The Beast
Page 133
The nurse took one look at what was going on—and immediately went into professional mode. “Come with me. Back to bed. Back to bed we go.”
Layla was dimly aware of the female taking her by the arm and depositing her back on the mattress.
“The young—what about the young—”
“Hold on, I’m calling for Doc Jane.” Ehlena hit the summoning button. “I’m just going to hook you up to the machines, okay?”
Everything happened so fast. Wires set upon her, monitors engaged, Doc Jane rushing in. The ultrasound rolled into the room. Manny arriving. Qhuinn and Blay nearly breaking down the door as they came in.
“The young,” she moaned. “What about the young . . . ?”
* * *
It was as the wind blew o’er the land.
Consciousness returned to Xcor in the manner of a gust that traveled around and over a landscape, bypassing some things, rustling others, penetrating through still more. Accordingly, he was aware of many aches, and yet there were great patches of numbness, too—he could feel measures of agony and stretches of tingles . . . twitches and jerks . . . but then nothing at all in great swaths of his flesh.
Smell registered with acuity, however.
The scent of dirt confused him.
Behind his closed eyes, he oriented himself as best he could using his ears and his nose. He was not alone. There was the scent of one—no, two other male vampires with him. Further, they were speaking in low tones—well, one of them was. The other said naught that Xcor could ascertain.
He did not know them. Or, more accurately, he did not recognize them as being his soldiers—
The Brotherhood. Indeed, yes, he had scented them before. When the Brotherhood had come to speak unto the glymera at that meeting of the Council.
Had he been captured?
Hazy details of the night came back to him. Of him being in that alley next to that burned-out car shell. Of him following a food truck . . . following where? Where had he gone?
Was this a dream?
Images filtered across his mind’s eye, but they did not stay long enough for him to grasp—
“He’s frowning,” the male voice said. “His hands are moving. Are you awake, bastard?”
He could not have answered if his life depended upon it—and in fact, his life did depend on it. If he had been captured, the how’s and where’s were—
Campus.
He had not followed the food truck. No, he had been on top of the vehicle, riding through the night as the slayers he had been hunting had proceeded out of downtown, past the suburbs, unto an abandoned college or preparatory school’s campus.
Whereupon he had witnessed the aftermath of a great battle, a devastating loss for the Lessening Society.
Waged by the Brotherhood.
He had found a human. Upon a roof.
And then he himself had been struck upon the back of the head.
How long had he been unconscious? His body ached all over, not as if it had been beaten, but rather as if it hadn’t been used in a while.
“Are you finally awake?” the voice demanded.
Finally . . . ? Yes, it must have been some time that he had been unconscious. In fact, he felt as though he had been lying in this position for a prolonged period.
What was that beeping—
Ringing. All of a sudden there was ringing—cell phones going off. The male who had been doing the speaking answered.
“What? When? How much? Oh, God . . . yes. Right away. Can Lassiter come and sit with him? Where is he? We’ll both come then.” There was a pause. “John—yes, it’s happening now and they need us for blood. We have to go. I don’t want to leave him, either, but what are we going to do? No, I don’t know where Lassiter is.”
There was some shuffling, as if they were gathering up supplies.
“No, they want both of us. She’s in labor. The young are coming and it’s too early.”
Layla!
Without thinking, Xcor’s lids popped open. The two fighters had turned away and were leaving, thank the Fates, so they caught him not.
“I’m terrified, too,” the one with the red hair said. “For her, for Qhuinn. And he’ll be fine. He’s going nowhere.”
The sounds of their footfalls decreased until there was a clanking, as if a gate or perhaps some chains were being moved. And then there was a repeat of all that.
Xcor blinked wildly. When he went to sit up, he found that, indeed, he was not going anywhere. There were steel bands at his wrists and ankles, and even around his waist. Moreover, he was too weak to do much more than hold his head up.
Craning around, he saw that he was surrounded by vessels of some description or another . . . they were jars, jars that were set upon shelves that ran from floor to ceiling. In a cave? And yet there was monitoring equipment keeping tabs on his bodily functions that were of complex and electronic nature.
“Layla . . .” he said in a voice that cracked. “Layla . . .”
Collapsing back against the bedding he was strapped down on, his will to escape and go to her was great though he knew not where she was or even where he was. His body had other plans, however. As night eclipsed the illumination of the daytime hours, darkness descended upon him once again.
Owning him.
His last thought was that the female he both loved and feared needed him, and he wanted to be there for her . . .
FIFTY-SIX
On the way out of TGI Friday’s, Rhage stopped by the hostess stand. Or rather, he was forced to come to a halt because the human woman who had seated him got in his path and wouldn’t move.
