I expect Kynlee’s dad to be pissed; I don’t expect him to shove the barrel of a shotgun into my chest.
“What the fuck are you doing at my house?” he demands.
I retreat a step. He presses forward.
“He needs help,” I say, heart pounding as I hold my hands out to my sides. I remember reading his profile in the library database. His name is Nick. “Please, Ni—”
“Get out of here!” he yells. “I’ll call the cops. I’ll have you arrested for harassment, or so help me I’ll kill you.”
“Dad?”
Nick stiffens, and I say a quick, silent prayer of thanks. No way in hell is he going to shoot me in front of his daughter.
“Holy shit, Dad!” Kynlee squats in front of Lorn. “What happened?”
Nick curses quietly, then lowers the shotgun.
“Go back to bed,” he says, propping the gun behind the door.
“But, Dad—”
“Go!”
Damn. So much for Kynlee softening her dad up. She retreats to a hallway.
Nick’s gaze returns to me. “You’re not welcome here. Drag him back to your car and leave.”
I draw in a breath, bracing myself. “I can’t. I don’t have anywhere else I can take him.”
“I don’t give a goddamn—”
“Look,” I cut him off. “Just let us in. Someone will be here to help him soon. After he’s recovered, we’ll leave. I’ll leave Vegas even.”
Nick’s chest expands with each angry breath he takes. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of jeans that he hasn’t taken the time to button. I’ve offered him a decent deal, though. He wants me to stay away from his daughter. I’ll stay away from the whole city if he’ll help us now.
But my offer must not be tempting enough. He starts to shake his head.
Quickly, I nod toward Lorn, trying another tactic before Nick slams the door in my face. “He’s visible.” I’m pretty sure that’s a lie, but a Sighted human has no way of knowing that without paying attention to the reactions of normal humans. “Are your neighbors nosy?”
“I told you—”
“He needs help,” I say. “And we’re not leaving your front porch until you let us in.”
“He’ll leave if he enters the ether,” Nick threatens. He reaches for the shotgun again.
I pretend not to care, stand my ground, and meet his glare. His jaw works, clenching and relaxing, then clenching again.
Finally, he curses. He looks down at Lorn then says, “One hour. Then you’re gone.”
Thank God.
“Just help me get him inside,” I say.
I slip under Lorn’s right arm while Nick mutters something under his breath and slips under his left. Lorn’s head lolls to the side, but he’s semiconscious. His feet move, though not very usefully.
Nick kicks the front door shut as soon as we’re over the threshold. The bam echoes in the high-ceilinged entryway.
“Go to the garage,” Nick barks. “Turn off the breakers.”
At first, I think he’s talking to me. Then I see Kynlee peeking around the corner. She looks chagrined for only the briefest moment before she nods and rushes off. We continue half carrying, half dragging Lorn into the house. Nick grumbles about the carpet as we make our way through the living room, leaving a trail of Lorn’s blood behind us.
“In here,” Nick says gruffly, leading the way into a sunroom at the back of the house. The full moon shines across the wooden floors and a wicker sofa with white cushions. I start to lower Lorn onto the sofa, but he slips from my grasp when Nick all but throws him to the floor.
Lorn rolls to his back. Groans. From somewhere above us, there’s a click. I feel the air-conditioning unit shut down, and Lorn’s chaos lusters lose a little of their jaggedness. They’re still sluggish, though. Being in my world as weak as he is isn’t good for him.
I press my hand to his forehead, checking for a fever.
Stupidly checking for a fever. Fae are always hot when I touch them. His chaos lusters heat my skin, and I pull my hand back. I think he does have a fever, though. Sweat mixes with the blood caking his temple, and, even in the moonlight, his pale face looks flushed.
“Will this help?” Kynlee’s voice comes from behind me.
I look over my shoulder. She’s standing in the sunroom’s doorway, holding something that looks like a glass of milk.
“Yeah,” Nick says. He rises to take the glass from her, then he hands it to me. “She drinks it when she gets migraines. Prop his head up.”
He throws a decorative pillow on the floor. I pick it up, then slide it under Lorn’s head. Before I give him the drink, I sniff it. Um, definitely not milk.
“Hey,” I say, gently. “I need you to drink this.”
I place the brim of the glass on his busted bottom lip and tilt it back. Pretty much all the liquid trickles down his chin.
“You need to drink,” I tell him. This time, he murmurs something—Lena’s name again?—and I use the opportunity to pour the liquid into his mouth. He chokes on it, coughing and wincing and, eventually, opening his eyes to glare at me.
“Poison?” he asks.
Smiling, I say, “I hope not. Here.”
I make him drink more. After a few sips, he shoves my hand away. I take that as a good sign. A few minutes ago, I don’t think he had the strength to lift a finger.
He closes his eyes in a wince as a wave of pain passes over him. “Should have gone straight to Lena.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t,” I say.
“If the false-blood killed you, I wouldn’t get my revenge.”
“He sounds like he’s worth saving,” Nick mutters, grabbing Lorn’s wrist to lift his hand away from his stomach wound.
Lorn hisses in a breath and starts to curl to the side, but I hold his shoulder down, keeping him in place.
“What else can I do?” Kynlee asks from the doorway.
“Scissors. Towels,” her dad says.
Kynlee nods, starts to leave.
“The whole medicine cabinet.”
She stops, frowns. “Really? Everything?”
Nick’s jaw tightens. “Just the hydrogen peroxide and any gauze or bandages we might have.”
“Need a healer,” Lorn says. “Not human medicine.” His voice is raspy, like he has liquid in his lungs, but he’s alive. I think he’d be dead by now if some really crucial organ were injured. It’s him bleeding to death we need to worry about.
“Stop talking, Lorn.”
Suddenly, Nick’s gaze snaps to me. “Lorn? As in . . . the Lorn?”
I think I see a tiny smile bend one corner of Lorn’s mouth. If Nick hasn’t been to the Realm since Kynlee was a baby, Lorn’s been around a long time.
“That’s his name,” is all I say.
Nick drops Lorn’s hand.
“How, exactly, did you come in possession of a tor’um?” Lorn asks. I’m surprised he’s cognizant enough to ask the question.
Nick goes still, then, after a handful of heartbeats, he presses the heel of his hand into the fae’s wound. Lorn cries out.
“Hey!” I say, trying to shove Nick away.
“She’s my daughter, asshole,” Nick says, leaning toward Lorn’s face. “Not a possession or something for you to condescend to.”
“Nick, stop!” He’s not listening. I ram my shoulder into him and manage to knock him off Lorn. He falls onto his back, but he looks ready to kill.
“I have the stuff,” Kynlee says. Perfect timing.
Nick doesn’t acknowledge her, so I do, motioning her in. She drops her armful of towels down beside me. The small pile is topped by a pair of scissors, hydrogen peroxide, and . . . a box of Disney Princess Band-Aids.
I pick up the latter, raise an eyebrow.