Mayhem:Federal Paranormal Agency 7(11)

"I wish we could kill him."

"Me too," Dylan agreed.

Gideon fished his cell phone out of his pocket and handed it to Dylan. "Here, you can use my phone."

"Thanks."

Gideon picked up his coffee cup, cradling the mug in his hand. He patted Dylan's shoulder as he left the kitchen.

The first number Dylan dialed was Axel's. He knew the tech guru could  help him out. The lion shifter answered the phone on the second ring.  "This is Axel Lee."

"It's Dylan."

"I'm so glad to hear from you, man. Gideon Channing called. He told us about the car bomb."

"I need you to do a few things for me."

"Of course," he easily agreed, "anything."

"Emmett is going to need time to heal, and I don't want the FBI to miss  him, so I need you to send an email to his supervisor. I don't care what  it says. Just keep the FBI off our trail. And then, I need you and Max  to go home. The mission is over. Tell the team that I met my True Match,  and I'm staying in New Orleans for the time being."

"At this point, nobody's asking questions about the car bombing, but  I'll send an email as a precaution. Max helped the pack clean up the  scene. Also, you should know that Mahmood Yassin is dead. He blew up his  house and took out a few human agents with him."

Dylan closed his eyes and shook his head. He wasn't sorry to hear that  Mahmood was dead. He didn't mourn that man's loss. Instead, he took a  minute to mourn the human agents who died for a mad man's agenda. "Damn  it," he whispered. "I should've followed through. I shouldn't have  stepped aside to let Homeland Security and ATF make the arrest."         

     



 

"It wasn't our responsibility. He's human. There was nothing we could do."

It was true. The FPA couldn't step in. They couldn't do anything. It was a human matter.

"When are you flying out?" Dylan asked, changing the subject.

Axel chuckled. "Ian has the plane fueled up and ready to go."

"Safe travels."

"When are you coming home?"

"I don't know." Dylan wasn't sure if he would be going back to New York.  His priorities had changed. It was no longer the FPA or the oath he'd  taken. Now he needed to take care of his True Match. "I think I'll be  staying here for a while."

"Good for you. I'm happy for you, man. I really am."

"Thanks."

"Take care of your man, and I'll talk to you soon."

"Yeah, we'll talk soon." Dylan ended the call.

Dylan placed the cell phone on the counter. He stood there for a moment,  collecting his thoughts. After a few minutes, Dylan left the kitchen  and went back upstairs to the guest room.

Opening the bedroom door, Dylan slipped inside without making a sound.  He strolled over to the bed and climbed in, lying down beside his True  Match. Dylan wrapped his arms around Emmett and pulled him close,  aligning their bodies. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath,  pulling Emmett's scent deep into his lungs. The scent of his True Match  surrounded him, bringing with it a sense of peace.





Chapter Ten




Pain consumed him. The overwhelming agony was nothing he'd ever  experienced in his life. It felt as though his insides were on  fire-liquid lava running through his veins, scorching everything in its  path. Flames licked at his skin, burning the flesh away, boiling him.  His muscles flexed, and his body convulsed, seizing. It was pure  torture.

Skin tearing …

Bones breaking …

Body splitting apart...

Pain … unimaginable pain …

He could feel it all, every breath laboring, but Emmett didn't have the  control to stop it. He cried out, yelling in desperation as he tried to  escape the pain, but there was no way out. His anguish grew as the fire  raged on.

What's happening to me?

Emmett tried to control his breathing. He needed to have a clear head in  order to think. He could see Dylan clearly inside his mind. There had  been an explosion, and his beautiful vampire offered him blood to save  his life, but he didn't know if it had worked.

Did he drink Dylan's blood? Was he alive? Could he be having an adverse reaction?

Am I dead?

The realization that his life was over, that he could be dead, crashed  down around him, stealing his breath. He didn't want to die. There was  still so much he wanted to do, so many things he wanted to experience.  He had never traveled anywhere or seen any of the wonders around the  world. He'd always played it safe, too scared to really live life,  afraid. It all seemed like such a waste now.

