The treatment was poisoning her as much as it was curing her. My stomach turned. But Omen’s efforts had clearly accomplished their goal—the wisps of smoke faded away. A tremor ran through Gisele’s body, and then it sagged even more lifelessly into the mattress.
Bow was swiping at his eyes. He sat down onto the bed next to her, the haggard expression on his usually jovial face almost as painful to look at as his companion was. Omen set down the jar with a sharp rap. He stalked out of the room to wash his hands with a hiss of the faucet and returned a moment later, brushing his reddened fingertips against his pants. The stuff had burned his skin too.
“Next time, you start applying the salve the moment you notice any seepage. She can barely afford to lose the little essence she still has.”
The centaur’s head drooped more, but he nodded. “I’m sorry. I—I panicked. We’ve never gotten more than a scratch here before. I didn’t know what it would be like.”
“This is war,” Omen said. “Don’t imagine it can’t get worse.” His tone softened just slightly. “We’ll continue doing what we can for her. I’ve put a call in to a dryad with healing skills—if he’s willing to stick his neck out this far after we’ve become such a target. I’m not sure how much even he’d be able to help her at this point as it is. She seemed strong. She may manage to pull through.”
He spun around, and I followed him back to the living area.
“If she starts bleeding again, I could put the salve on,” I said. “It wouldn’t hurt me at all.”
Omen glanced at his fingers, where the flush of irritation was already fading. “It’s a minor discomfort. Better that I handle it, or Thorn—we can judge what’s a reasonable amount from how it affects us.”
“I guess you have experience with this sort of thing from the wars before.”
He gave me a sharp look. “Not something Thorn would want you discussing with anyone else.”
I grimaced at him. “I figured you’re safe enough, since he told me you were there. You already know what he is.”
“That’s hardly—”
An engine sounded outside, and he cut off whatever other criticism he might have added with a rough breath. “Enough of that. Charlotte’s back—and let’s hope our wingéd, our incubus, and our devourer are with her.”
Had the others found Snap? As I hustled to the door, my heart leapt with more hope than I knew was sensible.
When I stepped out onto the pavement, Ruse was just driving the motorcycle into the lot. He parked it, and Thorn emerged from the shadows around the undercarriage where he must have been riding—alone.
“No sign of Snap,” the warrior reported to Omen without preamble. “And no sign of activity at the Wharf Street factory either. I ventured inside, and it appeared to have been very recently gutted.”
Omen swore. “They guessed that was our target.”
“This Leland twerp could have told them everything the Fund was looking into on Sorsha’s behalf,” Ruse said. “Everything her friend discovered at the fundraising gala.”
“Then we can assume that anything important they were keeping at the other locations under that shell company has been cleared out or will be shortly too.” The shifter started to pace. “In some ways that could be good. We’ve got them on the run; they’ll be getting short on property where they can carry out their operations and stash their prisoners. They may be having to cut corners on certain security measures to avoid places we might know about.”
“Except they’ll be cutting it at places we don’t know about,” I couldn’t help saying.
“Yes, that is the primary problem.”
Was that my fault too? We wouldn’t have known to make that factory a target if I hadn’t gotten Vivi and the Fund involved in the first place, so… maybe it all evened out on the scale of horribleness and personal responsibility?
That thought didn’t exactly lift my spirits.
Thorn stepped forward, worry turning his expression even more somber. “Sorsha, you’re bleeding again.”
Oh, right. Gisele’s much more urgent injuries had diverted Omen and me from the whole patching-Sorsha-up plan. I set my hand on the top of the bandage. “It just needs a change of dressing. I’ll be fine. It only stings a little.” And maybe there was a bit of throbbing in there too after all this bustling around, but he didn’t need to know that.
Despite my reassurances, the warrior ushered me back into the RV like some kind of hulking matron. As he unwrapped the wound, he tutted under his breath. He added a few careful stitches where a couple Omen had sewn in last night had broken and dabbed antiseptic cream over the whole slash. When he’d wrapped a layer of gauze around the new sterile pad, Ruse set a paper bag on the table by the sofa. I straightened up, a buttery, cheddar-y scent reaching my nose.
“I liberated some breakfast for you,” the incubus said, his tone jaunty but his hazel eyes darker than usual as they lingered on my face. “I know it’s no substitute for our beloved devourer, but you do need to look after the inside of your belly as well as the outside.”
I couldn’t deny that—and on a better day, my mouth would have been watering at the savory smell. “Thank you,” I said, unwrapping a breakfast sandwich of biscuit, egg, and melted cheese. It sure beat hay-and-clover salad.
As I took a bite, the two remaining members of my original trio stood on the other side of the table like stalwart guardians—or wardens, ensuring I didn’t leave until they were satisfied I’d taken care of myself. The crumbly pastry dissolved on my tongue, and the cheese added the perfect amount of bite to the creamy scrambled egg. For a guy who used human sexual satisfaction for sustenance, Ruse was an excellent judge of actual food.
But each gulp stuck in my throat before dropping into the hollow in my gut. I’d only made it halfway through the sandwich when the lump expanding inside me felt almost too heavy to bear.
I set the sandwich down, figuring I could at least take a breather, and Thorn’s brow knit. “You don’t look well. Your sleep can’t have been satisfactory lying on that bench all night. You should take some rest in your bed.”
“I’m really not—”
“No arguments, this once,” he said, and swept me off the sofa into his bulging arms as if I weighed no more than Pickle did.
“Thorn,” I protested, ineffectually trying to squirm out of his hold. Exerting just enough strength to stop me from bending at the torso and straining my wound again, the warrior marched me to the second bedroom without a word.
“Sleep tight!” Ruse called after us with audible amusement.
Thorn set me down gingerly on the bed. When he moved to leave, a more piercing resistance shot through me. My throat closed up, and my arm darted to grasp the side of his shirt before he could get very far.
“If you want me to rest, you’d better stick around and make sure I do.”
Thorn peered down at me. “Sorsha…”
I tugged on his shirt. “I’m not tired, just worried and upset and…” I had to pause to steady my voice. “I don’t really want to be alone right now.”
The firmness in the warrior’s expression vanished under a wash of tenderness. He sank down onto the edge of the bed next to me and managed to make only a small disgruntled sound when I pushed myself into a sitting position.