Layla was dimly aware of the female taking her by the arm and depositing her back on the mattress.
“The young—what about the young—”
“Hold on, I’m calling for Doc Jane.” Ehlena hit the summoning button. “I’m just going to hook you up to the machines, okay?”
Everything happened so fast. Wires set upon her, monitors engaged, Doc Jane rushing in. The ultrasound rolled into the room. Manny arriving. Qhuinn and Blay nearly breaking down the door as they came in.
“The young,” she moaned. “What about the young . . . ?”
* * *
It was as the wind blew o’er the land.
Consciousness returned to Xcor in the manner of a gust that traveled around and over a landscape, bypassing some things, rustling others, penetrating through still more. Accordingly, he was aware of many aches, and yet there were great patches of numbness, too—he could feel measures of agony and stretches of tingles . . . twitches and jerks . . . but then nothing at all in great swaths of his flesh.
Smell registered with acuity, however.
The scent of dirt confused him.
Behind his closed eyes, he oriented himself as best he could using his ears and his nose. He was not alone. There was the scent of one—no, two other male vampires with him. Further, they were speaking in low tones—well, one of them was. The other said naught that Xcor could ascertain.
He did not know them. Or, more accurately, he did not recognize them as being his soldiers—
The Brotherhood. Indeed, yes, he had scented them before. When the Brotherhood had come to speak unto the glymera at that meeting of the Council.
Had he been captured?
Hazy details of the night came back to him. Of him being in that alley next to that burned-out car shell. Of him following a food truck . . . following where? Where had he gone?
Was this a dream?
Images filtered across his mind’s eye, but they did not stay long enough for him to grasp—
“He’s frowning,” the male voice said. “His hands are moving. Are you awake, bastard?”
He could not have answered if his life depended upon it—and in fact, his life did depend on it. If he had been captured, the how’s and where’s were—
Campus.
He had not followed the food truck. No, he had been on top of the vehicle, riding through the night as the slayers he had been hunting had proceeded out of downtown, past the suburbs, unto an abandoned college or preparatory school’s campus.
Whereupon he had witnessed the aftermath of a great battle, a devastating loss for the Lessening Society.
Waged by the Brotherhood.
He had found a human. Upon a roof.
And then he himself had been struck upon the back of the head.
How long had he been unconscious? His body ached all over, not as if it had been beaten, but rather as if it hadn’t been used in a while.
“Are you finally awake?” the voice demanded.
Finally . . . ? Yes, it must have been some time that he had been unconscious. In fact, he felt as though he had been lying in this position for a prolonged period.
What was that beeping—
Ringing. All of a sudden there was ringing—cell phones going off. The male who had been doing the speaking answered.
“What? When? How much? Oh, God . . . yes. Right away. Can Lassiter come and sit with him? Where is he? We’ll both come then.” There was a pause. “John—yes, it’s happening now and they need us for blood. We have to go. I don’t want to leave him, either, but what are we going to do? No, I don’t know where Lassiter is.”
There was some shuffling, as if they were gathering up supplies.
“No, they want both of us. She’s in labor. The young are coming and it’s too early.”
Layla!
Without thinking, Xcor’s lids popped open. The two fighters had turned away and were leaving, thank the Fates, so they caught him not.
“I’m terrified, too,” the one with the red hair said. “For her, for Qhuinn. And he’ll be fine. He’s going nowhere.”
The sounds of their footfalls decreased until there was a clanking, as if a gate or perhaps some chains were being moved. And then there was a repeat of all that.
Xcor blinked wildly. When he went to sit up, he found that, indeed, he was not going anywhere. There were steel bands at his wrists and ankles, and even around his waist. Moreover, he was too weak to do much more than hold his head up.
Craning around, he saw that he was surrounded by vessels of some description or another . . . they were jars, jars that were set upon shelves that ran from floor to ceiling. In a cave? And yet there was monitoring equipment keeping tabs on his bodily functions that were of complex and electronic nature.
“Layla . . .” he said in a voice that cracked. “Layla . . .”
Collapsing back against the bedding he was strapped down on, his will to escape and go to her was great though he knew not where she was or even where he was. His body had other plans, however. As night eclipsed the illumination of the daytime hours, darkness descended upon him once again.
Owning him.
His last thought was that the female he both loved and feared needed him, and he wanted to be there for her . . .
FIFTY-SIX
On the way out of TGI Friday’s, Rhage stopped by the hostess stand. Or rather, he was forced to come to a halt because the human woman who had seated him got in his path and wouldn’t move.
