Chapter 4

When Dr. Brayden had come up through the tunnels that morning to assist with Theresa’s birth, he’d given word that the search for the king’s sister and Lee was resolved. Good news, but Xander was disappointed to have missed all the action. It was his own fault, though. Besides, he’d been witnessing life-or-death drama of a different nature entirely.

So much blood.

And the screams.

Xander had never been party to anything so horrific. All the times he’d done battle against the wizards, and yet he hadn’t even had the stomach to watch the outcome of the terror in that room.

He bowed his head quietly and prayed to a God he wasn’t sure he believed in anymore. He was perched uncomfortably in a rust-colored leather chair that was not his own, murmuring words that were equally rusty and foreign, when Theresa’s bedroom door off to his left clicked open.

“Alexander.”

He lifted his head. Greg Brayden took a seat across from him. The normally neat doctor looked as if someone had tossed him into a clothes dryer for a few cycles. “Brayden. How is everything?”

“The midwife is stitching her up.” The doctor lowered his head. “I know. It always looks like a great deal of blood loss, but I think she’s going to be fine.”

Xander cleared his throat, willing away the lump he couldn’t swallow around. “Thank goodness.”

Brayden closed his eyes for a moment. “Yeah. Lucky she made it. She’s been through an awful lot.”

Xander cleared his throat again. That lump wouldn’t go away. He toed at the dark brown carpet with his boot. “Absolutely.” Though he never would have admitted it to a soul, his body shook a little. Theresa had recently lost her mate in battle. The sight of all that blood and the midwife’s grim facial expressions, along with quietly whispered words like “tearing” and “breech” had been enough to push Xander from the room.

All that screaming…

During every day of his guard duty in this house, the cozy living room with its rust-colored leather furniture and flat-screen television had reminded Xander that his friend and fellow soldier, who had clearly picked out the furnishings, would never be coming back. Theresa’s mate would never be coming back. That child’s father… would never know him.

The idea of leaving that newborn without any parents was more than Xander could handle. He himself had grown up without a family. He’d had someone to raise him, sure. But to not have someone who truly claimed you as their own? A child deserved love.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. Brayden must have stood while he wasn’t looking, because then a hand landed on his shoulder and a voice spoke low in his ear. “She’s going to need to feed, my friend.”

The temperature in the room dropped. Funny how somebody you barely knew was suddenly your friend when they needed to deliver bad news. “And why are you telling me?” As if he needed to ask.

Brayden had always seemed like a mild-mannered gentleman. Quiet. Professional. But his stare was hard at that moment. “You recently lost a mate yourself. You know how difficult this is going to be for her. Doubly so because she just went through the pain and exhaustion of bringing life into the world. She needs to heal from that, Alexander.”

Xander opened and closed his fists. The doctor’s insistence on referring to him by his full name was grating. “Then you understand why I don’t want to be the one to do it, Gregory. Can you not get somebody else? Blood Service?”

His head fell back in the chair. If only Brayden would leave and he could get some rest. Admittedly, he tired easily these days, even while on guard duty. He ought to feed. He knew he ought to. But he couldn’t. It meant betraying Tam. He wasn’t ready.

Brayden’s hand tightened its grip on his shoulder. “Think how Theresa must feel. Her mate’s death was only a couple of weeks ago. She gave birth a few hours ago. To a baby she’ll have to raise alone.”

Something invisible punched Xander in the chest. He was wrong here, and he was being selfish. Still, he wasn’t sure he could handle another female drinking from him. The very thought of it made him want to jump out of his skin.

The universe or perhaps even God himself decided that Xander’s uncertainty needed a nudge. Once again the bedroom door opened, and out walked the midwife. Her dark clothes were wet and disheveled, her braid askew, but she was carrying the most perfect baby boy Xander had ever laid eyes upon. Okay, its face was a little splotchy, but whatever. Perfect all the same.

“My assistant is performing a cleansing ritual, and then mom needs to rest. So someone has to hold him for a bit.” The tall female smiled broadly and leaned down to hand the child to Xander as if the matter had already been decided.

