Lupi 08 - Death Magic

He found a smile and squeezed Cullen’s shoulder. “Nearly there.”
    “And then it really gets fun.”
    “I’m afraid so.” Cullen still had language. Good. Rule hadn’t been sure. Most lupi this far into the wolf would already be four-footed . . . but that’s why Rule was here. He continued to draw on the Nokolai mantle, projecting calm. “The Leidolf Rhej will be there. She’ll help. Will you be able to use the pain-blocking spell during the debridement?”
    “If they’re quick.”
    The spell was one Cynna had found or devised. It worked extremely well. Unfortunately, it didn’t just shut down pain—it shut down healing. The body forgot it was injured.
    First and worst, blood didn’t clot. Even when blood loss wasn’t an issue, the spell caused damage. The entire complex dance of healing was disrupted—fibroblasts didn’t form; white cells and other immune agents didn’t speed to the wound; the endocrine system grew confused; hormonal signals were missed or went unsent. Lupi healing could quickly right such imbalances, yet the spell was as dangerous for them as for humans. It was a power hog, a vampire. Even when employed as a charm—the only way most lupi could use a spell—it would somehow drain a lupus’s healing power itself.
    Still, used for very brief intervals, the spell could be a boon, and Cullen could use it more safely than most of them. Not that Rule entirely trusted Cullen’s notion of safety. He studied his friend’s face and sighed. “You’ve already tapped into it, haven’t you?”
    “Some.”
    “Cullen—”
    “Not stupid. Made sure it drew from my diamond, not me. Had to talk to Cynna, didn’t I? Didn’t want to scare her.”
    “You also had to study the damned ward. And confer with Sherry. And—”
    “You’re tense.”
    Rule snorted. “I hate hospitals.” That much he could say. Cullen would accept it, even expect it.
    “You need Lily. She’ll help.”
    “She’s following in the car.”
    “You need her,” Cullen repeated, and closed his eyes.
    Cullen—or his wolf—was much too observant. Rule did need Lily. Her touch would help greatly . . . because of the mate bond. The bond Lily had first cursed, then accepted, and finally come to value for the gifts it brought them.
    The mate bond. The Lady’s gift.
    The bloody knot inside Rule tightened.
    Man and wolf alike feared for Lily, were frantic at the separation, desperate to fix what they had no power to fix. But it was the man who felt betrayed . . . and who knew that betrayal pointed within as well as toward the Lady. It was the man who was riven by guilt.
    “Consent is necessary,” he’d told Lily. As they knelt beside Brian where he lay dying, he’d told her the Lady could do nothing without her consent. He hadn’t urged her to play host to Wythe’s mantle, no, but he’d aided and abetted. He’d known when he asked that she didn’t believe it was possible. A hypothetical, that’s how she’d seen it when she gave permission.
    He hadn’t warned her of danger. He hadn’t thought there was any.
    Fool, fool, fool . . .
    They slowed, turned, and slowed even more. The siren cut off. Rule glanced over his shoulder to look out the bit of windshield he could see. He caught a glimpse of the ER doors before the ambulance angled to the right, then started backing up. “We’re there,” he told Cullen, squeezing his shoulder.
    Cullen’s eyes flew open. Vivid eyes, clearly awake and aware . . . but with no trace of the man. Wolf eyes. He didn’t speak or move.
    “Good,” Rule said softly. “You’re keeping still. That’s good.” He made the sign for “hold” to reinforce that. Cullen-wolf understood English just fine, but physical language carried more meaning to a wolf.
    They stopped. The driver opened his door and hopped out. The other EMT joined Rule in the back; Rule had to move forward to give him room. Cullen tilted his head to keep his gaze fixed on Rule, so Rule made the sign for “hold” again.
    Obediently he lay still. The ambulance doors were flung open. The driver gripped the foot of the gurney and, with the redhead at its foot, slid it out. Rule followed. He jumped down lightly . . . and froze.
    Three guns were pointed at him. Three guns held by three uniformed guards fanned out between them and the open ER doors. No—they were aiming at the goddamn patient. At Cullen.
    A growl tried to rise in Rule’s chest.
    The EMTs stopped dead. “What the hell!”
    “Just a