Grabbing his dog, he slid out of his seat, and he had to brace himself forward against the wind to stay upright. Good thing he had the wraparounds. The blizzard lashed at his face, and as he closed his eyes, George tucked into his neck.
A steady hand at his elbow led him through the calf-deep snow. After only about ten or fifteen feet, he was packed like luggage into some kind of warm, dry interior. As a seat came up against his ass, he settled George in his lap and yanked the seat belt across his chest. Going by the scent and the lack of a verbal greeting, John Matthew was behind the wheel.
As soon as Phury and Qhuinn got in, forward momentum started.
“Everything is canceled at the Audience House for tonight.” Phury’s voice was grim up front. “We need to see…what happens.”
“What’s our ETA to the garage?” Wrath asked.
“I…ah, we thought we’d take you back home?”
“I’m going to where they’re taking V and Tohr. And I already know the training center is way too far from here for their injuries.”
He dubbed in a bunch of eye contact pinging around the inside of the van like stray bullets looking for a soft-tissue target, but the one thing he had going for himself was that he was still King. He didn’t make suggestions. Ask for permission. Request anything.
His words were law.
“Yes, my Lord,” Phury said with resignation.
There was a jerk and a series of bumps, and he guessed they were easing onto the shoulder. Then he felt the big wheel turn around.
“Don’t stop,” Phury said. “Okay, yeah. Right.”
No doubt he and John Matthew were communicating in American Sign Language.
Gritting his molars, Wrath shoved his dagger hand into his leather jacket. As he took out his cell phone, he put it up to his face for the unlocking.
“Callleelan,” he said. A series of electronicringingstarted.
Pick up. Pick up. Pick—
When voicemail kicked in, he imagined Beth screening his call and cursed. He didn’t want to leave a message, not about all of this so he hung up and put the phone back.
“No, no, keep going,” Phury continued. “We’re not the priority. Other people will—no, we’re leading the way. There are cars behind us. Exit’s half a mile.”
And then a phone rang.
Phury didn’t put it on speaker. All there was was a series ofuh-huh, uh-huh, yes, uh-huh’s...
When the brother hung up, Wrath bit out, “Tell me what their conditions are.”
Up in front, Phury cleared his throat. “Tohr has a collapsed lung, broken ribs, and a concussion. V has a broken nose, a very bad gouge out of his neck, and a superficial shoulder wound that needs stitches. When you guys hit the back of the plow, the upper compartment of the salt box broke through the windshield, and that was what caused the damage.”
“They’ll pull through, though.” There was a pause. “Right.”
“That’s the plan.”
Yeah, like the rest of tonight’s “plan” had been going so well?
“This is our exit,” Qhuinn announced like he wanted to refocus the conversation.
There was a gradual decline and then some stop-and-go as they hit downtown Caldwell’s grid of streets and strings of traffic lights. He knew before someone told him when they pulled up to the Brotherhood’s garage because there was a tilt of the vehicle and a rumbling of the steel panels as the bay door was raised. After that, more roll forward. More rumbling as the garage was locked tight once again.
The engine was turned off, and doors were popped open. Even his.
“My Lord? Are you going to get out?”
He had no idea who was talking to him and didn’t care. Like a robot, he shifted his body out of the seat and put George down on all fours.
