Lover Unleashed

NINETEEN

When Manny got back to his place, he closed the door, locked it . . . and stood there. Like a piece of furniture. With his briefcase in his hand.

It was amazing how, when you’d lost your mind, you were kind of out of options for what to do next. His will hadn’t changed; he still wanted to get control of himself and this . . . whatever it was that was going on in his life. But there was nothing to grab at, no reins to this beast.

Shit, this had to be how Alzheimer’s patients felt: Their personality was intact and so was their intellect . . . but they were surrounded by a world that no longer made sense because they couldn’t hold on to their memories and associations and extrapolations.

It was all tied to that weekend—or at least, it had started then. But what exactly had changed? He’d lost at least some of one night, as far as he could tell. He remembered the racetrack and Glory’s fall and the vet afterward. Then the trip back to Caldwell, where he went to . . .

The forewarning of another blooming headache had him cursing and giving up.

Walking over to the kitchen, he dropped his briefcase and ended up staring at the coffee machine. He’d left it on when he’d headed off for the hospital. Great. So his morning java had actually been nighttime joe, and it was a miracle he hadn’t burned his fucking condo down.

Sitting on one of the stools at the granite counter, he stared out the wall of glass in front of him. The city on the far side of his terrace was glowing like a lady heading to the theater with all her diamonds on, the lights in the skyscrapers twinkling and making him feel really and truly alone.

Silence. Emptiness.

The condo was more like a coffin.

God, if he couldn’t operate, what did he have—

The shadow appeared from out of nowhere on his terrace. Except it wasn’t a shadow . . . . There was nothing translucent about the thing. It was as if the lights and the bridges and the skyscrapers were a painting that had had a hole cut in them.

A hole in the shape of a large man.

Manny rose off the stool, his eyes fixated on the figure. In the back of his mind, at the seat of his brain stem, he knew that this was the cause of everything, his “tumor” upright and walking . . . and coming for him.

As if bidden, he went over and opened the sliding glass door, the wind hitting him hard in the face, his hair stripping back from his forehead.

It was cold. Oh, so cold . . . but the frigid shock wasn’t just the chilly April night. A deep freeze was rolling out from the figure standing so still and deadly mere feet away from him; he got the very distinct impression the arctic blast was because this fucker in black leather hated his ass. But Manny wasn’t afraid. The answer to what was doing with him was tied to this huge man who had appeared from out of nowhere, some twenty stories up off the pavement—

A female . . . one with braided dark hair . . . this was her—

The headache slammed into him, tackling him on the nape of the neck and shooting forward over his dome to pound the shit out of his frontal lobe.

As he sagged, he caught himself on the slider, and lost his patience. “For fuck’s sake, don’t just stand there. Talk to me or kill me, but do something.”

More wind on the face.

And then a deep voice. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Yeah, you should have,” Manny groaned through the pain. “Because I’m losing my fucking mind and you know that, don’t you. What the fuck did you do to me?”

That dream . . . about the woman he wanted, but couldn’t have . . .

Manny’s knees started to buckle, but to hell with that. “Take me to her—and don’t fuck with me. I know she exists . . . I see her every night in my dreams.”

“I don’t like any of this.”

“Yeah, and I’m having a party over here.” The motherfucker went unsaid. As did the fact that if this dark bastard decided to act on all the aggression he was stewing in, Manny was going to bust out the fists and do some damage of his own. He was going to get creamed for sure, but fucked in the head or not, he didn’t go down without a fight.

“Come on,” Manny spat. “Do it.”

There was a tight laugh. “You remind me of a friend of mine.”

“You mean there’s another son of a bitch lost in his own life because of you? Great. We’ll start a support group.”

“Fucking hell . . .”

The guy raised a hand and then . . . memories exploded in Manny’s mind and flowed through his body, the sights and sounds of his lost weekend returning with a vengeance.

Stumbling back, he put his hands to his head.

Jane. Secret facility. Operation.

Vampire.

An iron grip on his biceps was all that kept him off the hardwood, his patient’s brother grabbing on. “You have to come and see my sister. She’s going to die if you don’t.”

Manny breathed through his mouth and swallowed a lot. The patient . . . his patient . . .

“Is she still paralyzed?” he moaned.

“Yes.”

“Take me,” he bit out. “Now.”

If it was a case of that spinal cord being permanently damaged, there was nothing he could do for her clinically, but that didn’t matter. He had to see her.

“Where’s your car?” the goateed fucker asked.

“Downstairs.”

Manny broke free and beelined for his briefcase and the keys he’d left on the kitchen counter. As he tripped and fell about his place, his brain felt fuzzy in a way that terrified him. Any more of this in-and-out shit with his motherboard and he was going to be permanently damaged. But that was a discussion for another time.

