Revenant
Page 70
But Blaspheme had left him off balance, awash in unexpected new feelings and dusting off emotions he hadn’t used since his mother died.
I’m here for you, she’d said. I’m here for you.
Warmth blanketed his heart, replacing the frost that had deadened the muscle. It felt as if the organ was truly beating for the first time, and the lightness, the energy he felt, was amazing.
Overcome with an urge to kiss the ever-living hell out of her, he went back inside, found her sitting stiffly on his couch, her purse over her shoulder, her hands folded in her lap.
Something wasn’t right.
“Hey,” he said. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She stood, but she avoided his gaze. “We should go. We can stop by UG so I can pick up an obstetrics bag and the portable ultrasound machine.”
Maybe she’d gotten some bad news while she’d been in the bedroom. He wanted to ask, and yesterday he would have. But something had changed between them since then, and he’d entered into a strange dynamic he wasn’t familiar with.
He wasn’t exactly the most patient person on the planet, but he’d give it a shot for once. Maybe she’d tell him on her own when she was ready.
He just hoped she was ready soon. His newfound interest in trying to be more patient probably wouldn’t last.
Her hand felt stiff and cold in his as he grasped it and flashed them directly to her office.
“Wait here,” she said, still not meeting his gaze.
She took off, and he wasted time by checking out all the knickknacks on her desk and on her shelves. She seemed to be a fan of butterflies. Little crystal figurines in bright, cheery colors decorated the office, and on her walls, two huge watercolor paintings of blue and yellow butterflies bracketed her medical degrees and award certificates.
All he had on his walls were racks of weapons and a couple of enemy skulls.
Blaspheme returned, two large bags slung over her shoulders. To be gentlemanly, something completely new, he took both bags.
“You like butterflies,” he said, stating the freaking obvious. “Why?” To him, they were nothing but winged worms.
“Because,” she said, snaring her purse. “They spend the first part of their lives in disguise, ugly, not knowing their full potential. But when they can finally be themselves, they can fly and be the beautiful creatures they were born to be.” A thread of sadness infused her voice. Guess she really had a thing for winged worms.
And she still wouldn’t look at him.
“Blaspheme?”
“What?” she snapped.
Whoa. “Did I do something to piss you off?”
The thick blond lashes that framed her intense blue eyes flipped up. “No,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “I just have a lot on my mind, and frankly, I’m not looking forward to treating that evil skank.”
He sensed there was more to it than that, and while he might be dense about female moods, he had a feeling she would only get angrier if he pushed more.
“We won’t be there for long,” he said. “And if you’re worried about your safety, know that I will kill anyone who tries to harm you.”
“Yes,” she said in a nasty tone, “because that’s what you do, isn’t it? You kill. How easy is it for you? How many butterflies have you crushed under your boots, Revenant?”
Taken aback by her sudden anger, he fought to stay calm when he really wanted to lash out. Which was a first.
“I am, for all intents and purposes, a fallen angel,” he said flatly. “Killing is in my nature. Enjoying it is in my nature. You knew this when you fucked me the first time. And the second. And now you’re taking issue with it? That’s like being angry at a shark for killing a seal. It’s in his nature.”
“And that’s the problem,” she whispered. “That’s the problem in a nutshell.”
Revenant flashed Blaspheme to Gethel’s residence without another word. The moment they materialized, Gethel lit into Revenant with ear-shattering shrieks about taking his damned time bringing a doctor.
“Chill out,” he said as he sank into a chair near one of the hearths. “It’s not like you’re going to die from a little bleeding.”
Blaspheme held up a hand. “Enough. Gethel, I need you to lie down on the sofa. I’m going to perform an ultrasound and get a sample of amniotic fluid.”
“Will it hurt?”
“Yes.”
Gethel grinned. “Good.”
Blaspheme just shook her head as she squatted down on the floor and rummaged through the duffel for the supplies needed for the amniocentesis. Her fingers closed around something strange… Frowning, she drew out a small, filled syringe with a piece of paper secured around it with a rubber band.
As Gethel positioned herself on the sofa and lifted her tattered maternity blouse to expose her belly, Blaspheme checked out the paper.
One word, written in Eidolon’s neat script: AMNIOINFUSION.
She stared at the letters, trying to make sense of them. Then it hit her. The syringe was filled with the solarum Eidolon had mentioned. Instead of injecting saline into the amniotic sac during a normal amnioinfusion treatment, she was supposed to inject the solarum —
She jerked, nearly dropping the syringe. Poison. The pale yellow liquid inside the syringe’s barrel was poison to evil beings, and the more evil, the more poisonous it was. And Lucifer, being the son of Satan…
Oh, damn.
