The pain inside of him was raw as a fresh wound.
But at least none would otherwise know of it.
He was, after all, first and foremost, a soldier.
SIXTY-SIX
“Yes, absolutely you can go see him. He’s groggy, but aware.”
As Doc Jane smiled up at Qhuinn, he jacked his leathers higher on his hips and tucked in his muscle shirt. He drew the line at smoothing his hair down, however, forcing his arms to stay at his sides even though his palms were itching to pull a drag-through.
“And he’s going to be okay?”
The doctor nodded as she began to untie the surgical mask that was hanging around the front of her neck. “We removed the vampire equivalent of the human spleen, and that took care of the internal bleeding. We also went through him with a fine-toothed comb. Near as we can figure, he was in some kind of stasis in that oil drum, the Omega’s blood somehow preserving him in his current state in spite of the injuries. If he’d been left out, I’m very certain he would have died.”
The curse that brought about a miracle, Qhuinn thought.
“And he’s not contaminated?”
Jane shrugged. “He bleeds red, and no one can sense any of the Omega in him—it was just a case of on or around him.”
“Okay. All right.” Qhuinn glanced at the door. “Good.”
Time to go in, he told himself. Come on….
His eyes went to Blay’s. During the course of the four-hour operation, the guy had gone back and forth down the hall, taking breaks out in the parking lot for cigs. He’d always returned, though.
God, he looked grim.
Had ever since V had come out and found them…yeah.
Christ, what timing had that been.
“I’ll go in now,” he said.
It wasn’t until after Blay nodded that he actually entered the OR.
Pushing his way through the door, the first thing he was greeted with was that antiseptic smell that he associated with postfight contusions. Next was the subtle beeping by the gurney in the center of the room, and the sound of Ehlena typing at the computer.
“I’ll give you some private time,” she said in a kind voice, as she got to her feet.
“Thanks,” he replied quietly.
As the door shut behind her, Qhuinn retucked his shirt even though it didn’t need the help. “Luchas?”
Waiting for his brother to respond, he glanced around. The debris of the operation, the bloody gauze pads, the used instruments, the plastic tubing, was all gone—nothing but the still body under those white sheets, and a stuffed red biohazard bag to show for the hours that had passed.
“Luchas?”
Qhuinn went over and stared down. Man, he didn’t typically have problems with his blood pressure, but when he got a gander at his brother’s drawn face, things went for a spin, a surge of dizziness making him realize exactly how tall he was—and how far he had to fall.
Luchas’s eyes fluttered open.
Gray. They had both been gray, and still were.
Qhuinn reached behind and rolled over a little stool. As he sat down, he didn’t know what to do with his arms, his hands…his voice.
He had never expected to see a member of his family again. And that had been back before the raids, when he’d been kicked out.
“How you doing?” What a dumb-ass question that was.
“He kept…me…”
Qhuinn leaned in close, but damn, that weak, hoarse voice didn’t carry far. “What?”
“He kept me…alive….”
“Who?”
“…because of you.”
“Who are you talking about?” Hard to imagine the Omega had a vendetta against—
“Lash…”
At the sound of the name, Qhuinn’s upper lip peeled off his fangs. That motherfucker cousin of theirs—who turned out not to be blood at all, but rather, the transplanted son of the Omega. As a kid, the SOB been an obnoxious show-off. As a pretrans in the training program, he’d made John Matthew’s life a living hell. As a posttrans?
His true father had welcomed him back into the fold, and utter destruction had been the result. Lash was the one who had led the raids. After centuries of the Lessening Society having to hunt and peck for vampire enclaves, that bastard had known exactly where to send the slayers—and because he had been adopted into an aristocratic family, he had decimated the upper classes.
But apparently Daddio and the golden boy had had a falling-out.
Shit, the idea Lash had tortured his brother? Just made him want to kill him all over again.
As Luchas groaned and took a deep breath, Qhuinn raised a hand to…pat him on the shoulder or something. But he didn’t follow through. “Listen, you don’t need to talk.”
Those bloodshot gray eyes locked on his. “He kept me alive…because of what I did…to you….”
Down on the gurney, tears welled and started to fall, his brother’s emotions spilling out on his cheeks, regret mingling with what was undoubtedly physical pain as well as the narcotics used to treat it.
Because Qhuinn was hard-pressed to think that the guy would be showing anything like this under normal circumstances. That hadn’t been the way they’d all been raised. Etiquette over emotion.
Always.
“The Honor Guard….” Luchas started to cry in earnest. “Qhuinn…I’m so sorry…sorry….”
We’re not supposed to kill him!
Qhuinn blinked and went back to that beating at the side of the road, those males in black robes surrounding him and whaling on him as he’d tried to protect his head and his balls. Then it was up to the door to the Fade, to meet his daughter.
So strange the way things came full circle. And how some tragedies actually led to good things.
Now, Qhuinn did touch his brother, resting his dagger hand on that thin shoulder. “Shh…it’s cool. We’re good, it’s cool….”
He wasn’t sure whether that was true, but what else was he going to say while the guy cracked?
“He wanted…to turn me….” Luchas took a deep breath. “He brought me…back around. Woke up in the woods—his males beat me…did things to me…put me in that…blood. I waited for them to come back—never did.”
“You’re safe here.” That was all he could think of. “You don’t worry about a damn thing—no one’s getting anywhere near you.”
“Where…am I…”
“The Brotherhood’s training center.”
Those eyes widened. “In truth?”
“Yeah.”
“Indeed…” Luchas’s expression shifted, those once handsome features tightening even further. “What of Mahmen. Papa. Solange?”
Qhuinn just shook his head back and forth.
And in response, a sudden strength came into that frail voice. “Are you sure they are dead? Are you certain?”
As if he didn’t wish what he had suffered on any of them.
“Yeah, we’re sure.”
Luchas sighed and closed his eyes.
Shit. Qhuinn felt a little cheap about lying, but in spite of the fact that the machines by the bed suggested his brother was stable, if the guy tanked, he didn’t want to send Luchas to the grave thinking that after what had been done with him, no one could be sure how many others had been taken—or when.
In the quiet, Qhuinn looked down at his brother’s hand. That signet ring had been left on—maybe because the knuckle above it was so swollen, they would have had to cut it off.
The crest that had been carved into the gold face carried the sacred symbols that only the Founding Families could mark their lineage with. And yeah, wow, it was completely deranged—and grossly inappropriate—to covet the goddamn thing. After everything that had happened, you’d think he’d be disgusted.
Then again, maybe it was just a knee-jerk reaction, an echo from all those years of hoping against hope he’d get one of his own.
“Qhuinn?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry….”
Qhuinn shook his head, even though Luchas’s lids were closed. “You don’t worry about anything. You’re safe. You’re back. It’s all going to be okay.”
As his brother’s chest rose and fell again like he was relieved, Qhuinn rubbed his face and didn’t feel good about any of it. Not his brother’s condition—or his return.