Doc Jane went over and turned him around. He had several big shards sticking out of his back, like a porcupine.

“I’m going to have to deal with this,” his shellan said.

“We got bigger problems.” V unceremoniously pulled out a piece of glass and tossed the blood-tipped stabber on the floor. “That is not the Omega. And I don’t have a fucking clue what it is.”

Hours passed, and Xhex stayed with John the entire time. She worried he’d make her leave, but even though things were tense between them, he didn’t. Watching the medical team do their thing—taking samples to culture for bacteria and test antibiotic resistance, conferring with Havers, talking with Ehlena, the clinic’s nurse, having Payne come down for a healing assessment—Xhex relied on her symphath side to read the emotional grids of not just the team, but her mate.

The clinical staff, including V, were alarmed.

John was less so. Because his heart was breaking about Murhder, and that was the main thing for him.

And didn’t that just kill her.

“So here’s where we are.” Doc Jane stepped up to the exam table and put her hand on John’s knee.

Manny was right beside her. So was Ehlena. Vishous was off to the side, his back bandaged, his shirt on once more, the glass on the floor from the busted cabinet swept up a while ago by Fritz, the butler.

Xhex listened with half an ear to “no signs of infection,” “infiltration beyond the first layers of skin,” and “concern about the spread that’s occurring.” She was more interested in the doctor’s emotional grid. Jane was flat-out panicking. Underneath her calm demeanor and even voice, her emotional superstructure—which appeared to Xhex’s symphath side as a system of three-dimensional girders, like the shell of a skyscraper—was lit up in areas at the very core of her consciousness. Generally, the further out from that center, the more superficial the emotions, and the colors and pattern indicated what sector: happiness, sadness, anger, or fear.

What that doctor was currently feeling? Straight-up hot red terror as well as deep purple anger at herself for not having better answers. And the shit was at the very heart of her.

Do I have to stay here? John signed.

“No,” Doc Jane said. “You’re free to go. But we don’t want you on rotation until we know what’s happening.”

“What’s going to change?” Xhex asked. “About how much you know, I mean. You’ve looked into everything.”

Was that black stain going to take him over? Kill him? Or worse …?

“That’s a fair question. The Chosen Cormia is going up to the Scribe Virgin’s library as we speak. She’s going to search the volumes with all of the other sacred females. If there is something in them, it will be found.”

“Okay. That makes sense. But what if there isn’t?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

More conversation, none of it material. All Xhex wanted was a minute alone with her mate. An hour alone. A lifetime.

When they were finally by themselves again, he lay back on the table. Then instantly sat back up.

“John.” As she said his name, he looked at her. “No matter what happens, I’m with you. I got you. I love you.”

Shifting his eyes away, her hellren stared down at the floor and took a deep breath. As the silence stretched out, her anxiety climbed and she found herself breaking a cardinal rule. Out of respect for him, she did not read his grid—usually. Some things should be private, and she’d always wanted him to share of himself what he chose to, a gift given instead of a secret pilfered.

Now, she read him as she had read everyone else in the room.

Heartache. Utter and complete heartache. He didn’t seem to be concerned about his health in the slightest, but then that was a bonded male for you right there. Always thinking of his mate, and not just because it was the right thing to do. The single-minded focus was in their breeding, literally a part of their DNA.

As worried as she was about that shoulder wound, at least she could do something with his broken heart.

“I can prove to you there’s nothing going on between Murhder and me.”

John looked back over and she hated the wariness in his eyes.

“No, really.” She nodded. “I know just what to do.”

The following evening, Sarah tied the laces on her running shoes, first on her right foot, then on her left. As she stood up, things felt nice and cushiony under her soles.

There were also good treads down there. Just what you’d want if you had to make a sprint for an exit.

Pulling on her parka, she picked up her backpack, one-strapped it and grabbed her keys. At the door out into the garage, she looked over her shoulder and wondered if she was ever going to see her house again.

She had spent the daylight hours scrubbing all the bathrooms, vacuuming the rugs, taking out the trash, mopping the kitchen floor. It was, she supposed, a reflex, like making sure before you left for a long trip you had clean undies on.

Just in case you were in a car accident.

Before she lost her nerve, she turned the alarm on, exited and locked up. Backing her Honda out, she tried to make like this was no big deal … just another Sunday night heading into work to check ongoing research results. Fortunately, she had done this before. Not all the time, but depending on where she was in her work, she had often headed into the lab on off-hours. Off-days. Even holidays like Christmas Eve, New Year’s Eve, Fourth of July.

Although in the last two years, those trips had mostly been to distract herself from the loneliness of her house. Her life. Her future.

Heading down her street, she stared straight ahead. There didn’t appear to be any deceptively nondescript sedans around, but who knew where the Feds were.

As she passed by familiar houses in the neighborhood, made familiar turns as she came to intersections, and stopped at familiar lights, she decided this was a bizarre experience. Most people didn’t know that they were saying goodbye when they did something for the last time. It was only in retrospect, after things changed forever, that they realized a period in their life, an era, had come to an end.

Considering what she was going to do? There was a good chance she was not coming home.

She had called no one.

No one to call. Nothing really to say.

As she’d developed her plan, she had made sure to keep her schedule exactly as it always was on Saturdays and Sundays with bedtime and wake up, the cycle of lights inside what she usually clicked off and on.

Nothing out of place. Out of sync. Out of order.

Her heart was pounding as she continued along the route to BioMed, and when she pulled up to the gatehouse at the facility, she wanted to throw up.

Instead of giving into the heaves, she put her window down and smiled in anticipation of the security guard opening his sliding door. As the partition pulled free of its jamb, she braced herself for a gun to be pointed at her head.

Instead, the guard smiled. “Hey, Dr. Watkins. How you doin’?”

“Good, Marco, good.” She handed him her ID and prayed he didn’t notice that her hand was shaking. “It’s cold tonight. You warm enough in there?”

“Oh, you know it.” He put a scanner on the barcode underneath her picture and the device let out a beep. “Just watching the Heat play the Bulls.”