I’m here for you, she’d said. I’m here for you.
Warmth blanketed his heart, replacing the frost that had deadened the muscle. It felt as if the organ was truly beating for the first time, and the lightness, the energy he felt, was amazing.
Overcome with an urge to kiss the ever-living hell out of her, he went back inside, found her sitting stiffly on his couch, her purse over her shoulder, her hands folded in her lap.
Something wasn’t right.
“Hey,” he said. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She stood, but she avoided his gaze. “We should go. We can stop by UG so I can pick up an obstetrics bag and the portable ultrasound machine.”
Maybe she’d gotten some bad news while she’d been in the bedroom. He wanted to ask, and yesterday he would have. But something had changed between them since then, and he’d entered into a strange dynamic he wasn’t familiar with.
He wasn’t exactly the most patient person on the planet, but he’d give it a shot for once. Maybe she’d tell him on her own when she was ready.
He just hoped she was ready soon. His newfound interest in trying to be more patient probably wouldn’t last.
Her hand felt stiff and cold in his as he grasped it and flashed them directly to her office.
“Wait here,” she said, still not meeting his gaze.
She took off, and he wasted time by checking out all the knickknacks on her desk and on her shelves. She seemed to be a fan of butterflies. Little crystal figurines in bright, cheery colors decorated the office, and on her walls, two huge watercolor paintings of blue and yellow butterflies bracketed her medical degrees and award certificates.
All he had on his walls were racks of weapons and a couple of enemy skulls.
Blaspheme returned, two large bags slung over her shoulders. To be gentlemanly, something completely new, he took both bags.
“You like butterflies,” he said, stating the freaking obvious. “Why?” To him, they were nothing but winged worms.
“Because,” she said, snaring her purse. “They spend the first part of their lives in disguise, ugly, not knowing their full potential. But when they can finally be themselves, they can fly and be the beautiful creatures they were born to be.” A thread of sadness infused her voice. Guess she really had a thing for winged worms.
And she still wouldn’t look at him.
“Blaspheme?”
“What?” she snapped.
Whoa. “Did I do something to piss you off?”
The thick blond lashes that framed her intense blue eyes flipped up. “No,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “I just have a lot on my mind, and frankly, I’m not looking forward to treating that evil skank.”
He sensed there was more to it than that, and while he might be dense about female moods, he had a feeling she would only get angrier if he pushed more.
“We won’t be there for long,” he said. “And if you’re worried about your safety, know that I will kill anyone who tries to harm you.”
“Yes,” she said in a nasty tone, “because that’s what you do, isn’t it? You kill. How easy is it for you? How many butterflies have you crushed under your boots, Revenant?”
Taken aback by her sudden anger, he fought to stay calm when he really wanted to lash out. Which was a first.
“I am, for all intents and purposes, a fallen angel,” he said flatly. “Killing is in my nature. Enjoying it is in my nature. You knew this when you fucked me the first time. And the second. And now you’re taking issue with it? That’s like being angry at a shark for killing a seal. It’s in his nature.”
“And that’s the problem,” she whispered. “That’s the problem in a nutshell.”
Revenant flashed Blaspheme to Gethel’s residence without another word. The moment they materialized, Gethel lit into Revenant with ear-shattering shrieks about taking his damned time bringing a doctor.
“Chill out,” he said as he sank into a chair near one of the hearths. “It’s not like you’re going to die from a little bleeding.”
Blaspheme held up a hand. “Enough. Gethel, I need you to lie down on the sofa. I’m going to perform an ultrasound and get a sample of amniotic fluid.”
“Will it hurt?”
“Yes.”
Gethel grinned. “Good.”
Blaspheme just shook her head as she squatted down on the floor and rummaged through the duffel for the supplies needed for the amniocentesis. Her fingers closed around something strange… Frowning, she drew out a small, filled syringe with a piece of paper secured around it with a rubber band.
As Gethel positioned herself on the sofa and lifted her tattered maternity blouse to expose her belly, Blaspheme checked out the paper.
One word, written in Eidolon’s neat script: AMNIOINFUSION.
She stared at the letters, trying to make sense of them. Then it hit her. The syringe was filled with the solarum Eidolon had mentioned. Instead of injecting saline into the amniotic sac during a normal amnioinfusion treatment, she was supposed to inject the solarum —
She jerked, nearly dropping the syringe. Poison. The pale yellow liquid inside the syringe’s barrel was poison to evil beings, and the more evil, the more poisonous it was. And Lucifer, being the son of Satan…
Oh, damn.
