The Purest of the Breed (The Community) (21 page)

“I think you’re
something
. And I believe I’m in a position to use whatever means necessary to find out.” Waterson glanced pointedly at Dev’s left wrist.

Dev followed the direction of the detective’s look, and saw that the wrist without the IV was handcuffed to the hospital bedrail. No big deal to a fully-functioning Vârcolac. Handcuffs could be snapped like string—although the need to hide that power might prove problematic—but Dev was rapidly losing the ability even to walk out of this hospital, much less perform phenomenal feats of strength. Which meant—

Waterson had him trapped.

Remember how the scientists stuck that mermaid in a tank and did all kinds of experiments on her
…? Panic shot through Dev’s stomach and bowels, the beep-beep-beeping of his heart monitor jacking into a riotous rate as adrenaline flooded his body.

Waterson’s eyebrows flew up. “Well, well,” he drawled in a satisfied tone. “That thought bothers you a great deal, I see. Why would it? Unless, of course, you have something to hide?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Dev gnashed through his teeth. Done with being on display, he seized a fistful of the wires attached to his chest and ripped off the little round pads, sputtering the heart monitor into flatline. As a little alarm
eeeeeped
, he went for his IV next—he couldn’t damn well think his way through this mess on drugs—biting into the needle and jerking it out. Blood squirted from his wrist.

“Hey—!” Waterson leapt at him.

Like the cornered animal he was, Dev lashed out, catching the detective on the side of the face with a brutal backhand. Blood from Dev’s wrist splattered the detective’s cheek, and the adrenaline-backed force of the blow whipped Waterson’s head to the side and sent him spinning into the IV stand.

“Touch me and I’ll kill you.” Dev’s voice was a dangerous growl of warning, hardly recognizable.

Waterson stumbled out of the tangle of IV hoses with murder in his eyes, breath sawing in and out of his nose. The imprint of Dev’s hand stood out bright red against the white anger of the detective’s complexion.

“Heavens to Betsy!” a nurse gasped as she charged into the room. “What’s going on?”

“Police business!” Waterson snarled at her, snatching up Dev by the hospital gown and hauling him to within an inch of his face, cold fury flashing in the depths of his blue-green eyes. “Stop lying to me, you fucking piece of shit, you hear me. I’m sick and goddamned tired of it!”

“Oh, dear.” The nurse turned and scuttled back out.

Dev pressed his lips closed. Between the smell of his own blood and the cop’s aggression, his fangs were ripping down from his gums. Unfortunately, Waterson interpreted the gesture as further obstinacy.

He gave Dev a hard shake, jarring his shoulder. “I want the truth!”

Dev sucked in an abrasive breath as blinding spears of pain electrified the room around him. He wrapped one hand around the cop’s wrist, the other hand rattling ineffectually at the bedrail, and tried to pry the man’s hold loose. His hospital gown ripped. The dickhead wouldn’t let go.

“You
have
been told the truth,” Dev said through tight, fang-concealing lips, “the last night you saw Dr. Tonĩ Parthen at Scripps Hospital.” His hand started to shake, and he let go of Waterson’s wrist before he gave away that he’d expended his last reserves. “You just don’t want to believe it, you weak tit, because if you did, you’d have to accept that Tonĩ would rather willingly work at a research institute than go off and have babies with you. Oh, ho! Now see who’s
bothered a great deal
.”

Waterson’s eyes were wide, exploding emeralds.

“Get your hands off me!” Dev seethed between fangs and teeth, “before I—”

“My, my, look at this,” came a female voice from over by the door. “This makes my day, truly it does.”

Dev’s pulse jumped in his throat. He recognized the voice. It wasn’t the nurse, it was…it was… Oh, Jesus God, his men had come to his rescue. They’d called in Kimberly.

Chapter Twenty-one

“I mean, this is just a juicy, big-money lawsuit handed to me on a silver platter. Really, Detective, how generous of you.”

Dev began to tremble all over, near-crippling relief and now a devastating blood-need collapsing his nerves. He clamped his molars together to keep his teeth from audibly chattering, his fangs sticking his bottom lip. Thank every star in the sky. Ass-kicker Kimberly was here.

