Page 282 of Golden Eagle

She didn’t know how many times she’d been shot, only that it hurt. That it had been like fire, then, and the ugly throbbing of an abscess, now, a pain in her bones.

She wanted to blame what she’d done on pain; that it had left her reeling and senseless. But, if anything, the pain had sharpened her senses; she’d felt every grain of stubble in Dr. Fowler’s jaw where she’d gripped him. Had felt the weight of his body when she’d lifted him; felt how terribly fragile his skull was…before she’d bashed it again and again against the wall. She’d felt it crack like an egg. Had felt herselfbreakhim.

And the worst part: her only regret was that she hadn’t thought to feed from him first, when she was injured and in need of blood.

Now, when her adrenaline had ebbed, she was left only with pain, and a dull, empty, aching place inside her where regret for what she’d done should have resided.

She’d seen Val across the warmly-lit warehouse when they’d first arrived. He’d been blood-streaked, hair falling down out of his braids, his face pale and thin, his expression one of rattled exhaustion. He’d made a sound when he’d seen her – an involuntary one, she thought, somewhere between a sigh of relief and a whimper – and run to her. The pain had been manageable when he’d held her; the reassuring heat and scent of him, her mate, had let her shove the hurts down to a level where they didn’t threaten to overpower her.

He’d run hands all over her, finding still-healing wounds. “You’re hurt.” A broken sound in his throat. “Darling, theyhurtyou.”

He hadn’t let go of her since; held her hand, now, as she lay on a table and looked up at the two people who, with brisk efficiency and genuine warmth, had promised to “set her to rights.”

One was a human, Dr. Leeds, former Army, he said, and used to “much worse.” He wore glasses with small, round lenses, a sour expression she expected was perpetual, and was smoking a cigarette.

The other was a wolf, a woman with a tidy dark braid, wearing the dark green camo that the wolves of the Lionheart pack wore, and she’d said her name was Marian.

Maid Marian, Mia thought a little wildly, and realized her breathing had gone ragged and tight when Val squeezed her hand.

All her time in hospitals had inured her to the indignities; she didn’t care that they’d cut her clothes off, and draped her with blue paper gowns, and were prodding the now-sealed entrance wounds with gloved fingers.

“Be better if I had an X-ray,” Leeds muttered.

For some reason, his grumpiness soothed her. She’d rather have that than Dr. Fowler’s obsequious ego.

“Don’t need one,” Marian said cheerfully. “I’m sorry, ducky, but this is a bit too forward, I’m afraid.” He leaned down andsniffed. “There’s one here, in the hip,” she said, moving down the length of Mia’s body. “And here, in her leg. Both hit bone.” She grimaced as she straightened. “Deep.” She turned to Mia. “We’ll sedate you, of course. But it’d be best to get them out, so they don’t cause you problems down the line.”

Mia nodded. “Whatever you think is best.” It wouldn’t be the worst surgery she’d undergone.

But Val’s hand tightened painfully on hers. He sucked in a quick breath, and said, voice shaking, “Are you sure you need to – but it will be – will it be painful?” When she glanced at him again, his face had gone so white she thought he might pass out.

Marian saw it, too. “Someone needs a chair.” She gestured, and one of Dr. Leeds’s assistants appeared behind Val, setting a folding chair down just in time for Val to fall down into it. He didn’t even seem to know it had happened, gaze still on Marian.

“Are you sure it’s necessary?”

“Val,” Mia said. When he looked at her – eyes too wide, pupils too tiny – “It’s okay. It’s just an operation. And I’m a vampire now, so we don’t have to worry about infection or healing, right?” She smiled, for his benefit; no part of her was smiling on the inside. “I’m worried about you. You need to feed.”

“No, I’m–”

His eyes rolled back, his hand went limp on hers, and he slid to the floor, unconscious.

Mariantsked. “Men. Always insisting they’re fine.”

~*~

I’m fine, Val thought, and found himself in the astral plane, his physical form very much passed out.

Damn.

His astral projection materialized in Vlad’s study at Blackmere. It was raining, here; he heard the drops pattering against the glass, and a jagged tongue of lightning illuminated the abandoned gardens, briefly, through the velvet-draped windows across from the desk where Vlad sat, poring over yet more maps. A small ginger cat sat beside one of the lamps, and Vlad petted it absently.

“Poppy!” Val blurted.

Vampire and cat both lifted their heads.

Vlad – his face sagging a little with fatigue – said, “What?”

“That’s my cat. Poppy.” He didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry, incredibly touched. “You kept her.”

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