Page 113 of Destined for Dreams
“He did. For a few minutes, anyway.” Bartol hesitated, glancing at the guardian. “He was severely wounded and could have given up—no one would have judged him for it—but he purposely took another hit just to buy Patrick extra time to get away. That was the strike that felled him for good.”
“He really meant it when he said he’d risk his life to make amends with you.” Cori rubbed her face. “And I didn’t believe him.”
Bartol’s jaw hardened. “It hardly makes up for nearly a century of torture.”
“But it counts for something, right?” At least, it did to Cori.
“Perhaps a little,” Bartol conceded.
Lucas and Caius walked up to them. “We should take Kerbasi back to the house. Micah can help him recover from his wounds after he finishes with Tormod.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Cori agreed.
One of the guys got an SUV pulled around, and they loaded Kerbasi into the back. Melena stayed behind so she could work things out with the authorities, but she promised she’d get a ride back with her DHS partners after she finished. As they drove away, Cori took in the full battlefield, feeling guilty that her part had been rather small compared to the others. It looked like everyone was wounded one way or another while all she suffered from was a little exhaustion. Still, she was thankful the people she cared about had made it out alive. It could have been worse.
Night fell as they traveled back to London. Despite the random scorch marks on the roads and the dead locusts everywhere, many people had turned on their holiday lights. They emitted bright cheerfulness and hope after an otherwise bleak and dark day. She could hardly believe tomorrow was Christmas Eve. If all went well, they’d take Lucas’ private plane back to Alaska and make it in time to celebrate the holiday at home.
They pulled up to the house. Lucas and Caius took hold of Kerbasi and carried him inside to his bedroom. Cori and Bartol found Micah tending to Tormod in the front reception room where the nerou lay still on the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. Yerik hovered nearby.
“How is he?” Cori asked.
“Physically, he is recovering well,” Micah replied. “But mentally, it’s as if he’s retreated somewhere deep inside his mind where we can’t reach him.”
Remiel appeared in the room wearing a fresh white robe, and his damaged wings had been hidden away. Many of his wounds were either fully healed or almost there. He kneeled next to the nerou, touching his head. For several minutes, everyone held their breath.
Finally, the archangel withdrew. “He is in there, but he does not respond to me.”
“What do you mean?” Yerik asked with a growl.
“His mind is living inside a nightmare—one he cannot wake from until he conquers it.” The archangel met the daimoun’s gaze. “There is no telling how he’ll behave once he returns to full consciousness.”
Yerik clenched his fists. “How long will he remain like this?”
“It could be days, weeks, or more likely… months. I cannot say for certain, but I do believe he stands a chance of returning to full consciousness eventually.”
Cori’s heart broke. The point Remiel left out was whether that would be a good thing for Tormod or not. If he came back as himself, he might feel shame or guilt over what he’d done. Should he come back as something else, they might have to put him down.
“I want to take him to his mother so that she can care for him,” Yerik said.
The archangel nodded. “Agreed, though you must return to your duties afterward. Also, I will be checking on your son regularly to ensure he does not become a danger to your mate or anyone else.”
“I will see to him daily as well,” Bartol added. “It’s the least I can do for him.”
Yerik gave him a grateful look. “I would appreciate that.”
Cori felt for the daimoun. He no doubt wanted to take care of his son himself, but he still had two months left of his punishment. Until that was over, he had to continue training the nerou in Ireland. Only after that could he return to his mate and son permanently.
“Then we are agreed,” Remiel said, nodding at Yerik. “I would suggest you wait until tomorrow to take your son—give yourself and him some time to recover.”
The daimoun nodded. “That’s soon enough, and it will allow me to watch over him for the night.”
Cori gestured at Micah, getting him to follow her and Bartol out of the room before speaking. “You need to check on Kerbasi. He’s in bad shape.”
“Show me,” the nephilim said.
She and Bartol led him through the house to the guardian’s small room near the back. Lucas and Caius had settled him on the bed, but they hadn’t stuck around to do anything more for him. Kerbasi was a bloody mess and needed to be cleaned up.
Micah knelt next to him, putting a hand on his head. “His natural healing is not working nearly as fast as it should.”
