Base Instincts (7 page)

Slake leaped into action as Raze turned back to his patient. “Hey, buddy,” he said in his calmest medic voice. “What’s your name?”

“B-Blead.”

“Like bleed,” Raze said, keeping his tone light. The guy was going to be okay, but without Raze, he’d bleed out. “What you’re doing right now.”

“Funny . . . guy,” Blead gasped, his goatlike snout wrinkling as a wave of pain wracked him.

Quickly, Raze engaged his healing power to reduce the guy’s bleeding. Energy surged through his arm, running along his
dermoire
in a pulsing tingle instead of a steady buzz. Son of a bitch, he was running low on juice after six busy hours at the hospital.

Instead of doing a full heal, he did a partial, enough to keep the guy alive until one of the uninjured staff members could escort Blead to one of Underworld General’s facilities.

For the rest of the afternoon, he was forced to use his gift sparingly, moving from patient to patient to triage and heal the most severe and life-threatening injuries so that the other arriving UG medical staff could treat and transport to the hospital.

He hated triage. Always had. Every instinct in him screamed for him to heal his patients, to stay with them until he was confident they were out of danger. But mass casualty situations didn’t allow for that, and he lost track of the number of times he had to pause for a few seconds to rein in his frustration.

He also lost track of time as he worked. Every once in a while he’d catch sight of Slake as he helped rescuers haul heavy debris off victims or offered comfort to the injured. Once, Slake even saved a life by tying a tourniquet around a human’s leg that had been blown off at the knee. Where Slake had found the rope he’d used, Raze had no idea, but it was good thinking.

A couple of times, Raze found himself admiring the way Slake handled the situation with confidence and authority, while still obeying orders from rescue personnel. Impressive, how he was able to keep his ego in check. Raze had figured Slake to be the kind of muscle-bound, arrogant warrior who would balk at taking instruction. So he was hot
and
smart.

Knock it off. You’re only setting yourself up for disaster.

Not to mention that he kept drooling over another male in the
middle
of a disaster. So. Damned. Inappropriate.

Cursing himself, Raze wiped his brow on his sleeve and got back to it. The frantic pace of the emergency finally wound down as evening settled in, but as he helped another of Wraith and Eidolon’s brothers, a paramedic named Shade, wheel a patient out to the waiting ambulance, he heard Slake shout for help.

He ran back inside, but he didn’t see Slake anywhere among the scorched and mangled debris. “Where are you?”

“Over here!”

Raze threaded his way to the far corner of the building and found Slake kneeling behind an overturned table, his voice low and soothing as he spoke to someone Raze couldn’t see. When he got closer, Raze’s heart stuttered at the sight of a female form lying on the floor, her lower half crushed beneath a massive section of wall. Slake was holding a frail hand in one palm as he tenderly brushed long brunette hair out of the female’s blood-streaked face.

Lexi.

“It’ll be okay,” Slake murmured, his tone hesitant and awkward, as if he wasn’t used to promising hope. “I won’t leave you. I swear.”

Lexi’s golden-brown eyes were glazed with pain and shock, but she locked onto Slake’s gaze with the fierceness that only a lion shifter could manage. “Thank you,” she rasped. “Thank . . . you.”

“No.” Raze’s voice sounded as destroyed as the club as he sank heavily to his knees. “
No
!”

He gripped Lexi’s biceps and channeled what was left of his power into her, but a heartbeat later it became clear that she was beyond his capacity to help, even if his ability had been fully charged. He felt her drift away, her pulse becoming weaker as his pounded harder, until it stopped completely and her beautiful eyes clouded over.

“Ah damn,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Slake said softly. “I didn’t know what to do—”

“You did everything you could.” Raze shuddered, but long after it should have stopped, his body continued to tremble. He couldn’t let go of Lexi, not until Slake pried his fingers from her limp arm.

“Come on, Raze.” Slake signaled to a team of rescue personnel as he pulled Raze to his feet. “Let them do what they need to do.”

Raze nodded numbly, grateful for the way Slake had taken over and given him a chance to step back. He was also grateful for the way Slake stood protectively close, his hand a comforting, steady presence on Raze’s shoulder.

“I liked her,” Raze said, his voice as thick as the smoke that lingered in the air. “I liked her a lot.” He looked at the trashed club, at the pools of blood that mingled with the soot and ash, and without an adrenaline rush and victims to treat, the reality of the situation finally sank in. “So much death and destruction. Why?”

Slake shook his head. “Looks like Thirst took the bulk of the blast. At first, I thought the human club was the target, but if you look over there—” he pointed to the restrooms “—you can see where the blast originated. It was also focused, so it blew toward the front of the club. Someone wanted to take out the club without taking out the entire building. In fact . . .”

Slake’s voice became a muted buzz, until all Raze heard was,
blah, blah, maybe humans did it, blah, blah, inspect the materials used, blah, blah, blahblahblahblahblah
. . .

“Blah.”

Raze felt himself being shaken.

“
Blah
!”

More shaking.

“
Raze
!”

He blinked. Focused. Slake was standing in front of him, expression tight with concern, his hands on Raze’s shoulders.

“Raze, man, you okay?”

