“While you’re at it, you could give me a little boost there. Anyway.” She looked around the battlefield. “I’m hoping you can fix this, too. I’m not going to score us another place if we leave things like this.”
“I’ll see to it. Other injuries?” Bran asked, though Sasha was already examining a nasty bite on Annika’s shoulder.
“Minor.” Doyle spoke up. “Once we lit those charges, they went down by the hundreds. And after she focused on you, what came at us was more a suicide squad to keep us busy.”
“You kicked her ass.” Sawyer pulled a bandanna out of his pocket, wrapped it around his bleeding forearm. “It was one hell of a show.”
“Don’t get cocky.” Riley gave him a hip bump. “We’d better square everything away here, and get gone. Any sense she’s coming back at us tonight, Sash?”
“She was shocked, and in pain. Enraged, but stunned Bran could not only hold her back, but hurt her. No, I can’t believe she’ll come back tonight. I can’t feel her at all now. She’s closed in, closed off.”
“Licking her wounds.” Riley gave Apollo’s head a rub. “Let’s do that, too. I’m going to give Apollo some water, and a great big treat.”
“I’m getting a beer.” Doyle headed off behind her.
“Still some of your bolts scattered around. I’ll police as much brass as I can in the dark, find the bolts.”
“I’ll give you some light for that,” Bran told Sawyer. “We’ll get this cleaned up after I’ve seen to Riley’s burns. They seem to be the worst of it.”
They turned as one at Doyle’s shout.
It bulleted out of the sky, wings spread, talons curled, straight at Riley. She reached for her gun, pivoting to shield the dog. Before she could clear the holster, Doyle shoved her aside.
Though he drew his sword, the creature buried fang and claw into his chest before he could strike.
It screamed in triumph as he fell, as the hilt slipped from his lifeless hand.
As the others charged forward, Riley yanked the thing away from Doyle with her bare hands, heaved it away. And drawing her gun with a hand sliced and gashed from its wings, emptied her clip into its body.
She dropped down beside Doyle, uselessly pressed her hands on the tearing wounds on his chest.
“No, no, no, no! Get me some towels. We need to put pressure on this, stop the bleeding. Bran, you have to do something.”
“Ah, God.” Like her, Bran knelt by the body. “Ah, God,” he said again. “It’s too late. He’s gone.”
“Then bring him back!”
“That’s beyond my power.” Gently Bran touched her arm, but she yanked away. “I can’t turn death, darling.”
Weeping, Annika sat, cradled Doyle’s head in her lap, stroked his hair. “Can we do nothing? Sawyer, take us back, even a few minutes, before . . .”
“Yes!” Eyes full of tears and rage, Riley jerked up her head. “Do it. Do it now.”
“I can’t.” He crouched, and though she shoved against him, wrapped his arms around Riley. “Death can’t be changed. If I took us back, it would happen again, no matter what we did. I can’t.”
“That’s bullshit. This is bullshit. He’s not supposed to be dead.” She looked at Sasha now, who stood, tears gleaming on her cheeks. “It’s not right.”
“I don’t know. I can’t see. I . . . only know we all risk our lives for this. But—”
She broke off, shaking her head. She felt something, but didn’t understand it. Struggling to, she knelt beside Bran, took Doyle’s limp hand in hers.
“No one dies for me. We try something, anything, goddamn it, before it’s too late.” Riley shoved Sawyer aside, once again pressed her hands on Doyle’s chest. “She doesn’t get to take one of us. She doesn’t get to win.”
There was a movement—a ripple—under her hands. Doyle drew in a deep, harsh breath.
“He’s alive!” On a stunned sob, Riley grabbed Bran’s hand, pressed it to the wound. “Do something.”
“He doesn’t need to,” Sasha murmured as life—and pain—flickered back into Doyle’s eyes.
“Christ,” he said in a voice as raw as the breath. “Stop shouting, and get all the bloody weight off my chest. It’s bad enough.”
“You were dead, man.” Sawyer hunkered back on his heels while Annika pressed a weeping kiss to Doyle’s head. “As in doornail. That’s no shit. Is this a zombie thing? Because I sure as hell don’t want to shoot you in the head.”
“Don’t be an idiot.” On another painful breath, Doyle pushed up to his elbows. The deep and vicious wound on his chest began—or continued—to heal.
“Glad you’re back, that’s pure truth. Not a vampire,” Sawyer speculated. “You spend plenty of time in the sun.”
“You’re an entertaining man, Sawyer.” Doyle shuddered, set his teeth.
“There’s pain. I can help there.”
Doyle shook his head at Bran. “It’s part of it. Has to be. It’ll pass. Where’s my sword?”
“I’ve got it.” When he sat up, Riley put it in his hand. “I appreciate the save, but why aren’t you dead?”
When he looked at her, Riley hastily swiped tears from her face.