Four of the lessers went straight for the thick of the fighting, but one, a bulldog with thick shoulders and arms that hung like a gorilla’s, came over to V—probably to check him for weapons.
Vishous waited patiently, not moving, giving off a fuckload of next-stop-coffin.
Even when the bastard went to lean down, V stayed where he was . . . little closer . . . little . . . closer—
“Surprise, motherfucker,” he bit out. Then he grabbed the nearest wrist and yanked hard.
The slayer went over like a stack of plates, right across V’s bad leg. But it didn’t matter—adrenaline was a hell of a painkiller and gave him the strength not just to withstand the agony, but to hold the SOB in place.
Lifting up his glowing hand, Vishous brought his curse down on the face of the lesser—no reason to slap or slam; simple contact was enough. And just before it landed, his prey’s eyes popped wide, the illumination making the whites fluorescent.
“Yeah, this is gonna hurt,” V growled.
The sizzle and the scream were equally loud, but only the former persisted. In the latter’s place, a nasty stench like burned cheese wafted up along with a sooty smoke. It took less than a moment for the power in his hand to consume the slayer’s puss, the flesh and bone eaten away as the bastard’s legs jerked and his arms flailed.
When it was a case of Headless Horseman, V disengaged his palm and sagged. It would have been great to get the weight off his bum knee, but he just didn’t have the strength.
His last thought, before he passed out, was that he prayed his boys kicked this one fast. The mhis wasn’t going to linger if he wasn’t there to support it . . . and that meant they would be fighting in public on a big scale—
Lights. Out.
TWENTY-NINE
As Payne’s feet hung off the side of her bed, she flexed one and then the other over and over again, marveling at the miracle of thinking something and having her limbs follow the command.
“Here, put this on.”
Glancing up, she was momentarily distracted by the sight of her healer’s mouth. She couldn’t believe that they had . . . that he had . . . until she . . .
Yes, a robe would be good, she thought.
“I won’t let you fall,” he said as he helped her into the thing. “You can bet your life on it.”
She believed him. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” He jogged his arm. “Come on . . . let’s do this.”
Except the gratitude she felt was so complex she could not leave it unexpressed. “For all of it, healer. Everything.”
He smiled at her briefly. “I’m here to make you better.”
“You are.”
With that, she carefully pushed herself onto her feet.
The first thing she noticed was that the floor was cold on her soles . . . and then her weight was transferred and things went haywire: Her muscles spasmed under the load and her legs bowed like feathers flexed asunder. Her healer was there when she needed him, however, scooping his arm around her waist and supporting her.
“I stand,” she breathed. “I . . . am standing.”
“You sure the hell are.”
Her lower body was nothing like it had been, her thighs and calves trembling so badly her knees knocked together. But she stood.
“We shall walk now,” she said, gritting her teeth as shafts of hot and cold rocketed up and down her bones.
“Maybe taking it slow is—”
“To the lavatory,” she demanded. “Whereupon I shall relieve myself unattended.”
The independence was absolutely vital. To be allowed the simple, profound dignity of taking care of her body’s needs seemed like manna from above, proof positive that blessings, like time, were relative.
Except as she tried to step forward, she could not pick her foot up.
“Shift your weight,” her healer said as he pivoted her and moved in behind her, “and I’ll take care of the rest.”
When he clasped her about the waist, she did as he’d told her and felt one of his hands grasp the back of her thigh and lift her leg. Without cueing, she knew to lean forward and place her weight gently as he put her knee in the correct position, restricting the bend in the joint as she straightened her leg.
The miracle was mechanical in its expression, but no less heartwarming for its one-step-two-step: She walked to the loo.
When the goal was obtained, her healer gave her privacy at the toilet, and she used the handlebar bolted into the wall to aid herself.
She was smiling the whole time. Which was utterly ridiculous.
After she had finished, she stood herself up using the bar and opened the door. Her healer was right outside, and she reached for him at the same moment he put his arms out for her.
“Back to the bed,” he said, and it was a command. “I’m going to examine you and then get you some crutches.”
She nodded and they slowly made their way across to the mattress. She was panting by the time she stretched out, but she was more than satisfied. This she could work with. Numb and cold and going nowhere? That was a death sentence.
Shutting her lids, she swallowed through deep breaths as he checked her vitals with efficiency.
“Your blood pressure’s up,” he said as he put aside the cufflike object she knew all too well. “But that could be because of what we. . . ah, did.” He cleared his throat. Something he seemed to be doing rather a lot. “Let’s check your legs. I want you to relax and close your eyes. No looking, please.”
After she did as he requested, he said, “Can you feel this?”
Frowning, she sorted through the various sensations in her body, from the softness of the mattress, to the cool breeze on her face, to the sheet her hand was resting upon.
Nothing. She felt—
Sitting up in a panic, she stared at her legs—only to find that his touch was not on her: His hands were down by his sides. “You tricked me.”
“No. I’m not assuming anything—that’s what I’m doing.”
As she resumed her position and shut her eyes once more, she wanted to curse, but she could see his point.
“How about now?”
Down below her knee, there was a subtle weight. She could feel it clear as day.
“Your hand . . . is on my leg. . . .” She cracked one of her eyelids and saw that she was right. “Yes, you are touching me there.”
“Any difference from before?”
She frowned. “It’s slightly . . . easier to feel.”
“Improvement is good.”
He palpated the other side. Then went up to nearly her hip. Then down to the bottom of her foot. Then inside her thigh . . . outside her knee.
“And now?” he asked one last time.
Against the darkness, she strained for sensation. “I feel . . . nothing now.”
“Good. We’re finished.”
As she opened her eyes, she looked up at him and felt an odd chill go through her. What was the future for them? she wondered. Beyond this sequestered period of her convalescence? Her incapacity simplified things in a grand way. But that would end if she were well.
Would he have her then?
Payne reached out and clasped his hand. “You are a blessing unto me.”
“Because of this?” He shook his head. “This is you, bambina. Your body is healing itself. It’s the only explanation.” Bending down to her, he smoothed her loose hair back and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. “You need to sleep now. You’re exhausted.”
“You are not leaving, are you?”
“Nope.” He glanced at the chair he’d used to get up to the ceiling fixture. “I’ll be right over there.”
“This bed . . . ’tis large enough for both of us.”
When he hesitated, she got the impression something had changed for him. And yet he had just treated her with such erotic perfection—and his scent had flared, so she’d known he’d been aroused. Still . . . there was a subtle distance now.
“Join me?” she asked. “Please?”