“Mirren, talk to me. Where are you hurt?”
He groaned and rolled to his back, and Robin heard music. She didn’t think choirs of heavenly angels sang country music, so she patted around on his pockets and finally dug out his cell phone. Krys, thank God.
“Something’s wrong with Mirren.” She waited for Krys to say something. “Krys?”
“Robin? It’s Nik. Something’s wrong with Krys, too, and Glory. Where are you?”
She filled him in as quickly as possible. “He’s rolling around on the ground.”
“Bring him to Aidan’s house now. Glory says . . . never mind, it’s too complicated. Can you get him here?”
She looked down at the biggest man she’d ever seen in her life. She bet he weighed four-hundred pounds. “I’ll get him there.”
At least she finally knew her physical limits, and they cut off somewhere short of Mirren Kincaid. She tried lifting him, pulling his arm over her shoulders and hefting him to his feet, and even a poor attempt at a fireman’s carry.
Finally, she slapped the shit out of him. It seemed to bring him around a little. “You are going to get up, and you are going to walk—do you hear me? Glory is sick. Glory needs you.”
If Mirren had a weakness, it was his wife, or mate, or whatever they called themselves.
Her ploy worked. It took a few false starts, but he managed to roll to his knees and then, with her help, rise to his feet. “Come on.” She helped as best she could, but given their size difference, it wasn’t much. The trip took forever, and her role mostly consisted of tilting him to the right when he began listing left and pushing him to the left when he veered right.
Finally, Aidan’s house was in sight, and as soon as he saw them, Nik came limping out to help.
“Careful or you’ll open up all your cuts again; he’s a moose,” she panted. “What’s going on?”
They slowly maneuvered Mirren inside and let him collapse on the sofa. Glory sat cross-legged on the floor, crying. Krys . . . “What happened to Krys?”
At first Robin thought she was dead, but then she had a seizure of some kind. “Nik, what’s going on?”
He sat on the floor next to Krys and smoothed back her hair. “I’m not sure. It has something to do with the vampire bonds.”
Glory had managed to climb on the sofa, and although her face was tight with pain, she had Mirren’s head in her lap, stroking his forehead, his cheeks. She looked up. “Everyone in Penton is bonded to Aidan or Mirren, and Mirren’s bonded to Aidan. The tie of a bond-mate is closest of all. They share strength. One is hurt and pulls strength from another in order to live.”
Robin closed her eyes and prayed for the patience she rarely had. “Speak English, for God’s sake. What does she mean?”
Nik apparently understood vampire crap better than she did. “It means Aidan is hurt, and he’s unconsciously pulling strength from all of them. I’ve got a splitting headache, too, but I don’t think I’ve been bonded long enough.”
“Hurt how? Hurt how badly?”
Nik looked down at Krys, who trembled with an occasional spasm but had fallen still otherwise. Her breathing was shallow. “I think he might be dying.”
Robin’s heart froze, and fear skittered up her spin. Where was Cage?
CHAPTER 34
The crunch near Cage’s left ear was impossibly loud. He didn’t hear things during daysleep. What would he hear during daysleep?
“You damn fools won’t even let me have the pleasure of shooting you, either one of you.”
Cage wanted to open his eyes, see the source of that voice. He’d heard it before, but why was he hearing it during daysleep?
“Guess I better make sure. Here’s that goddamned sonofabitch Aidan Murphy. This one’s for seducing my son away from the life he was meant to have.”
A gunshot echoed, and Cage’s eyes shot open. The wreck. Matthias.
Why couldn’t he see?
He didn’t dare move but rolled his eyes from side to side, then up, then down, focusing in on a sliver of light from the vicinity of his feet.
“And this is for stealing my freedom and putting me in a position to be a victim of that motherfucking Frank Greisser.”
Another shot.
Fuck fuck fuck. He was shooting Aidan. Why can’t I see? Why can’t I move my arms?
I’m trapped. The chill of an ice cube rolling across his skull signaled the onset of panic. He automatically began the litany he’d learned from his own psychiatric textbooks. I’m not going to die. I’m not trapped forever. It’s just temporary. Think about Aidan. Think about the Queen. Think about the sonofabitch who’s out there shooting your friend.