Nightfall (37 page)

But she kept her mouth shut, afraid of giving voice to the truth. With Chris's lab experience, nobody could do better—not in their world anyway. Jenna sponged off the blood and helped get him warm, covering bare parts with blankets when they'd finished bandaging. She wanted to lie down with him, but she'd only get in the way.

Eventually, Chris booted her out in the nicest possible way. Jenna only paced. Tru dogged her steps, looking almost as worried. She wasn't setting a good example for the poor kid, but her reason for living lay motionless beyond her reach. Her mate.

She'd never even told him. Talk about unfinished business. He had to live, if only to hear her say it.

Another hour passed. On her hundredth circuit, she slammed into Tru, who'd fallen out of step. Pain flashed through her sore arm. She snarled.

“Put your fangs away, Jenna,” he snapped. “Like you're going to bite
me
. Please.”

Whatever she might have said was interrupted by Penny. The little girl wandered out of the dormitory and into the hall. “Breakfast?”

Jenna wouldn't leave her vigil for hell or heaven itself. She looked to Tru. “Can you take this?”

“I'll fix you something, kid,” he said. “Come on.”

Shortly thereafter, Chris came out of the lab—their impromptu surgery. His arms were red to the elbows, and he wore a heavy frown. Hazel eyes were dark and tired behind the wire-rimmed specs. “I did all I could.”

She didn't need to hear the rest. Wounds like Mason had taken required a hell of a lot more equipment and expertise than they could muster. An ache swelled up in her chest.

“And, Jenna,” he said. “He's been bitten. Repeatedly. If he doesn't change soon—”

“I'll help you take him to a bunk.” She kept her expression blank. Wouldn't think about it. Wouldn't hear it. John had to be fine. “We'll need Tru too. He's heavy.”

Once they settled the patient in the dorm they'd shared—God, had it only been the night before?—she said, “Go eat breakfast with Penny. Both of you. I'll take care of him from here.”

The days passed in an agony of fear. She'd never really considered how John must have felt during those days after she was bitten. But she thought about it now, a slow, crawling insanity of waiting and watching every rise of his chest. She contended with his wounds, changing bandages and looking for the abnormal reaction Edna had suffered. Jenna locked herself in with him, along with his trusty nine-millimeter.

She wouldn't open the door to anyone but Tru, and even then, she didn't let him in. She just took the food or drink or whatever medicine they offered and locked up again. Locked herself in with the truth. The man she loved would die a monster.

When John's fever spiked, she went down on her knees—not prayer exactly, but a complete abasement of self. There was nothing she wouldn't sacrifice to have him back. Not pride, not reason, not even ... sanity, she thought. It wasn't melodrama; she didn't know if she could function without him. His death presented a looming chasm that would swallow her too, even if she tried to fight.

Jenna bathed him. She fed him broth and weak tea. Most of it trickled out of his slack mouth, and the scant medicine they had on hand wasn't enough to fight the fevers ransacking his body. When taking into account the grievous wounds and the unknown effects of the bites, it seemed hopeless. One by one, his systems began shutting down.

She wanted to howl but didn't have the throat for it. Instead she wept. Her tears spattered onto his chest and trickled down to pool in his navel. But he was already leaving her. Jenna rested her brow on his belly. When she had no tears left, her dry eyes just burning salt in their sockets, she raised her head and gazed down at him.

His breathing was shallow now. The first couple of days, he'd raved and thrashed. Now he just lay there. Waiting. Like her.

So she talked.

“I never told you ... but I love you. Even in the beginning, I wasn't all that scared of you. I think I knew you wouldn't hurt me, even then.” She leaned down and framed his face in her hands. “But this, John ... if you do this, if you walk through that door without me, it'll hurt worse than anything else ever could. Don't do this. Don't break my heart.”

It was stupid. Jenna
knew
it was stupid. You couldn't beg someone to get well. But she did until she had no voice left at all. She implored, she threatened, she coerced, and she lost track of what she said. Then she lay down with him and covered them both. Maybe she'd just lie with him until she died too. The doors were locked. It wouldn't hurt any of the others. She pressed her forehead to his.

“John, please. Please don't go.”

In the depths of her despair, she heard a small voice.
The most powerful magic there is.

It wasn't Mitch. Just a memory of what Mason had said in Wabaugh. But as she sat up slowly, a chill rolled over her.
I have absolutely nothing to lose.

She found Mason's knife, the one he used to scrape the hair off his head. She'd never told him, but she liked watching him do that. With such complete lack of personal vanity, he became fierce and sexy. Before she could rethink the decision, she cut open her palm. Blood welled up, ruby bright.
Does it look ... different?
Almost like someone had slipped ground diamonds into her veins.

She could change forms. That was magic. Therefore, she believed. With every fiber, she did. Jenna sealed her palm over the worst of Mason's wounds. She remembered reading some novel where a character said,
There are no magic words, only the will behind them.

“My blood is yours,” she whispered. “My strength, yours. Yours, my mate.”

For long moments, nothing happened, and she felt
incredibly
stupid. But her faith never flagged. The invisible cord between them went taut, quivering. Heat rushed up her spine, along her shoulder, down, down through her arm and into her palm. If she squinted, Jenna could see the faint glow where her hand pressed against his skin.

Holy shit. It was working. It
had
to be.

She painted him liberally with her blood, touching each of his wounds. When the cut coagulated, she sliced herself again. The drain dragged on for what seemed like hours, until her vision went vague and sparky. Her head felt thick, and the room blurred around distant edges.

Yet she didn't stop until his breathing eased. Jenna had no idea how long she bled for him, but she didn't break the link. She wouldn't, even if it killed her. More heat poured out of her. The faint silver light around her palms bloomed brighter.

The room flashed away in a burst of white; she had nothing more to give. The darkness closed around her.

