Jack went lax before the Brother finished, and Nyx caught her mate, grunting as his heavy weight had to be held up.
But she refused any help from anyone.
He was hers.
She was going to get him to the car on her own.
The next thing Jack was aware of . . . was softness. Softness under his body. Under his head. Along one side of him.
His lids flipped open, consciousness returning with a speed and clarity that told him exactly how far Nyx’s blood had gone to revive him. And his first thought was—
“I’m right here.”
Nyx leaned forward and put her face in his line of vision. She was incredibly beautiful to him, with her dark hair pulled back, and her cheeks flushed from emotion, and her eyes glowing with unshed tears.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hi.” She smiled tentatively. “We have a doctor coming.”
“I’m okay.”
“That bite wound is really nasty. We can’t risk infection.”
There was a pause as they both looked at each other, re-memorizing, re-affirming, re-establishing the connection that he had been sure was broken forever.
He reached up and stroked her cheek. The side of her throat. “You’re alive.”
“And so are you.”
Jack glanced around at the homey decor. “Is this your home?”
“It is. We’re in my bedroom.”
Voices percolated from somewhere close by, low and calm. He recognized some of them from the crypt. “Am I really out?”
“Yes, you’re really out. You’re free.”
Jack took a deep breath. He wanted to celebrate—he truly did. “I’m glad,” he said because he didn’t want her to feel anything but joy.
He, however, had left something behind. Someone. Who he had searched for and had not found, living or dead.
Abruptly, Nyx leaned back from her kneeling position by the bed. And as she started motioning with her hand, he shook his head.
“No,” Jack said. “I don’t need a doctor—”
As a slight figure stepped into view, Jack thought . . .
No, no. This was so unfair.
This was a nightmare clothed in the symbols of a dream, the kind of thing that stung the heart when you woke up and realized your female was not with you and your son was still dead—
“Father?”
Jack’s body began to shake and he sat up slowly, as if he might wake if he moved too fast. Shifting his feet to the rug one at a time, he paused.
When nothing changed . . . when Nyx still seemed to be beside him, and his son still seemed to be in front of him in the doorway, he stood up. If his injury hurt as his leg bore his weight, he didn’t feel it.
He took a step forward. And then another.
“Son?” he said hoarsely.
Nyx spoke up. “Posie and I were driving home—”
“And I ran out into the road,” Peter chimed in.
“We hit him by mistake. It was a total accident.”
“But they saved me. Posie nursed me back to health.”
Yeah, on that note? Nyx was convinced that her sister had willed the pretrans to pull through: Posie had been utterly determined that he wasn’t going to die on her watch, and what do you know. Even the Grim Reaper had been afraid of the female’s cheerful brand of not-having-it.