He had to get to his female.

When he got to the front door, the vampire was right behind him, and Manny switched his stuff to his left hand.

A quick pivot and he threw out his right fist, snapping it up in an arc perfectly calculated to catch the guy’s jaw.

Crack. The impact was solid and the bastard’s head knocked back.

As the vampire releveled his stare and lifted the corner of his mouth in a snarl, Manny was having none of it. “That’s for fucking with me.”

The male dragged the back of his hand across his bloody mouth. “Nice hook.”

“You’re welcome,” Manny said as he stepped out of his place.

“I could have stopped that at any moment. Just so we’re clear.”

Undoubtedly, that was true. “Yeah, but you didn’t, did you.” Manny marched over to the elevator, punched the down button, and glared over his shoulder. “So that makes you a chump or a masochist. Your choice.”

The vampire got in close. “Careful, human—you’re only alive because you’re useful to me.”

“She’s your sister?”

“Don’t forget it.”

Manny smiled by baring all his teeth. “Then there’s something you need to know.”

“What.”

Manny rose up on his toes and met the fucker eye-to-eye. “If you think you want to kill me now, this ain’t nothin’ compared to how you’re going to feel when I see her again.”

He was practically hard just thinking about the female.

With a ding, the double doors opened and he stepped off, stepped in and turned around. The vampire’s eyes were spears looking for a target, but Manny shrugged off the aggression. “Just letting you know where I stand. Now get in or ghost down to the street and I’ll pick your ass up.”

“You must think I’m an idiot, true,” the vampire growled.

“Actually, not at all.”

Pause.

After another moment, the vampire muttered under his breath and slipped in just as the sliders started to shut. And then the pair of them just stood side by side, watching the numbers count down over the double doors . . .

Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . .

Like the countdown to an explosion.

“Be careful, human. I’m not someone you want to push too hard.”

“And I’ve got nothing to lose.” Except for this big bastard’s sister. “Guess we’ll just have to see where this ends up.”

“You got that right.”

Payne was a grim block of ice as she stared at the clock by the door to her room. The circular face was as plain as the white wall behind it, marked by nothing but twelve black numbers separated by black lines. The hands of the thing, two black, one red, lolled their way around as if they were as bored with their job as she was with watching them work.

Vishous had to have gone to see their mother. Where else would he turn?

So this was a waste of time; for certain, he would come back with nothing. It was sheer arrogance to think that She Who Could Not Be Swayed would be affected in the slightest by the perils of her birthed children.

Mother of the race. What piffle—

Payne frowned. The sound started off as nothing save a dim rhythm, but it quickly grew louder. Footsteps. Heavy footsteps traveling over a hard floor at a fast clip, and there were two sets of them. Perhaps it was naught but her twin’s Brothers coming in for a check—

When the door swung open, all she could see was Vishous, standing so tall and uncompromising. “I brought you something.”

He didn’t so much step aside as he was pushed. . . .

“Dearest Scribe Virgin . . .” Payne mouthed as tears rushed to her eyes.

Her healer burst into the room, and oh, he was just as she had remembered . . . so broad at the chest and long of limb, with a flat stomach and a sharp jawline. His dark hair was sticking straight up, as if he had been running many fingers through it, and he was breathing hard, his mouth slightly parted.

“I knew you were real,” he blurted. “Goddamn it, I knew it!”

The sight of him rocketed through her, energy lighting her up from the inside and tripping her emotions into a free fall. “Healer,” she said hoarsely. “My healer . . .”

“Fucking hell,” she heard her brother say.

Her human spun around on Vishous. “Give us some privacy. Now—”

“Watch your fucking mouth—”

“I’m her doctor. You brought me here to assess her clinically—”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

There was a pause. “Then why the fuck am I here?”

“For precisely the reason I hate you!”

That ushered in a lot of silence—along with a sob on her part. She was just so glad to see her healer in his strength and his flesh. And her single sniffle whipped both their heads around, her healer’s face changing instantly, going from flat-out fury to driving concern.

“Shut the door behind you,” he barked over his shoulder as he came to her.

Passing her hands across her eyes, she cleared her tears and looked past her healer as he sat on the side of her bed. Vishous had turned away and was going for the exit.

He knew, she thought. More than anything their mother could have done for her, he had brought her the one thing guaranteed to make her want to live.

“Thank you, brother mine,” she said, eyes locked on him.

Vishous stopped. The tension in him was so great, both of his fists were curled in tight, and as his head slowly cranked around, his icy eyes burned.

“I would do anything for you. Anything.”

With that, he pushed his way out . . . and as the door eased shut, she realized that I love you could indeed be said without actually uttering the phrase.

Actions did mean more than words.