No, he wouldn't accept death. He would fight it, and he would win.

Emmett tried to find a way out of the dark. He stumbled around, looking  for Dylan. Where was his vampire FPA agent? He couldn't see anything. It  was as if all of his senses were blocked off.

No sight.

No sound.

No smell.

Nothing.

Where am I? Where the hell is Dylan?

He tried to yell. He tried to call out for help, but no words would  emerge. Emmett felt himself slipping away, falling down into a deep  abyss, a black hole of pure nothingness. His scream echoed through the  darkness … silently.



* * * *



Dylan woke up sensing that something was wrong with Emmett. He leaned up  on his elbow and looked down at his True Match. A fine sheen of sweat  covered Emmett like a blanket. His skin was inflamed, and it burned when  Dylan touched him.

He threw back the blankets, removing the covers completely. Dylan picked  Emmett up and hustled back into the bathroom. He stepped back into the  shower stall and turned the water on. He held Emmett under the cool  spray, hoping to regulate his temperature.

"You're going to be okay, Flowers," Dylan murmured.

Dylan lowered them both to the floor. He cradled Emmett in his arms as  the water rained down. Dylan hummed softly, rocking side to side, hoping  Emmett was comforted.

After a while, Emmett started shivering, his teeth chattering together  uncontrollably. Dylan rose to his feet with Emmett safely tucked in his  arms. He stepped out of the shower and grabbed a couple of towels from a  nearby rack. Dylan went back into the bedroom. He tossed one of the  towels down, covering the bed, and laid Emmett down. He didn't bother  drying Emmett off. Instead, Dylan let the air kiss Emmett's skin.

He needed to keep Emmett cool while the man finished his transition so that his brain wouldn't be burned up in the process.         

     



 

"It's going to be okay. You're going to be okay."

Dylan stayed by Emmett's side, watching over him. Each second that  passed felt like an hour, and every hour, an eternity. Emmett didn't  move. He didn't make a sound. He just lay frozen on the bed,  unconscious. Dylan tried to stay positive, but he was slowly starting to  lose his mind.

What if Emmett didn't wake up? What if he didn't complete the transition? What if … what if … what if …

The questions rolled through his mind, over and over again until he  didn't think he could take anymore. Dylan started pacing around the  room, never once taking his eyes off Emmett. He didn't know how long the  process was supposed to take but assumed there wasn't a specific  timeline. Emmett was a strong male, but he'd been badly injured, his  insides torn to shreds from the force of the bomb.

Dylan could only wait, and time was his enemy.



* * * *



Emmett's eyes flew open. One minute he was in pain, and in the next, he  was wide-awake. Emmett stared up at the ceiling, his heart pounding  rapidly, galloping within his chest. From the position on his back,  Emmett stared up at a light fixture made of metal and glass. Light  reflected, sparkling, sending shards of color around the room.

Sounds bombarded him. He could hear everything. A lawn mower … a dog  barking … pans clanking in the kitchen … a door opening and then closing … the  wind whistling as it blew through an open crack in the window …

Slowly sitting up, Emmett looked around. It took only a moment to  realize that he wasn't at home. Nothing was familiar. His brows drew  together in confusion as he tried to figure out where he was and what  had happened. Everything was different.

His senses were clearer, sharper, and more defined. He could read the  titles of each book on the shelf across the room, hear the fluttering  wings of a fly, and smell the sandalwood-scented soap on his skin. The  overpowering scent of Dylan was there, too, making his mouth water.  Desire unlike anything he'd ever felt consumed him.

What is happening to me?

He didn't feel like his normal self. It was almost as if he were someone  else completely. Moving to the edge of the king-sized bed, Emmett slid  off. His bare feet hit the floor, and he curled his toes in the soft  carpet. After a few minutes, Emmett stood up and started investigating  his surroundings.

The room was comfortable, decorated in pale blues and neutral tones.  Light, blue curtains with a diamond pattern blocked the windows,  drowning out most of the natural light, except for a small sliver of  bright sunshine.

Where the hell am I?