Still, used for very brief intervals, the spell could be a boon, and Cullen could use it more safely than most of them. Not that Rule entirely trusted Cullen’s notion of safety. He studied his friend’s face and sighed. “You’ve already tapped into it, haven’t you?”
“Some.”
“Cullen—”
“Not stupid. Made sure it drew from my diamond, not me. Had to talk to Cynna, didn’t I? Didn’t want to scare her.”
“You also had to study the damned ward. And confer with Sherry. And—”
“You’re tense.”
Rule snorted. “I hate hospitals.” That much he could say. Cullen would accept it, even expect it.
“You need Lily. She’ll help.”
“She’s following in the car.”
“You need her,” Cullen repeated, and closed his eyes.
Cullen—or his wolf—was much too observant. Rule did need Lily. Her touch would help greatly . . . because of the mate bond. The bond Lily had first cursed, then accepted, and finally come to value for the gifts it brought them.
The mate bond. The Lady’s gift.
The bloody knot inside Rule tightened.
Man and wolf alike feared for Lily, were frantic at the separation, desperate to fix what they had no power to fix. But it was the man who felt betrayed . . . and who knew that betrayal pointed within as well as toward the Lady. It was the man who was riven by guilt.
“Consent is necessary,” he’d told Lily. As they knelt beside Brian where he lay dying, he’d told her the Lady could do nothing without her consent. He hadn’t urged her to play host to Wythe’s mantle, no, but he’d aided and abetted. He’d known when he asked that she didn’t believe it was possible. A hypothetical, that’s how she’d seen it when she gave permission.
He hadn’t warned her of danger. He hadn’t thought there was any.
Fool, fool, fool . . .
They slowed, turned, and slowed even more. The siren cut off. Rule glanced over his shoulder to look out the bit of windshield he could see. He caught a glimpse of the ER doors before the ambulance angled to the right, then started backing up. “We’re there,” he told Cullen, squeezing his shoulder.
Cullen’s eyes flew open. Vivid eyes, clearly awake and aware . . . but with no trace of the man. Wolf eyes. He didn’t speak or move.
“Good,” Rule said softly. “You’re keeping still. That’s good.” He made the sign for “hold” to reinforce that. Cullen-wolf understood English just fine, but physical language carried more meaning to a wolf.
They stopped. The driver opened his door and hopped out. The other EMT joined Rule in the back; Rule had to move forward to give him room. Cullen tilted his head to keep his gaze fixed on Rule, so Rule made the sign for “hold” again.
Obediently he lay still. The ambulance doors were flung open. The driver gripped the foot of the gurney and, with the redhead at its foot, slid it out. Rule followed. He jumped down lightly . . . and froze.
Three guns were pointed at him. Three guns held by three uniformed guards fanned out between them and the open ER doors. No—they were aiming at the goddamn patient. At Cullen.
A growl tried to rise in Rule’s chest.
The EMTs stopped dead. “What the hell!”
“Just a precaution,” one guard said. His hair was gray, his arms thin, his belly taking over what his chest had lost through the years. He wore bifocals. He held his .45 straight out in both hands. “You’ve got a lupus patient. We’re here to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone.”
“I know he’s a lupus. That’s what he’s here for,” the redheaded EMT said, a jerk of his head indicating Rule.
The guard’s gaze flicked to Rule. “He’s lupus, too?”
“Yeah, but he’s been—”
“Don’t move, you.” The guard’s gun fixed on Rule now. “Manny, cover Joe while he gets those cuffs on the one on the gurney. I’ll keep this one from interfering.”
“That’s illegal, you know,” Rule said pleasantly. He would not growl. He would not grab. He would not slap that fool’s face so hard it slid right off his empty head. “You have no need for your weapons, no reason to draw on us, and you can’t shoot me for accompanying my friend.”
“I can make sure you don’t cause trouble. That’s what I’m doing. Move away from the gurney.”
“No.” Rule inhaled slowly. He was in control, dammit. “I’m going to put my hand on my friend’s shoulder. If you shoot me, you’ll have two patients and one hell of a lawsuit.” He started to do just that, but his phone interrupted with an electronic version of a gypsy violin—several bars from Oleg Ponomarev’s “Smelka.”
Lily’s ring tone.
TWENTY-THREE
“. . . BE there in about five minutes.” Lily finished leaving a message for Rule and disconnected.
“He didn’t answer?” Scott said.
“Maybe they’ve got a phone Nazi in charge at the ER.” Her fingers were tingling. An odd sensation was rising in her, as if she had bubbles in her brain. Which was a deeply scary thought. She clenched both hands. They worked fine. “Turn right at the light.”
“GPS says to go straight.”
“And I say to turn right.”
“Okay. You want me to park a couple blocks away or out back or something?”
“No time.” Her toes were tingling now, too. Was she hyperventilating? Lily tried holding her breath. “I’ll deliver the news and we’ll clear out.” She should have time. Sjorensen had called Lily when Drummond left to talk to the federal attorney. There was a possibility the attorney wouldn’t want to go to a judge—but that was slim.
“Okay. Pretty nice acreage along here. Lots of room between the houses.”
She let her breath out so she could talk. It hadn’t helped, anyway. “Yeah. The Brookses’ place will be on the right about a mile, just past a scrap of woods. Old brick, two stories, circular drive.” Would Ruben run? Was that what he should do—what she wanted him to do?
She didn’t know. He might choose to sit tight, let them arrest him, let the system work. A couple weeks ago, she would have known that was the right thing to do. But he had this whole Shadow Unit thing going. In his visions, the country fell apart, riven into bloody chunks, part of it falling into anarchy, part into dictatorship. Lupi dead, Gifted dead . . . maybe Ruben had foreseen his own arrest and was expecting her. Maybe he was already gone. Maybe he knew exactly what he must do to keep his visions from becoming reality.
One thing was crystal clear. Ruben’s arrest was part of her plan.
“You trust this woman who called,” Scott said. “You believe her about Brooks getting arrested.”
Of course he’d heard both sides of that phone call. “Ninety-five percent trust, I guess.” Not that Lily knew Anna Sjorensen all that well, but what reason would she have to lie? Other than getting Lily to expose herself by racing to Ruben’s house to give him a chance to evade arrest. “Maybe eighty-five percent,” she corrected herself as Scott turned where she’d told him to. She clenched both hands again. They worked, but they didn’t feel right. Her head didn’t feel right. “But we’ll play the odds.”
THREE to one was not bad odds, not with only one gun aimed directly at him—and that by a man only ten feet away.