Chapter 18 Asher
FOUR DAYS.
Four days since Cord spent the night in my bed and I haven’t heard a word from him since. Not that I expected to.
Elaine’s search into the Python has still yielded no results, and I can tell it’s frustrating her.
She likes a good mystery, but she’s used to success.
I get the feeling she resents me for bringing this to her, but I’m as disappointed as she is.
If I had something, it would be an excuse to call Cord.
I had hoped, with my efforts in the alley, that we would be past this whole avoidance bullshit, but then I realize he’s probably got his plate full right now and I’m the last thing on his mind. But the thought of him out there, tired and hungry–vulnerable–twists my gut.
I thought about sending a donor to his apartment, but I don’t know if he’s even there. Knowing him, he’s running twenty-four-seven until he finds this Python character.
I go through the motions at the office every day, pretending things are normal, but my mind never strays far from him. What is he doing? Is he in danger? Has he been feeding?
And there’s the other part. The physical part. Face it, I need him. I need the feel of him against me. The taste of him in my mouth. The sound of him coming undone in my arms. I know it’s selfish when he’s risking his life for all of us, but I never professed to being a saint.
Cord was right when he said I was single-minded. I am…when it comes to him.
I’m back to looking for excuses to call him or show up at his apartment, so imagine my surprise when I get home from the office to find him slumped against the side of my building.
My worst fears are realized when I discover he doesn’t even notice me as I approach him.
“Cord?”
There’s dried blood on his face and in his hair, and I can smell more on his clothes. He peers at me from behind his disheveled hair, his voice weak when he asks, “Does that offer of help still stand?”
“Let’s get you upstairs.”
I wrap an arm around his waist and guide him into the building. He winces as though he’s in pain, but says nothing. The concierge looks up as we pass, alarm in his eyes.
“Everything all right, sir?”
“It’s fine, Ralph. My friend just needs to sleep it off.” I hope he doesn’t notice the blood.
I get Cord into the elevator and up to my apartment. I was aiming for the bed, but he collapses on the couch with a grunt of pain. I pull his jacket and shirt off him to get a better look.
He’s been beaten badly, the bruises already turning his tattooed skin purple. What looks like several knife wounds crisscross his chest and arms. Vampires can heal enormous amounts of damage but that requires blood. I pull out my phone and punch in Lazlo’s number.
“I’ve got a Code 3. I’ll need three donors as fast as you can get them here.”
A Code 3 is an injured member, one of the highest orders of emergency for our kind. We all know the danger a wounded vampire can cause. Severe blood loss and trauma can lead to blood fever, when the member loses all control and his baser instincts take over.
Cord seems in control right now, but I don’t know the full extent of his injuries.
“Will three be enough?” Lazlo asks. I know he’s concerned about the safety of his donors.
“Should be. One is for me.”
“Very good. I’ll send them right over.”
While we wait, I finish getting Cord undressed and look him over.
“Are you trying to take advantage of me?” he slurs.
The fact that he’s being a smart ass is a good sign. I go grab several towels and a bowl of water and start cleaning up his wounds. He moans now and then, but otherwise says nothing.
Other than the two on his chest and abdomen, the cuts are mostly superficial, though judging by the fact that his clothes are soaked with it, he’s still lost a lot of blood.
When the concierge calls to announce my visitors, I tell him to send them up. I’m surprised when Armand is among them. He looks relieved when he spots me.
“Thank god. When I heard a Code 3 and this address, I thought you were injured.”
I’m touched by his concern. “It’s my friend. Hang on, I’ll grab a glass.”
Injured vampires are not allowed to feed directly from donors; too many chances for disaster if the vamp loses control.
I make a small cut on the first donor’s wrist and hold the glass under it until there’s a sufficient amount of blood in it, then lick the cut to close it.
He rummages in his bag for a bandage to cover the wound then takes a seat on the opposite couch while his two companions stand by.
I bring the glass to Cord’s lips. “Drink.”
His eyelids flutter, then he looks around blankly before focusing on the glass in my hands. He drains it in three gulps and I motion for the next donor and repeat the process.
Cord drinks this one slower before settling back on the couch and drifting off.
“Will he be all right?” the first donor asks.
“Should be, thanks to both of you.”
“That’s our job,” the second donor says.
“What about me?” Armand asks.
I smile at him. “You’re for me–though just for feeding today.”
Cord could probably use Armand’s blood more than me, but I can’t ignore my own needs, especially when I’m trying to take care of him.
I make short work of the feeding and tip the donors generously before sending them on their way. Lazlo calls me almost immediately for an update, and I assure him his donors are fine and heading back to the den.
I change into a pair of sweats and a tee shirt then drape a blanket over Cord and settle back on the other couch to wait for him to come around. My mind is running in circles, wondering who could’ve gotten the drop on someone as experienced as Cord and how he ended up here.
I don’t know how long I sit there, but I must’ve dozed off because I’m awakened by a buzzing sound. I look around and realize it’s coming from Cord’s discarded pants. His phone. I pull it out and look at the screen.
Dante.
I consider letting it go to voicemail, but part of me wants to give him a piece of my mind, so I answer it.
“Cord?”
“No. He’s…indisposed.”
“Did you…is he all right?”
He actually sounds concerned. “He will be.”
“Thank fuck,” he sighs. “Where is he?”
“He’s safe.” Safer than he’d be with you.
“Who is this?”
I glance at Cord, thinking about that. “A friend.”
“Asher?”
Surprising. Dante and I have clashed in the past, but he has to know Cord and I have been apart for years.
Unless Cord told him something about our encounters lately.
