“You went into the closet,” she mumbled, even though she was running out of air. “Up in our old rooms. This is your father’s jacket…”
What the hell was she saying?
“I’ll put it back,” he said gruffly as more lightning flashed above them.
As a series of hiccups replaced her ability to get any air down into her lungs, a terrible realization hit her. And yet for some reason, she couldn’t seem to muster up much emotion.
“L.W.” She looked down at the way her hand was fisting that jacket sleeve and felt like it was someone else’s grip. “I think I’m dying.”
He stopped, and for a split second, the little boy he’d once been returned. Gone was the hardened fighter, the loner, the dark, brooding stranger who had always been so resolutely tangential to her life while defining every moment of her very existence.
“I want you to promise me…you won’t come out here anymore,” she begged him. “Promise me…you’ll be safe—”
“We gotta get moving,” somebody said urgently. “Manny’s pulling up on Jefferson, but he can’t come down here. Alley’s too small for the RV.”
She dug her nails in even harder, the softened flesh of the leather giving way under her desperate grip. “Promise me. Or I die in vain.”
L.W.’s eyes searched hers, and she could have sworn that there was a sheen of tears gleaming in his. But maybe that was just her own vision failing and creating an optical illusion.
“L.W. Please.”
“Fuck,” he breathed as he started walking again. “Fine, I promise.”
As she lost consciousness, she caught one last final impression of his unyielding expression. Then she let herself go into the abyss.
Even though she was shattered that she was leaving her son behind, there was a hint of sad anticipation.
The door to the Fade was going to come for her, and Wrath would be on the other side. She was more than ready to see herhellrenagain. Finally.
It had been far too long…but what a loss to get to that reunion. She was leaving their son, alone, in the middle of the war…
Happy Anniversary.
Chapter Sixteen
As Beth dematerialized downtown, she tried not to remember the last time she’d been in the maze of buildings and pavement, alleyways and sidewalks. But as she and Wrath re-formed on the roof of the Brotherhood’s garage, in the hidden landing place, it was impossible not to go back to the night a year and a half ago when she’d almost gotten herself killed protecting L.W.
God...at the time, she’d been convinced she was going to come up to the door unto the Fade. Instead, she’d just ended up in a void of unconsciousness. When she’d finally come around, there had been all kinds of tubes sticking out of her, and the taste of someone else’s blood down the back of her throat.
Many someones, as it had turned out.
Over the course of days and nights of recovery from her gunshot wounds, Tohr had fed her. Rhage. Vishous. Phury. Butch. Qhuinn. John Matthew.
She was told later that Z had wanted to, except when it came to slicing his wrist with a dagger, he just hadn’t been able to do it—not because of the pain, but because he hadn’t wanted to contaminate her with his blood.
How heartbreaking it had been to hear that from such a male of worth.
Still, he had stayed by her side the entire time. The whole Brotherhood had—
“You don’t have to do this.” As Wrath touched the side of his nose, she came back to the present. “I can scent your emotions. You don’t want to be here.”
“No, no. I’m just…remembering things.”
And she didn’t want to be here. Neither did he. This was grim business.
As a gust of wind blew over the top of the building, they were sheltered from the cold rush thanks to the steel walls of this alcove designed to accommodate safer re-forming at the facility. And when a steady red light turned to green on a keypad, she was the one who entered the code—after which the panel in front of them retracted, and they stepped into a fully enclosed steel box the size of a hall closet.
While they were shut in and had to wait for the next security clearance, Wrath drew her into him and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