“Yeah.” No. Someone had intentionally maimed and killed dozens of people. How could he be okay with that? Making matters worse, as his adrenaline waned, his body was going through alternating hot and cold flashes, and his gut was starting to ache as the first symptoms of sexual withdrawal began. He glanced down at his watch. It was nearly 7 p.m., a little over twelve hours since Fayle had given him a release that had been so cold and clinical they might as well have been at UGH’s fertility clinic instead of their own apartment. He had no idea how long she was going to punish him for taking all of the control away from her last night, but he did know he’d need her again soon. Very soon.

But right now, as he looked into Slake’s eyes, he needed something else. He wasn’t even sure what. All he knew was that Slake was the key.

“Come with me.” Raze started walking, wondering if Slake would follow.

It wasn’t until he reached the door that led to his upstairs apartment that he heard the heavy strike of Slake’s boots behind him.

Slake followed Raze to an apartment across the way from Thirst, his steps leaden with exhaustion. At over a century old, Slake had seen a lot of violence—had been the
cause
of a lot of violence—but he’d never let himself get sucked into an emotional involvement.

Sure, over the years he’d lost a lot of friends and lovers, but he’d learned the hard way to never get too attached, and even more importantly, to never be affected by anyone else’s attachments. To never feel empathy. Or even sympathy. Life was hard, and it only got harder when you had more to care about than just yourself. Inevitably, those you cared about had a nasty habit of kicking you in the nuts when they couldn’t accept who you were.

But seeing Raze so affected by his failure to save everyone, especially a friend, had rattled something loose inside him. The guy had been stoic and professional from the moment they’d arrived on scene, but in the last five minutes, the hard shell surrounding Raze had cracked—as much a victim of the bombing as Thirst had been—and Slake found himself wanting to fix it.

Weird, considering that Slake had been born to a species of demon that was all about destruction and suffering. Of course, the fact that Slake had never fit in was exactly why he’d left them behind.

Still, his people might be barbaric and primitive, but there was something to be said for not giving a shit about anyone else’s pain. Even now, when Slake should have been doing what he always did and mentally preparing himself for the worst thing that could possibly happen once he stepped inside Raze’s apartment, he was wondering what he could do to erase the shadows that haunted Raze’s gorgeous green eyes.

Raze led Slake inside a small but neat apartment that appeared to be part of a converted factory floor. Thick metal pillars made for interesting obstacles, but at least they’d been painted in bright primary colors that matched the Ikea furniture and modern art on the walls. Soft jazz music drifted from what Slake assumed was a bedroom, but Raze took a sharp left and made a beeline for the kitchen. Slake started after him, but movement in the bedroom doorway caught his attention.

Halting, he swung his head around. A female was watching him, her black hair falling over her face so he could only see one eye, but that one eye was narrowed, full of suspicion.

Fayle. No question about it. He’d seen enough pictures—and one extremely detailed drawing provided by the law firm’s client—to recognize her.

He watched her until she pivoted around and disappeared back into the bedroom. Complete with a door slam.

For a split second he wondered what would happen if he hadn’t used the bindings intended for her to stop an injured dude’s bleeding, and instead barged into her room, grabbed her, and packaged her for delivery to Dire & Dyre. How much of a battle would Raze put up? Would he be forced to kill the guy?

Slake had always been careful to avoid collateral damage, but his soul was on the line, and he’d do what he had to do. But damn it, something about Raze made him want to figure out another way. Or, at least, to stall a little. Fayle would still be here tomorrow.

Probably.

Cursing himself for a fool, he entered the kitchen . . . and stopped dead. Raze stood at the sink, his scrub top wadded on the floor, leaving him tantalizingly nude from the waist up. His muscles rolled and flexed under the supple skin of his back as he washed the blood and soot from his hands and arms.

Damn. Slake swallowed dryly, unable to tear his gaze away. And when Raze finally grabbed a hand towel and wiped himself down, all Slake could think about was how lucky that piece of cloth was. And how his tongue could do a much better job.

Raze tossed the towel to the floor next to his soot-and-blood-streaked top and yanked open the fridge door. “Beer?”

Somehow, Slake managed a casual shrug and a scratchy, “Sure.”

Raze tossed him a bottle of some fancy microbrew, and then he twisted the cap off his own and drained half the contents.

“Thought you didn’t drink.”

Closing his eyes, Raze kicked his head back against the blue-tiled wall. The muscles in his throat rippled as he swallowed, and Slake suddenly imagined himself kissing his way down that long, arched neck. Imagined tracing the symbol under his jaw with his tongue. Imagined the sounds Raze would make while he was doing it. Gods, the very thought made heat rush to his groin and his heart race startlingly fast.

Slake wanted Raze in a way he hadn’t wanted anyone in a long, long time.

“I can’t get drunk, but drinking still makes me want what I can’t have.” Rake’s lids lifted, and Slake’s muscles went rubber at the dark hunger that gleamed in the depths of his eyes. “Right now, what I want is standing in front of me, and I’m pretty sure I can have it.” His voice went low. Smoky. Sexy as fuck. “Am I right?”

Holy shit. A tight fist of heat clenched in his chest and spread in a slow wave as his body reacted to the blatant promise of raw sex. He eyed Raze and those magnificent shoulders and thick arms that were built to hold a partner steady for an onslaught of bliss. Lower, his broad chest tapered down to rippling, hard abs and a narrow waist that disappeared into pants that did nothing to hide an impressive erection.

Gods, to have all that solid strength beneath him, absorbing his thrusts . . .

“You’re right,” Slake said roughly, even as what Wraith had said earlier echoed in his head. “But Wraith said your kind only does females, and I just saw one in your living room.”