Lover At Last

SIXTY

As Qhuinn rematerialized, his flashlight illuminated the final cabin. He didn’t wait for the others this time, just marched forward, gunning for the door, which was intact and shut tight—

His first clue that something was off came when he grabbed the rough-hewn handle: a low-level electrical charge licked into his hand and traveled up his arm.

Retracting his palm, he shook things out, his instincts going on high alert.

“What is it?” Rhage asked as the Brother stalked up onto the shallow porch.

Qhuinn glanced around, noting that Blay and John were on the periphery. “I don’t know.”

Rhage went for the door—and had the same reaction, recoiling sharply. “What the fuck.”

“I know, right,” Qhuinn muttered as he stepped back and ran his light around the exterior.

The two windows on either side of the entrance had been boarded up, and as he walked over and looked down the structure’s flank, the same was true of the ones on that side, as well.

“Fuck this,” Rhage growled. The Brother took three steps back and then rushed at the door, his heavy shoulder angled like a battering ram.

And what do you know, the impact splintered the wooden panels—

All at once, a blinding light seared through the night, illuminating the forest like a bomb had gone off, turning Rhage getting thrown backward into a movie.

As Blay and John rushed across to do a damage assessment on the fighter, Qhuinn lunged forward, bracing himself as he went for the jambs, expecting to get nailed with a couple hundred volts’ worth of God-only-knows-what.

Instead, he hit nothing but air, his forward momentum so great he had to tuck into a ball and roll to keep from landing on his face. A breath later, he punched up off the floor and landed in a crouch, gun in one hand, flashlight in another.

Something smelled bad.

“Behind you,” Blay said, as a second beam of light joined his own.

The air inside the cabin was curiously warm, as if there were a heater plugged in somewhere—except that wasn’t possible. No electricity and no gas tank. And no one had been here for a while, going by the undisturbed layer of dust on the floorboards and the delicate, vertical cobwebs that hung from the ceiling as motionless as heavy ropes.

“What’s that,” Blay demanded.

As Qhuinn brought his beam around, he frowned. There were a number of what appeared to be oil drums up against the far wall, the grouping clustered together, as if they’d been scared by something and had circled the wagons for self-protection.

Qhuinn walked over, all the while panning his flashlight in fat circles, and he frowned once more as he got a good look at the large-bore canisters. None of them had lids, and his light seemed to reflect off some sort of oil.

“What…the hell is this?”

Leaning over the closest one, he took a deep breath in through his nose, and got a sinus burn full of slayer stench. Going by the way his beam didn’t penetrate the surface of the liquid, he knew it could be only one thing, and you sure as shit couldn’t use it to power a heater or a generator.

It was the blood of the Omega.

“Behind you,” Rhage said, as the Brother entered.

A soft whistle announced that John had come in as well.

“Is that what I think it is?” Blay muttered as he stood beside Qhuinn.

Qhuinn put his flashlight between his teeth and reached forward with his bare hand. Just as he made contact with the viscous nasty, something surged within the drum—

“Fuck!” he shouted, jumping back.

As his flashlight landed on the floor and rolled to the side, Blay’s beam illuminated what had moved.

An arm.

There was someone inside the drum.

“Jesus Christ,” Blay breathed.

Behind them, Rhage’s voice barked loudly, “V? We need backup out here. Stat.”

Qhuinn bent down and snagged his light. Returning it to the oily liquid, he watched as that forearm moved again in slow motion just under the surface, the shift bringing the outside of the wrist and the back of the hand into view….

Something flashed, the passing glint catching Qhuinn’s eye. Reangling his beam, he bent further over the drum.

The hand wasn’t right, its joints deformed, all or part of each finger gone, as if put through a grinder….

That glimmer broke through the cesspool of the Omega’s blood once more.

It was…a ring?

“Wait, wait, Qhuinn—you need to pull back—”

Qhuinn ignored the commentary as he leaned in even farther, getting closer—closer….

Closer…

At first, he couldn’t believe what he was looking at. He simply couldn’t be looking at a family crest ring.

