“Irina—” The words die on my tongue. What can I say? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. As my heart seizes painfully, I know it won’t be enough.
Rhett’s features are tight, like he’s combing through every scenario in his playbook. Maks has casimuerto strength and Irina has his sword. Rhett has a messed-up shoulder and no weapon. He’s taller and more muscular than Maks, but Maks doesn’t back down.
Instead, he takes a step closer. His snowdrift eyes are open wide in amusement as Rhett puts his fists up.
“Stop, please,” I manage to say. I cough up blood and my heart gives a few painful lurches.
“Maks,” Irina whispers, raking her fingers across her chest. “I don’t feel well.”
That’s when I notice Irina and Maks both wince. It’s the tiniest flicker across their gray, undead faces. But it’s there. They can feel the pain I do. Rhett seems to notice too.
“Keep the sword,” Rhett says, and pulls a slim, black box from his pocket. “See this? It’s an alarm. My unit is coming and you two won’t make it out of here alive.”
“I guess we’re not done after all,” Maks tells me, and runs out the door with his sister.
Rhett looks back at me. The corners of my vision are dark, but I focus on his face. I remember him better now. At the hospital, soft and kind. Then, his voice in the alley and at headquarters. I can see him struggle between going after Maks and staying with me.
He stays.
Rhett groans as he lets himself collapse and take stock of his injuries. His nose bleeds freely from Maks’s sucker punch, and he presses the back of his hand to his nostrils to stop the flow. The skin over the ridge of his nose is split open and bruised around the bone.
I crawl over to him.
“Stop moving. You’re barely alive,” Rhett says. His voice is a deep, angry thread in the ringing in my ears.
I don’t know much about hunters, but I’m sure they don’t like when they get knocked to the ground by a member of the undead. He scoops me up and carries me into the kitchen, setting me down on the marble island. The cool stone is refreshing on my hot skin.
“I’ll be right back.” He hops on his good foot and stalks off toward the bathroom.
I assess my injuries with a weak pulse of magic. My left shoulder is dislocated from the impact against Rhett and the wall, though it would have been worse if I’d hit the stone floor. There’s a warm trickle of blood running down my temple. I touch it with heavy, trembling fingers. It’s a small relief that only the skin was broken when I slammed into the wall. I press my hand on my abdomen, where the injury that was healing has reversed again. Blood soaks through my cotton shirt. The skin around the stitches is hot and I’m sure if I look, I’ll see it’s splitting open again.
I pat down my pockets for my phone, but remember it’s plugged in the surveillance room at headquarters. Rhett’s heavy boots announce his return before I can see him turn the corner. There’s a first aid kit in his hands.
“What’s that going to do? Sinmago medicine doesn’t work on my kind.” I ask, laughing even though it hurts.
“Yes, but bandages will stop the bleeding until help gets here. I can’t exactly carry you in this condition on the subway.”
“How far away is your unit?”
He scoffs and pulls out the black device he showed Maks. He flicks the top off and pulls down on the wheel, igniting a small blue flame. I string together a series of curses at him.
“I’m glad our lives depended on your bluffing.” I lean my head back, dizziness taking hold of my sight. “Is letting people get away what the Knights of Lavant do best?”
“Look at me,” he says, voice deep and commanding. “Help is coming. All hunters have tracker implants. They’ll come for me.”
“That seems wrong somehow.” I try to breathe through the new swell of pain. “I need to get back to my family. They can heal me.”
“Don’t close your eyes. Not yet.”
I curse him because it’s the only thing that feels good. “If I have a concussion, it’s because of you.”
He opens the kit and riffles through Band-Aids and gauze pads. “You’re the one who ran off to find your precious zombie boyfriend.”
“You tried to arrest me.” I pull my hand away from his.
“Lula, please.” He takes hold of my wrists softly. “I promise, I’m not going to hurt you.”
My heart is racing too fast and I want to throw up and pass out and cry. But he’s the only one here and even if I can’t trust him, I at least know he wants to put an end to this.
“Fine,” I say.
Rhett works quickly, cleaning my wounds with alcohol and peroxide. He bandages up what he can, but I need more. I need my family.
“Are you really a nurse?”
“All the Knights of Lavant receive medical field training.” The muscles on his face relax and a smile accentuates his sharp cheekbones. This close, I can see how deep his brown eyes are, like I’m being swallowed up by their darkness.
“Lula?” His voice is frantic. “Stay awake.”
When I breathe in, I inhale chemical fumes that burn my senses awake. I blink rapidly, willing my eyes to focus on his face. The broken ridge of his nose, the fierce frown of his brow, the raven-black hair that falls over his face when he leans closer to me.
“Lula, Lula, stop,” he tells me. “Help is on the way.”
A hot flash racks my body and nausea hits me in an unrelenting wave. I lean forward and get sick all over his lap. Because I haven’t eaten much the last few days, I throw up bile and the remnants of the black-and-silver-flecked elixir I’ve been drinking.
Rhett audibly groans. Still, he brushes my sweaty hair back and dabs at the corners of my mouth with a cloth.
“Tell them to hurry,” I say.
His hands reach for me, and for the second time today, he catches me.
31
Silver flecks and kraken’s ink,
weary bones and orchids pink.
Shake under a crescent moon to drink.
—The Art of Poison, Angela Santiago
Cold air burns my throat and my nasal passages. I’m on a hospital bed surrounded by bright-white lights that force my eyes shut.
“It takes some adjusting to,” Rhett tells me.
He’s beside me, dressed in that black leather suit he wore in the alley. I reach out and touch the sleeve. This close, I can see the scale pattern that makes it look like dragon skin.
“What are you doing?”
“I just wanted to see what it felt like,” I say. “I’m not sure if you’re a vigilante or a scuba diver.”
“Funny,” Frederik says, appearing as if from thin air. “I see why Marty likes you so much.”
It hurts to laugh, but it’s also satisfying. Maks tried to kill me and would’ve succeeded if it hadn’t been for the hunter who wanted to arrest me. I sit up and take inventory of the various needles hooked into my veins. They’re connected to thin tubes that pump an iridescent liquid into my bloodstream. It makes me feel like an experiment.
I take note of the black hospital gown I’m wearing and, all at once, feel exposed.
“Your mother changed your clothes,” Rhett tells me, like he’s reading my mind. “She’s downstairs with everyone else.”
“Did they heal me?”
Frederik steps forward, his presence comforting for someone so undead. “They couldn’t. They need to save their strength for the Circle.”
I wade through my clouded memories. Before Rhett showed up, we were going to summon the High Circle. I glance at the hunter, but he’s avoiding my stare.
“What is this stuff?” I ask of the liquid.
“It’s what’s healing you,” Frederik says. He disappears in a blur, then reappears holding a familiar flower in a glass vial filled with glowing blue water. “I’ve been working on a serum that can heal supernatural beings.”
“In your spare time?” I take the vial from him.
“I’ve found some time in three hundred years since I took up the endeavor, yes.”
“It was you,” I say, touching the deep-plum petals. The same flowers are in a vase in my house. “You left the bouquet at my doorstep. The flowers were just like this.”