Page 120 of Let Sleeping Vampires Lie

“At you or the situation?” I asked.

“Yes,” Marcus said.

That made me huff a tired laugh despite everything.

The city lights smeared across the windows. Marcus cut through side streets and service roads with the ease of someone who knew every unofficial route. He avoided main arteries, stayed away from cameras where he could, never lingered at intersections.

I kept my focus on Con.

His skin was too pale, his lips tinged with a bluish cast that made my stomach twist. His pupils, when they cracked open, were sluggish.

“Stay with me,” I said.

“Bossy,” he murmured.

“Annoying,” I corrected.

His mouth lifted at the corners, then fell as another wave of pain hit.

By the time we pulled up in front of Shadow Bone, my hands were shaking.

The mansion loomed above us, all stone and shadow and history. The gates were already open. Light poured from the front steps, harsh and bright compared to the dim interior of the car.

Isra stood at the top of the stairs.

He wore a long coat over a silver shirt, hair pulled back, makeup smudged around his eyes as if he had come straight from the club without bothering to fix his face. His expression, however, was very clear.

Worry. Anger. Fear.

The case in Marcus’ hands drew his gaze like a magnet, but it was Con’s limp form that made his shoulders tense.

Raven stood just behind him.

She looked ashen, magic still threaded around her like hazy smoke. Her eyes met mine, wide and dark. Through the bond, I felt the echo of what she had felt when I had pulled that much fire.

Fear. For me. For Rene. For all of us.

The front doors swung wide before Marcus even killed the engine.

House staff and clan members waited inside, ready hands and wide eyes. Someone had the presence of mind to bring a gurney, but Con grumbled the moment it came into view.

“I am not a hospital patient,” he muttered.

I ignored him.

Marcus opened the rear door. Together we eased Con out, one of his arms over my shoulders, the other draped around Marcus. His legs tried to help, but the effort nearly sent him to the ground.

The gurney rolled closer.

“Do not,” he said.

“Con,” I snapped, “if you argue with me one more time, I will let you fall.”

He shut his mouth.

We lowered him as gently as we could onto the padded surface. The motion had him biting back a groan. His hand shot out, gripping my wrist. He did not loosen his hold until he was settled.

Isra approached, eyes flicking from Con’s torn shirt to the blood smeared along the side of my dress.