Waterson snapped his hands off Dev’s hospital gown and turned toward the door, his eyes narrowed to blades.

Sedge’s wife met the detective look for look. “I’m Kimberly Stănescu, Mr. Nichita’s attorney. Am I correct in understanding,” her voice chilled another degree as she redirected a hard look to Dev’s cuffed wrist, “that my client is being detained?”

“Your client committed a crime.”

“What crime?” Kimberly demanded.

“He shot me,” Dev accused, gratified to see Waterson’s jaw clench.

“Breaking and entering for one,” the detective responded.

“I didn’t break,” Dev protested. “I just entered.
Trying
to help…”

“And carrying an unregistered M4 rifle,” Waterson cut back in, his voice honed steel.

Kimberly held out a piece of paper. “Mr. Nichita’s weapon
is
registered to him.”

Waterson barely glanced at the paper. “Is it? A
military
issue weapon. Well, that’s interesting. Perhaps you’d care to share who your client is, Counselor, and what organization he works for.”

Kimberly stuffed the paper back into her briefcase. “I’m under no obligation to disclose that information.”

“Ah.” Waterson’s expression turned droll. “So the plot thickens.”

Kimberly gave Waterson a gimlet stare. “I don’t have time for games, Detective. Either charge my client with a crime or release him, but don’t—”

“Thing is, Ms. Stănescu, I’m sort of a little stickler about things like proof. So you’re going to have to give me something before I can just kick this man to the curb.”

“I don’t have to give you anything, Detective Waterson. Mr. Nichita hasn’t committed a crime.”

“No? Vigilantism is illegal.”

“Then
charge
him with that,” Kimberly shot back, biting off each word. “And we’ll see you in court.”

Waterson’s own glare turned brittle. “Mr. Nichita is believed to be withholding information about men wanted for the serial abduction of women. That’s obstruction of—”

“Can you prove that?”

Dev would’ve smiled if he’d had the energy.
Speaking of that little thing called proof
…

Waterson’s eyebrows veed into a threatening scowl. Oh, if Sedge were here to see that. Bad, bad, bad.

Kimberly glanced at the wall clock. “I have another meeting in an hour.” More to the point, sunrise was closing in fast on her Vârcolac client. “I’d like a decision. And while you’re making it, please note that if we end up in court, I’ll be adding the police brutality I witnessed here today to the docket.”

A muscle bunched and hollowed in Waterson’s cheek, but after only the barest hesitation, he dug into his pocket and pulled out a small key. Crossing to the bedrail, he unlocked the handcuff from Dev’s wrist.

Dev released the last of the air in his lungs.
A year’s supply of flowers and candy for Sedge’s awesome wife
. Kimberly had won. Lowering the bedrail, Dev scooted carefully to the edge of the mattress and sat with his legs dangling while he tried to get his bearings. His head was attempting to un-corkscrew from his neck and his body and hair were soaked with sweat.

Stepping back, Waterson shoved his handcuff key away. “You do know that your client was recently shot, right, Counselor? If you’d care to notice, he looks like absolute shit.”

“Likewise I’m sure,” Dev returned glibly. Even though it was true.

“Mr. Nichita will gladly sign a form saying he’s leaving AMA.” Kimberly claimed Dev’s pants from off the chair and handed them to him, murmuring, “Blood-need?”

Dev nodded and screwed his eyes shut. Bright spots pinwheeled across the screen of his lids.

“Do you need a wheelchair?” Kimberly asked quietly.

In front of Waterson? He’d rather head over to proctology for an impromptu rectal exam. “Is the van right out front?”

“Yes.”

He could make it that far, then…somehow. With superhuman effort, he hoisted himself to his feet, Kimberly helping to steady him with a hand under his arm. He fumbled his black fatigues on and shuffle-stepped into his boots. Dragging off his torn hospital gown, he searched for his shirt.

“Here.” Kimberly handed him a scrubs top. “I think your shirt and coat were ruined by blood.”

He clamped his teeth as he pulled on the scrubs, his shoulder protesting the whole way, then aimed for the door.
One foot in front of the other, Dev, just keep it moving
…

It was time to go home.

