Half an hour later he still had a whole lot of nothing doing and he sent a mental ping to the other side.
His father did not answer.
Lash went upstairs and shut the door, thinking that maybe he wasn't concentrating properly because he was pissed off and frustrated. Sitting on the bed, he put his hands on his knees and calmed himself. When his heartbeat was slow and steady, he took a deep breath, pinged again . . . and got nothing.
Maybe something had happened to the Omega?
In a rush of emotion, he decided to go over to Dhunhd himself.
His molecules scrambled well enough, but when he tried to re- form on the other plane of existence, he was blocked. Shut out. Denied.
It was like hitting a solid wall, and as he bounced back to the crappy bedroom in the farmhouse, his body absorbed the shock on a wave of nausea.
What. The. Fuck--
As his cell phone went off, he snatched it out of his suit coat pocket and frowned when he saw the number.
"Hello?" he said.
The giggle that came through was boyish. "Hi ya, asswipe. It's your new boss. Guess who just got promoted? By the way, your daddy says not to bother him anymore. Bad move asking about the ladies--you should know your father better than that. Oh, and I'm supposed to kill you now. See you soon!"
The new recruit started laughing, that sound punching through the connection, drilling into Lash's head as the call was ended.
By the other party.
She was not pregnant. At least, not that Doc Jane knew.
But courtesy of that happy little pause in panic-ville, Xhex didn't remember anything of the trip to the compound. The idea that there was even a chance she could have been . . .
After all, she hadn't been wearing her cilices--and their purpose was to kill the symphath tendencies in her, including ovulation.
What would she have done?
Okay, moot point there, and she needed to cut that shit right out. God knew she had enough to worry about in the "actually happening" category.
Breathing deep, she inhaled John's scent and concentrated on the strong, steady beat of his heart under her ear. It wasn't long before sleep took her hard, the combination of exhaustion, postfeeding loginess, and the need to peace out of life for a while carrying her into a deep, dreamless state in the back of the SUV.
She woke up to the sensation of being lifted and her eyes opened.
John was carrying her through some kind of parking area that, given the cavelike walls and ceiling, had to be underground. A massive steel door was opened by Vishous, who seemed to be in a surprising mood to help, and on the far side . . . was a nightmare.
The long, anonymous hall had pale tile on the floor, concrete-block walls, and a low ceiling that had fluorescent box lights in it.
The past slid into place, the filter of prior experience replacing what was actually occurring with a remembered nightmare. In John's arms, her body went from weak to manic and she started to fight the hold on her, battling to get free. The commotion was instantaneous, people rushing toward her, a loud sound like a siren blaring--
As it dimly occurred to her that her jaw hurt, she realized she was yelling.
And then suddenly all she saw was John's face.
He'd somehow managed to turn her around in his arms and they were nose-to-nose, eye-to-eye, his hands digging into her sides and her hips. With the sight of that institutional corridor replaced with his blue stare, the grab of the past was broken and she was caught by him.
He didn't say a thing. Just stayed still and let her look at him.
It was exactly what she needed. She locked onto his eyes and used them to turn her brain off.
When he nodded, she nodded back to him and he started moving forward again. From time to time, his stare flicked away from hers to check where they were going, but it always returned.
It always came back.
There were voices, a number of them, and a lot of doors opening and shutting, and then a whole lot of pale green tile: She was in an examination room, with a multilight chandelier above her and all kinds of medical supplies in glass-front cabinets everywhere she looked.
As John put her on the table, she lost control of her reins again. Her lungs refused to do their job, as if the air were poisoned, and her eyes bounced around, hitting all kinds of panic triggers like equipment, and instruments, and the table . . . the table.
"Okay, we're losing her again." Doc Jane's tone was relentlessly level. "John, get in there."
John's face came back in close and Xhex held on to his eyes.
"Xhex?" Doc Jane's voice came from over on the left. "I'm going to give you a sedative--"
"No drugs!" The answer leaped out of her mouth. "I'd rather be terrified . . . than helpless. . . ."
Her breath was painfully short, and each impotent draw of her rib cage convinced her as nothing else could that life was about suffering more than it was about joy. There had been too many of these moments, too many times the pain and fear took over, too many dark shadows that didn't just lurk, but sucked out all the illumination from the night in which she existed.