But what else could it be? It was on the forefinger, the only digit that hadn’t been hacked off. And it was gold—even through the black oil, the yellow glow was obvious. And the ring itself had a broad face into which was pressed a—

“Qhuinn,” Rhage said sharply. “Get the fuck away—”

The arm moved again, the pale hand breaching the surface of the liquid, appearing as a specter’s might from out of the grave, reaching out….

The Omega’s blood retracted from the surface of the ring, revealing…

“Qhuinn, I am not playing—”

Noise exploded in the cabin, filling the air.

He was completely unaware that it was a shout coming from his own mouth.

At first, Blay thought that whatever was in the drum had grabbed onto Qhuinn and pulled him in—and that was why Qhuinn screamed. On instinct, he jumped forward and grabbed onto Qhuinn’s waist, throwing out his anchor and yanking back.

What came out of that drum would haunt Blay’s nightmares for years…decades afterward.

In fact, what was inside hadn’t latched onto Qhuinn; it was the other way around. And as Blay hauled back, a male form was extracted from the tight squeeze, the Omega’s blood pouring out in rivers, splashing onto the cold wooden planks of the cabin’s floor, hitting Blay’s shitkickers and leathers, drenching Qhuinn.

Qhuinn had to scramble to keep his grip from slipping off, his gun and flashlight long forgotten, his gloved hands slapping and scratching to keep from losing contact….

As they hoisted…

The oil drum fell over onto its side as the male sprawled out flat at their feet.

No one moved. It was as if they had all stepped in and assumed their positions in a tableau.

Blay recognized who it was immediately.

He couldn’t believe it.

The dead had returned to the living…in a manner of speaking.

Qhuinn squatted down and touched the male’s shoulders. Then he spoke his brother’s name roughly: “Luchas?”

The response was immediate. His brother’s hands began to slowly pinwheel, his mangled legs shifting, his naked body trying to move. His skin was bruised all over, the harsh illumination from the flashlights showing every contusion and cut and black-and-blue, the stain of the Omega’s blood gradually receding from the pale skin.

Dear God, what had they done to him? One of his eyes was swollen shut, and his mouth was lopsided, as if he’d been punched there. As he grimaced, it appeared that his teeth had all been spared, but that was about the only mercy he seemed to have been given.

“Luchas?” Qhuinn said again. “Can you talk to me?”

From off to the side, Rhage was on his phone again. “V? We’ve really got a situation. What’s your ETA…what? No, abso no—I need you now….No, you. And Payne.” Hollywood glanced over and mouthed, Do you guys know who he is?

Blay had to clear his throat, his reply tripping and stumbling out. “It’s his…brother.”

Rhage blinked. Shook his head. Leaned in. “I’m sorry, what did you—”

“His brother,” Blay repeated loudly and clearly.

“Jesus…” Rhage whispered. And then he snapped back into action. “Now, V. Now.”

“Luchas, can you hear me?” Qhuinn spoke.

Vishous burst into the cabin a split second later. The Brother was covered in lesser blood and bleeding red thanks to a gash across his face—he was also breathing like a freight train and had a dripping black dagger in his hand.

The instant he saw what they were all clustered around, he stopped. “What the fuck is that?”

Rhage quickly made slashing motions across his throat, shutting up any further commentary. Then he grabbed V’s arm and dragged him out of earshot. When the pair came back, V was showing no emotion at all.

“Let me take a look at him,” V said.

Qhuinn just kept talking at his brother, the words coming out in a steady stream that didn’t make much sense. Then again, as far as anyone had known, the male had been killed in the raids, along with Qhuinn’s mother, father, and sister. So, yeah, this was enough to make even Shakespeare sport a case of the babbles.

Except…this wasn’t possible, Blay thought. There had been four bodies at the house—and Luchas had been among them.

Blay should know. He’d been the one to go in and do the identifying.

He put a hand on Qhuinn’s shoulder. “Hey.”

Qhuinn’s words drifted off. Then he looked up into Blay’s eyes. “He’s not answering me.”

“Can you let V take a quick look? We need a medic’s opinion.” And maybe a helluva lot more to answer what the hell was going on here. “Come on, stand over here with me.”

Qhuinn straightened and pulled back, but he didn’t go far, and his eyes never left his brother. “Have they turned him?” He crossed his arms and curled himself forward. “Do you think they turned him?”

Blay shook his head, and wished he could lie. “I don’t know.”