I left Autumn and her rifle and returned to Tybalt's side. He was struggling to stay awake, to stay here. "Listen to me, pal, you have to fight a while longer, okay?" I said. "No checking out, not over this mosquito bite."
He pulled a face.
"I'm going to teleport us down to the ground, so it's easier to get you help. Remember what that's like?"
He made another face. I'd teleported him once, months ago, and he hadn't been a big fan of the experience. Today he didn't have a choice.
I carefully pressed my palms on his shoulders, then scooted so my thighs touched his leg. As much contact as I could manage for this. The Break was harder to find because I was so damned tired. My concentration was fried. And it always hurt extra when I was wounded.
"You're lucky I love you," I said.
Tybalt found my left wrist and squeezed.
The teleport was a special kind of excruciating—partly from the previous two teleports, partly from my injuries, and definitely because I had extra weight along. Bringing someone with me taxed my body more than teleporting alone, and using the Break always comes at a price. By the time I realized we'd safely rematerialized on the broken sidewalk east of the ferry port, someone was already shouting my name.
I tried to speak, to shout back, and ended up lolling sideways onto the ground. My body hurt all over, a constant throb that was harshest in my head. My hip was on fire. The cut on my throat felt like it was bleeding more heavily, and it hadn't seemed that deep before.
Rough fingers curled around mine. Tybalt's hand.
I held on tight.
Things got fuzzy for a while. Lots of voices talked around me. I struggled to identify them. Astrid. Kyle. Marcus, thank God. Elder Rojay.
Kismet.
What's Gina doing here?
Sudden movement made my stomach clench. I wanted to be violently ill, but my gorge never rose. I held on until the movement stopped, only to be replaced by a steadier motion.
Car.
Oh good. Home. Bed.
I wanted to sleep for a month, but I couldn't. Not until I knew Tybalt was okay. He had to be okay. "Tybalt." Getting that word out hurt my throat.
"He's in another car." Kyle. He sounded close. "Relax, okay? You did good."
"Vale?"
"Which piece?"
I think I smiled. I'd have cheered if I had the energy.
"John's fine, too," Kyle said. "He'll be back with his family very soon."
More good news. Wyatt would be thrilled. Then he'd get pissed at me for coming home wounded again. The man should have been used to it by now, but no.
I allowed the motion of the car to rock me to sleep, and I didn't wake up again until Wyatt's voice and heat surrounded me. He touched my face, whispered in my ear, was everywhere, and I basked in how wonderful it was. The antiseptic odors of the infirmary placed my location before I peeled my eyelids apart. Wyatt hovered above me, his relief plain, but still unable to mask the bitter frustration at having to worry over my near-death yet again.
"Hey, beautiful," he said. "There's my kick-ass warrior."
"Got her ass kicked," I rasped. My throat itched like crazy as my healing ability took over. The wound in my gut ached, the itch of healing on the cusp of becoming real, not quite there yet because of the depth of the wound. The headache was hiding behind a haze of drugs that made my tongue feel thick, my brain fuzzy.
"You did good this morning. Autumn was given orders to shoot Marcus from her position if Vale lost."
"Then Tybalt."
"Yeah."
"How is he?"
Wyatt's eyes shuttered. "In surgery. Dr. Vansis is doing what he can."
"It's bad."
"Yeah, it's pretty bad."
He brushed his lips over my cheek. "Thank you for bringing John home."
"Didn't Marcus technically do that?"
"Yes, he did," said the man in question. Marcus hobbled over to my bed, leaning hard onto a crutch. White bandages swathed his chest and abdomen, and long claw marks scored his left cheek. He looked worn out and wrung dry, but very much alive.
"Should you be up?" I asked.
"Probably not, but I'm an impatient patient. Thank you, Evangeline, for finding Tybalt. Vale was a formidable opponent, and twice I forwent a killing blow in order to buy you time. The tactic paid off."
"Maybe."
Marcus frowned. "We brought Tybalt home, as we intended. The Prince of Cats is quite strong. He'll pull through this."
"Anyone else hurt?"
"Astrid took a bullet protecting Elder Rojay from a sniper round. She's resting, awaiting her turn with Dr. Vansis."
Astrid was shot because I was too damned slow in taking Autumn down. Perfect. "Where was she hit?"
"Lower back."
"God, we're a mess. Tell me Kyle, at least, wasn't injured."
"Kyle wasn't injured."
I looked at Wyatt. "Is he telling the truth?"
"Yes, Kyle's fine," Wyatt replied. "Marcus, on the other hand, has a chest that looks like raw hamburger, and if he passes out from blood loss I'm not hauling his heavy ass onto a bed."
Marcus grunted, then slumped down into the plastic chair that Wyatt had probably been using while waiting for me to wake up. The verbal exchange was one of the most normal they'd had since Wyatt was infected. It actually bordered on friendly, which they'd always been until their warring genes made them snap and hiss at each other on a regular basis.
"What time is it?" I asked.
Wyatt checked his phone. "A little after nine."
Tybalt had been holding on for two hours, and that gave me hope. "Hey, what happened to Vale's posse?"
"Elder Rojay is taking them to the Assembly for trial and punishment," Marcus said. "Their roles in the events of the last few days will be evaluated during this morning's meeting."
"Are they going to pick a new Felia Elder?"
"Perhaps. Much has happened in the last twenty-four hours."
"No kidding."
I was getting tired of laying there like a salami, so I made Wyatt into my personal pillow. He scooted onto the bed behind me and helped me into a sitting position. Pain shot through my abdomen, followed by a deep throb with the vaguest hint of itching. Healing always took longer to start when I'd overextended my Gift, and boy had I overextended today.
He brushed my hair behind my ear, then rested in his chin on my shoulder. A perfect heat all around me. "Still not used to this short hair of yours," he whispered.
"Me, either."
A shuffle-creak, shuffle-creak beyond the curtain got my attention. Low voices murmured. I couldn't figure it out, but Marcus perked up, head snapping in the direction of the noise. He tried to rise, grimaced, and stayed put.
Below the fall of the curtain, two pairs of feet appeared, one sneakered and one slippered. The slippered feet stood between the front wheels of a walker, and I started grinning before the curtain was drawn back.
Milo held the sides of the walker in a white-knuckled grip, his arms trembling with the stress. He wore loose pajamas that hid the bruises giving him pain even as he stood there, in front of us, on his own two feet. Kismet hovered next to him, grinning like a proud mama whose cub had taken his first steps.
"Should you be up?" Marcus asked.
"Doc's orders," Milo replied. His voice carried the strain of standing. A line of sweat trickled down the side of his face. "Circulation or something."
"He isn't supposed to be up for long," Kismet said.
"Walked to the bathroom a few hours ago. Surely an announcement was made." Milo's mock outrage and returned sense of humor was a beautiful thing.
I laughed. "I'd go over there and kiss you, but getting up seems like too much trouble."