When she woke in a panic, hours later, his arms were looped around her shoulders. Skin sweaty but cool, his wounds were scabbed over—a gift from her accelerated metabolism. Tears welled in her eyes.

Fucking blood magic
,
Mitch. We're square now, old man.

“What's this about finding a replacement?” John asked in a rusty voice. “Something about how you're not mourning me if I'm bastard enough to die?”

Mason didn't speak again. He couldn't, not when Jenna lay beside him, sobbing as if he'd died. He inhaled, testing, but his chest burned. He didn't even want to think about the rest of him. His legs were uncharted territory filled with shadowy horrors he wasn't strong enough to confront. Not yet. Jenna's mental exhaustion pushed and pushed, layering with his, until he couldn't figure out how they both still breathed. No gas left in their tanks.

But his eyes were open, and Jenna was warm and soft against his side.

Gingerly, with every joint blistering in pain, he laid a graceless hand against the back of her head. His wrist was bound in bandages, as were a couple of fingers. She stilled and lifted her face, tears wetting the dark bags beneath her eyes.

He shifted on the bunk, his right shoulder bound tightly. “How long?”

“Five days.”

“But I was bit.”

She nodded. “I know. Repeatedly.”

“So ...” He closed his eyes, feeling outside of himself. “I didn't ... shift?”

“No. You had a fever the whole time.”

“So how come I'm still alive?”

“Blood magic.” She pushed up enough to show him the self-inflicted stigmata on her palms. “Mitch was right. And if I hadn't tried, if I hadn't believed in him, you would have died.”

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head in wonder. “Cure or curse. Damn. Do you have any idea how it works?”

“Maybe because we're mated. It tapped into that bond. I'm not sure I could do it with anyone else.”

“You better not,” he growled softly.

“Do you think this means—?”

“I'm like you?” Mason shrugged. “We won't know until I hit that catalyst Chris was talking about. That perfect storm of pain and emotional impact, or whatever the hell he said.”

“Would you mind?”

“I'll be honest,” he said, staring upward. “I wouldn't love it. But it's better than the alternative. And I get to be with you. I'll cross that bridge if I come to it.”

Jenna studied him critically for a moment and then settled against his side, ardent but careful. “You're a wreck. Your woman should take better care of you.”

Eyes closed, Mason indulged in the feel of her hip beneath his hand. “I'll take it under advisement. So tell me ... did we win out there?”

“Yeah.” She stroked a rare bit of skin on his chest that wasn't injured or bandaged. “Chris and Tru checked the tunnel from the inside. You collapsed it completely.”

“We still have power?”

“Yup. And Tru said this morning that they haven't seen a single beast in days.”

“They gave up,” he said, his brain pulling in details from the past. “Outside. You remember that beast-man? The alpha?”

“Yeah.”

“I killed him. After that, all his buddies didn't fight as hard. With eight of them—I shouldn't have survived, especially with no weapon. They lost focus. Two of them just walked away and fell over.”

“They needed their pack leader to function.”

“I think so. He seemed to be in command, as much as those things can be.” He paused, his eyes flicking to the nine-millimeter waiting ominously on the opposite bunk. “But you haven't been out of this room to see for yourself.”

Jenna stopped the idle stroking. A choked sound escaped her as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. Mason pulled her tighter, closer. Holding Jenna kept the darkness at bay. Things were different now, as if everything had changed while he lay sleeping. No walls. Nothing hidden. Her very blood coursed in his veins, as if he could feel her heart beating through the rhythm of his own. It was unspeakably beautiful, a connection unlike anything he'd ever known or imagined.

“Of course I didn't leave.” She sniffed. “When you didn't follow me home, Chris kept the front door padlocked, or else I'd have been out there trying to find you.”

Home.
What a weird way to describe the station. After fighting the few monsters that had any drive left, he'd taken every step with
home
as his goal. Home, where Jenna was. He couldn't remember how he'd made it, only that stopping equaled death. Plus, he had promised her everything would be all right. Despite the impossible odds, the punkass kid who once robbed convenience stores had turned into a man of honor, worthy to be with such a woman.

“I'll have to thank him for that,” he said quietly.

“Don't. You'll piss me off all over again. I've never felt more ...” Her hoarse voice seized up. “I ... God, I was helpless. First waiting for you to come back, then waiting for Chris to patch up what was left of you, and then more damn waiting in here.”

Mason started to laugh, a crazy sound that did nothing to ease the ache in his chest. But he kept laughing—then coughing and shuddering.

“What's so funny?”

“You.”

“What, it's funny that I love you so much my heart feels broken with it?” She half sat up and pushed a fist between her breasts. “Because that's what it was like. I was
mourning
you, waiting for you to turn into a damn monster or to keel over dead. So you tell me what's so fucking funny.”

He grinned. “You missed me.”

“Asshole.”

“And I think you just said you loved me.”

“Not the first time,” she said, her cheeks coloring.

“First I've heard.”

She looked annoyed for a moment, but then her stubbornness dissolved. “I've told you about a hundred times over the last few days.”

“What, is there some quota you've topped out?”

Tears slipped down her cheeks. “I love you.”

Mason lifted his arm. He thumbed away the tears, but more dampened her skin. “So we traded vigils, huh? It's a shitty thing to have to do.”

“You could say that, yeah.” A tentative smile wobbled across her lips. “Can we not do it again, please?”

He stretched his legs, pointed his toes. “Sure. I'm keen on hibernating for a while.”

Jenna stared at him. She smiled fully, with open affection shining from her eyes. Not the lust they'd shared before, and something more than the possessive hunger she'd shown after her first shift. No, this was his woman. The woman who loved him. His mate. He'd fight for her. Kill for her. Die for her. But more importantly, he'd build with her.