The baby was swaddled in a muslin blanket with its head covered in a blue cap and was sleeping soundly with his lips formed into a tiny pout. Xander couldn’t believe how something that would someday be as large as he was fit into the whole of his two palms side by side.

“Support his head,” she murmured.

The miniscule body was surprisingly warm but feather-light. Xander’s giant hands and leather-jacket-clad arms weren’t at all worthy to be holding this soft bundle.

“He’s been nursed, so he should sleep awhile. If he starts to wake, though, you can take him back to her for more milk,” said the midwife.

Xander chewed his lip. “Not blood?” How stupid that he didn’t even know what babies ate or drank.

The corners of her eyes crinkled. She smiled broadly. “He’ll begin teething sometime between two and nine months of age. Front teeth first, like humans. When his milk fangs come in, then he can start weaning to blood and solid foods like a big boy.” The female bustled with blankets and bags as she not so quietly made her exit. I thought that Theresa needed to sleep?

That stuff with the baby teeth sounded complicated. Xander was glad not to have things like that to worry about. He was barely aware of Brayden’s hand squeezing his shoulder again but he looked up, and their stares bored into each other again.

He would never, from this moment on, think of Brayden as mild-mannered.

The doctor glanced pointedly down at the baby, over to the closed bedroom door, and then back at Xander. “I’m not going to call Blood Service,” he hissed. “It should be somebody she knows. She deserves that much.” Brayden pulled his hand away, reaching for his coat and his bag. “You’ve been here on guard duty. You’ve kept her company since Eamon’s death. Better than anyone else, you can relate to what she’s feeling. I think it would be best if you were the one to give her blood. If you can’t manage it, I’ll do it.”

The bundle in Xander’s hands twitched and made a cranky whine in its sleep. So much upheaval from such a little thing. He shook his head, even as he tucked the child closer to his body. He placed one too-large hand on the baby’s chest, and it rose and fell with each breath the infant took. “I’ll do it,” he said.

***

“Going somewhere?”

When Tyra teleported into Anton’s room at the shelter, his back was turned. He froze mid-action, like a kid caught with porn. He released the red handles of the black garbage bag into which he’d been tossing a few meager items and turned around.

“Nice luggage,” Tyra said. Hell, she was as incensed that he was packing to leave as she was surprised that he wasn’t gone yet. Her intended short power nap? Turned out her body had needed some serious refueling, even after the long hibernation there in Anton’s room. She’d wound up sleeping an entire day and night. Tyra was stronger than most vampires, but the flip side of her strength and her multiple powers was that she burned through her energy more easily as well.

She studied his face. The time and distance she’d been gone had allowed uncertainty to creep in. Mistrust. A debriefing from Lee revealed that during her extended power nap he’d been hunting down Anton’s father himself. Some sort of tip that he’d been cagey about going into the details of. As they’d always suspected, there had been traps, tricks, and decoys once Lee had finally found what he’d thought was the actual wizard hidey-hole. The news had been a heavy splash of cold water for Tyra—another reminder that she couldn’t afford to take Anton at face value. She’d shown up here wondering if the next time they crossed paths she might be forced to erase his memory or kill him.

Anton shrugged. “You know how it is. They don’t exactly bust out the good stuff for you around here. Some older lady—Beverly, I think her name was—felt bad about kicking me out and rustled up some spare clothes.”

Wait. “What?” She cringed. That had come out much louder than intended. Tyra checked the door lock. Dropping her voice, she said, “What do you mean they’re kicking you out? I was the volunteer who checked you in. You should have more time.”

He shrugged again. Males and their noncommittal gestures. “That Beverly woman came and said someone else was scheduled to move into this room today. In fact…” The flannel sleeve of his shirt slid down when he pointed up to the wire-covered clock on the wall. Why was he wearing a watch with a smashed face?

