleport, Kingsley is forced to drive, which he does with one hand on the wheel and the other pressing a makeshift bandage against my shoulder.

The silver bullet burns, a pain unlike anything I’ve felt in a long time, if ever. I tighten my jaw, hissing through my teeth. I’m literally feeling myself bleed out, which can’t be a good thing for a vampire. Outside the Jeep’s window, the lights of Orange County’s beach cities blur past in streaks of yellow and white.

The silver in my shoulder is preventing me from teleporting—or even summoning the single flame. The Jeep happened to be in the maintenance garage of the nuclear compound, complete with key and a very large man’s sweat suit in a gym bag. The engine hadn’t turned over, but the garage came equipped with battery starters.

“You’re lucky,” Kingsley says, voice calm but edged with concern. “Silver burns, but at least it didn’t hit anything vital—as far as we know.”

Of course, if it had, I would be talking with the Origin right about now and not my boyfriend. I roll my head to look at him. “I assume ‘your guy’ is someone who knows how to keep secrets?” Speaking is coming a little easier, now that the shock of the moment has passed.

The attorney smirks. “You could say that. We’re headed to St. Jude’s. Should be there soon. No traffic at this hour. Sure is easier when you can teleport.”

“Tell me about it.” I frown. St. Jude’s in Fullerton is one of the best hospitals in the area—for mortals. “You’re taking me to a mortal hospital?”

“Not entirely.”

He explains. Kingsley isn’t taking me to the regular emergency room. No, he’s taking me to the secret immortal emergency room—the one that doesn’t appear on any public records—and only appears as a nondescript ancillary building behind the hospital proper, the kind of place that leaves no lasting impression, just another building in a cluster of such buildings.

Forty minutes later—the time it takes to drive from San Clemente to Fullerton with no traffic—we pull into the rear of the hospital, where an unmarked steel door sits beneath a flickering fluorescent light. No ambulances, no posted signs, just a blank facade that could be mistaken for a supply entrance. Kingsley rushes out and, keeping a firm hand on my uninjured arm, leads me forward. He raps his knuckles against the door in a rhythmic pattern—three fast, two slow. A secret knock? Maybe. How had I not known of such a place?

A small, mechanical beep sounds, and the door unlocks with a soft click.

Once inside, it looks like a normal hospital emergency room, complete with the sterile scent of antiseptic—though not necessary with immortals. Why would a vampire worry about getting an infection? That said, the air is laced with something other —magic, power, undead blood. Strangely, the corridor is lined with sleek black tile, just in case I forgot this place wasn’t weird.

A vampire nurse—I’m assuming she’s a vampire, based on her lack of an aura—sits at the check-in desk, her long black hair tied up in a neat bun. Her name tag reads Mara . She barely glances up from her tablet computer.

“Who’s the patient?” she asks in a clipped tone.

I lift my good arm. “That would be me.”

She eventually looks up, her dark eyes first flicking over to Kingsley. “Do you vouch for her, Mr. Fulcrum?”

Kingsley nods. “She’s with me. She’s also my main squeeze.”

Mara “hummfs” and types something onto her screen. “You know the rules, Kingsley. Full confidentiality, no human police, no outside records. Payment up front.”

My man pulls out a sleek black card from his wallet and hands it over without hesitation. Mara scans it, nods, and gestures to the hallway beyond the desk. “Room three. Dr. Calloway will be with you shortly.” She returns his card.

Kingsley helps me down the hall, and I take in my surroundings as we pass by open doorways. Each room looks like a normal emergency room—clean, efficient, filled with state-of-the-art equipment. But the patients are anything but normal.

A man with glowing silver eyes and deep claw marks across his chest is being tended to by a tiny elven nurse who moves with practiced efficiency. Another room holds a witch clutching a burned hand, her fingers glowing faintly as if she’d been handling raw energy without proper protection. Further down, I glimpse a vampire with jagged wooden splinters embedded in his abdomen as a grimacing doctor removes them.

So much for privacy.

As Kingsley helps me into a chair in Room Three, I say, “ Main squeeze?”

“Main and only.”

“That’s better.”

Dr. Calloway enters. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with salt-and-pepper hair and an easy confidence that speaks of centuries of experience. No surprise, since his scent is unmistakable— werewolf . His navy scrubs are pushed up to reveal forearms crisscrossed with old scars.

He glances at my wound and nods. “Silver bullet?”

“Yeah,” I say, wincing as he peels back the bandage Kingsley hastily applied—bandages found in a first aid box attached to a wall at the nuclear facility. “Didn’t have time to dodge.”

I decide not to mention the silver bolt I’d eaten (figuratively speaking) a decade ago in a hotel in Brea, back when Rand the vampire hunter had had me on his radar.

Dr. Calloway chuckles. “Happens to the best of us. Had a vampire in here last week. Shot twice with silver bullets, once in the neck and the other in the head. She survived.”

And that would be, I believe, Andrew’s resident vamp. Damn, she was really put through the ringer. No wonder she didn’t want to play anymore.

The doc pulls a tray of instruments closer and adjusts the overhead light. “Anesthesia won’t work on you, I presume?”

“Doubtful.”

“Usually doesn’t for your kind. Anesthesia works by dulling nerve receptors. Except your body is regenerating before the drugs can take effect.”

“Which is to say, this is going to hurt?”

He sighs. “Right, Samantha. All I can do is work quickly and efficiently.”

I clench my jaw as he picks up a pair of forceps and a scalpel. His hands are at least steady.

“Fine,” I say. “Let’s get this over with.”

Kingsley steps beside me, his warm hand gripping mine. The thing about immortals is, they don’t get scared off by a little blood. “Squeeze my hand if you need to.”

I glare at him. “I’m not going to squeeze your hand like some damsel in distress.”

He smirks. “Suit yourself.”

Then Dr. Calloway digs in, and I squeeze the hell out of his hand.

“Oh,” he deadpans.

The pain is immediate and electric. The bullet had time to work its way deep into my flesh and up against the bone. My vision swims for a moment, but I keep still, grinding my teeth and crushing Kingsley’s hand, all while whimpering like a sick puppy.

“Almost there,” Calloway murmurs.

The forceps scrape against the bullet—or my bones—and a fresh wave of agony shoots through me. I feel Kingsley tense beside me, no doubt resisting the urge to intervene. The bullet finally gives. The doc pulls it free with a sickening slurp. It clinks loudly when it hits the metal pan.

I let out a slow, ragged breath, sagging against Kingsley’s hip.

Calloway cleans the wound quickly, dousing it with something that stings like hell but, apparently, helps flush out the residual silver. “You should heal fine within a few hours,” he says, wrapping my shoulder with practiced efficiency. “But you’ll be sore.”

“No kidding.”

He disposes of the bullet into a lead-lined container. “I’d advise avoiding silver bullets in the future, Ms. Moon.”

And with that, Mara appears in the doorway, tablet in hand. “Your payment has been processed, Ms. Moon. You’re good to go.”

Kingsley helps me up. I nod to Dr. Calloway. “Thanks for the assist.”

He smiles faintly. “I’m here if you need me. You know the way in now.”

“Just got to memorize that knock.”

As Kingsley leads me back to the Jeep, I glance over my shoulder at the hidden hospital ward. A secret place where immortals can get patched up without questions, without consequences. It’s efficient, professional, and just a little unnerving.

And something tells me I’ll probably be back. Perhaps many times.

Great.