* * *

“Enjoy your freedom,” John threw out as a parting jab. “Something tells me it’ll be short-lived.” He hadn’t expected the big man to stop, but he did.

The lawyer lady tugged on him with a, “Let’s go,” but Nichita turned around and took a step back toward John.

The man stood weaving over him, his face taut with the effort of just remaining upright. For a guy who clearly spent most of his waking hours in a gym, Nichita looked perilously close to doing a girl-faint. “Leave this case alone, Waterson. I’m telling you right now, you’re in way over your head.”

“Seriously? Okay. Whew, I’ll just go have a beer, then.”

Nichita shook his head slowly. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with, cop. Consider this a friendly word of warning.”

Anger pulsed through John’s jaw. “You and I aren’t friends.”

“No, we’re not. You shot me.” Nichita gave him a hard-edged smile. “I won’t be forgetting that any time soon.” He turned around and clomped out.

John watched the tall man shoulder his way past the doorjamb, that fierce lady lawyer at his side. Fury moved to throb at John’s temples and burn through his chest. He hated being outmaneuvered, hated it even more when somebody found a vulnerable spot in his soft underbelly to jab. What Nichita had said about Tonĩ Parthen…

“Hey, John? Excuse me.”

John schooled his face into a calm expression as he turned and focused on the man who’d just entered the room. “Yeah, Eddie. Sorry.” It was Dr. Edward Sevilli, the hematologist who’d been examining the medical records for this case. “What’s up?”

“There’s something I need to tell you.” Eddie held up a file, closing the door behind him.

John gave his brows a quick lift. In a
private
conversation?

“Your blood work came back with—”

“My blood work?”

“Well, yes. The hospital ran some routine tests on you as a part of treating you for your bullet wound.” Eddie held out the file to him. The name
John Waterson
was printed on it. “A strange element popped up in your blood work, too, John.”

John froze in the act of reaching for the file. “What?” He dropped his hand, his heart faltering a beat. “How…? I mean, is it the same element as Nichita’s and the other one?”

“No, not exactly, but…it’s still nothing identifiable as strictly human, John. Um…” Eddie paused to adjust his perfectly knotted tie. “I don’t mean to pry, but…are you unwell?”

Ice washed through John’s belly. This was exactly why he hated doctors. A guy went to one, and ended up leaving sicker than when he got there. Just like his father. “Me? Nope, Eddie.” He automatically slid his hands into his jeans pockets. “Fit as a fiddle.”

* * *

Community of Ţărână, 9:32 p.m.

Dev bolted upright in bed, gulping for air, his nostrils flared wide as trumpets around the scent of—

“It’s okay, Dev.” Marissa’s hand landed on his forearm. “It’s only—”

His ass nearly took flight off the bed.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” She was sitting on the edge of his mattress, a couple of little creases hanging out between her eyebrows. “You were sleeping so soundly, and I’ve been quiet as a mouse. I don’t know how I woke you.”

Maybe because you smell like all the king’s horses and all the king’s men coming to put me back together again
. He cemented his lips shut as his fangs plunged deeply into his mouth. How in the hell was he still this damned hungry? He had a very clear recollection of his donor, Ruxandra, coming to his bedroom and forcing her wrist on him, and…oh, wait, yeah, he’d heaved it. Such was the joy of being a Vârcolac male wholly wrapped up in another woman.

Tonĩ had pumped him full of high-dose vitamins via an IV to try and keep his blood-need at a low torture until he could manage to feed. He’d passed out, anyway, and now here he was, still Humpty Dumpty needing to be put back together again, and the woman who could do that
was
the king’s horses and men…because she couldn’t do it. Not until she’d stamped her I-know-you’re-a-vampire card. Oh, and agreed to hook up with him forever and ever.

He was precariously close to not caring about any of that. Marissa was sitting so near, and…in her pajamas, which meant she’d washed off her scent-cutting mud for the night. His frontal lobe felt like it was bulging against his skull, her scent was so deep inside his head. He could totally picture himself pulling a Nosferatu on her, rearing above her with a hiss, driving his fangs into her throat, sucking down her sweet, powerful blood in deep, greedy gulps.