No, that doesn’t sound like Cord. He wouldn’t even admit that to himself. Maybe he’s just referring to the fact that Cord is a loner with so few friends. Or any.
“I’ll have him call you when he wakes up.”
I cut off the call before he can reply. The last person I want to talk to right now is Dante.
Cord stirs on the couch and his eyelids flutter, then open.
“Thirsty,” he croaks.
I sprint to the kitchen for a glass of water and hold it to his lips. He takes a sip then sinks back on the couch with a loud sigh.
“How did I get here?”
“You don’t remember?”
He runs a hand through his hair and drapes his arm over his eyes. “I remember the ambush, then trying to escape. I was running, and then…” He looks over at me. “You found me?”
“You were bleeding all over the wall outside my building when I got home. You ran all the way here?” Impressive, considering he could barely stand when I found him.
“I guess? I don’t know.”
He tries to sit up and groans, falling back again. “Fuck. I feel like I got hit by a truck.”
“You’re pretty beat up, though you should be healing now.”
He looks over at me. “You gave me blood?”
“Two donors. You could probably use more.”
“I thought I imagined that.” He tries again to sit up, this time managing to slump against the back of the couch. “Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be out of your hair.”
“You’re not going anywhere until you’re healed.”
“Ash, I need to get out there–”
“No.”
“You are so fucking stubborn.”
“Damned right I am, when it comes to you. Now if you’re feeling well enough to argue, why don’t you tell me what happened. You owe me that much.”
He sighs again. “We were trailing these two vamps.”
“Who is ‘we?’”
“Me and three of Dante’s guys. We’d been sitting on this club all day after we saw them grab a woman and throw her into a van.
We figured we’d torture them a little, get some information about their boss.
It seemed pretty straightforward. There were only two of them, and they didn’t look all that threatening. ”
“So what happened?”
“They ducked into a closed alley, and like idiots, we followed. That’s when we were jumped.”
“How many?”
He shrugs. “Eight, ten. It was hard to tell. They weren’t like the others. These guys were trained. One of them had a fucking sword, for Christ’s sake. He…took off Alexei’s head.”
“Jesus. How did you get away?”
“We managed to kill two of them. Well, Zeke did. He’s kind of a monster with a pipe.
Knocked their heads clean off. They scattered after that, but we were in bad shape.
Zeke grabbed Joshua and I guess headed back toward the warehouse.
I ran in the opposite direction in case we were followed.
I was losing blood, so things are kind of fuzzy after that. ”
And he came here. I don’t know what that says about us, but it makes me feel good that he thought of me when he needed someone.
I just hate that he’s going to go back out there with people trying to kill him.
What if it had been him the Outlier beheaded?
I probably never would have found out. He just would have disappeared from my life.
The thought almost causes the closest thing to a panic attack I could have.
I know it’s useless to ask him not to go back. This is what he does, and as he so often used to tell me, he knew the risks when he signed up to work with Dante. Most times though, he’s the one doling out the punishment.
“What’s wrong?” he asks me now.
“What do you mean?”
“Your face just got even paler, if that’s possible.”
I know Cord dislikes the mushy stuff, but he’s the most important person in my life and I refuse to pretend otherwise. “I’m worried about you.”
Surprisingly, he doesn’t brush it off. “I’ll be more careful.”
“That’s not good enough. What if that had been you who died? Cord, I can’t…I wouldn’t be able to handle it if something happened to you.”
He’s quiet for several minutes. “Look, we both know there are no guarantees, even in this life we chose.”
“That’s not good enough. We’re a team, you and me. Whether you want to admit it or not. We’ve always been there for each other.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because you sure don’t act like it.”
He sighs and leans his head back against the couch. “What do you want me to do, Ash? This is my job. And don’t tell me to change it. I like what I do.”
The last thing I want to do right now is argue with him. “I know that.”
He looks over at me. “Do you? I mean, really?”
It’s my turn to sigh. “Yes. This is who you are. And really, Cord, I accept that. Just don’t ask me to like it, especially when you show up beaten half to death.”
“I promise if I get beaten up again I won’t come here.”
“No. I want you to come to me. I want to be there for you. I want you to trust me.”
“I do trust you, Ash.” He looks down, his voice barely audible. “Probably more than anyone else.”
You’ve got a damned funny way of showing it.
“Can I have a drink?” he asks. “Might help with the pain.”
I get up and pour him a glass of vodka, handing it to him before perching across from him. He takes a sip and hisses as it passes the cut on his lip. “Were you talking to someone before I woke up?”
Shit. He heard that. “Yeah. Dante called. Wanted to know if you were all right.”
“I guess I should call him back.” He looks around for his phone and I hand it to him.
“You’re not going back out there tonight.”
He offers a half-hearted grin. “Yes, boss.”
I stand up and head for the bedroom. “I’ll give you some privacy.”
I hate leaving him unsupervised for even a minute. He’s just stubborn enough to try to leave, especially after talking to Dante. I wouldn’t put it past that animal to talk him into getting right back out there.
I give him ten minutes then rejoin him in the livingroom, relieved to see he’s still there.
“Everything okay?”
He nods. “Yeah. Zeke made it back with Joshua. Dante was just worried about me.”
Yeah, I’ll bet he was. “You feel up to taking a shower?”
He looks down at himself. “I guess I should get some of this blood off me.”
I gather his clothes and head for the washer. “Need any help?”
He wobbles a little when he stands, but uses his hand on the back of the couch to steady himself. “No, I think I got it.”
“Too bad,” I murmur under my breath as he ducks into the bedroom.