“She said I had until eight a.m. to pack, so I’m running short on time to make myself scarce. Computer mix-up or policy change or something. She wasn’t clear. I didn’t think it mattered. Wasn’t much option about it either way. You look so much better.” He managed a smile, but it seemed forced. Those eyes of his were always so intense and serious. Then again, this encounter was incredibly awkward for both of them.

Despite the awkwardness and the weird… whatever it was between them, the corner of her mouth gave a little twitch in reply. “Well, given that you last saw me coming off a week and a half in torpor, the bar wasn’t set very high.”

He, on the other hand, still looked weary and wrung out. At the same time, his body was on high alert. His muscles were strung tight, his shoulders tense, fingers twitchy. Was he waiting for her to attack him or something?

If he was, it was a legitimate expectation. So why did that bother her? She stepped forward and then stopped short. Her hand lifted to brush a stray curl from her face, but she stopped in the middle of the nervous gesture and dropped her hand to her side. Instead she clasped her fingers behind her back.

There were a lot of questions to ask. She certainly hadn’t counted on the shelter kicking him out, and it wasn’t like she could go and make a big stink about it. As far as anybody else at the shelter knew, she’d left to go on vacation the night she disappeared. “Sit with me,” she said.

“Sure.” Anton sat with an unceremonious crinkle on the plastic bag that he’d been given to use as a makeshift suitcase.

“Why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance?”

He shook his head. “I told you—oh.” His eyes widened in understanding when the tips of Tyra’s fingers rested lightly on his forearm. His gray eyes were sharp when they focused on hers. “You can read my mind or something when you touch me, can’t you?”

Her skin heated. “Not your thoughts, exactly. I mean, if you started to recite a cooking recipe in your head I wouldn’t suddenly know how to make your granny’s famous clam chowder. Mostly vague impressions. Emotions. Things like that.” It was one of those random, offhand comments, but it brought forward a rush of unanticipated sadness from Anton.

Tyra nearly smacked herself on the head. They didn’t know much about the wizard race, but it would stand to reason that he probably hadn’t been raised by what she thought of as a family. No grandmother. No home-cooked clam chowder. “I’m sorry,” Tyra said.

“It’s… don’t apologize to me. It’s fine.” His arm twitched under her fingers. “Well, don’t apologize, anyway.”

K. Time to change the subject. “Look, I know you already told me, but please. Explain to me again what’s going on here. The whole situation with your father and why you were following me. I need to hear it now, when I’m healthy and lucid.” Comparatively, at least. She paused to study his face. There was a lot going on behind those eyes of his, despite the weariness in them. “And yes, I need to feel it. It’s the only way we’ll both be able to trust here.”

“I won’t be able to read your emotions,” he said.

She wasn’t the one with the evil lineage, thank you very much. The back of her neck tightened. “I will be straight with you as long as you’re straight with me. Can we agree on that much?”

“Huh. Sure.” A grimace spread over his face and his hands rubbed his thighs like they were sweaty or something. “I kept an eye on you while you were in a coma. Torpor. Whatever it was you called it. When you woke up, you threatened to kill me and then disappeared without another word.

“Now you’re telling me I should hand you my blind faith? Unlike you, I’ve barely slept in a week and I’m not the one who’s armed.” He glanced pointedly at her ankle holster. “I’ve already told you I’m willing to offer my help to you, Tyra, but you have to admit that I’m at a disadvantage in the trust department.”

Though delivered in calm, even tones, his words might as well have been a slap across the face. Forgetting herself completely, Tyra pulled her hand away. Neither of them spoke, and heat built in her chest as anger bubbled up. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a point, but—

But what? He was exactly, completely, one hundred percent right. Nevertheless, wow, did it piss her off. Brush it off, Ty. You’re here for information.

“Okay. Let’s just do this.” With a deep breath, Tyra flexed her fingers and rubbed her hands together to get a little energy going. She was about to touch him again when a knock sounded at the door.

“Mr. Smith?”

Shit. Without even thinking, her fingers closed around his. They were out of time.