"Hell of a gym class you guys got going on here."
"It's for the training program."
"Bringing along the next generation, huh."
"They were - at least until the raids."
Walking past all the Bruce Willis and Ahnold, she pushed through a door marked PT and showed him into a well-appointed rehab suite with everything a pro athlete would need to keep himself loose, limber, and lightning-fast.
"Raids?"
"The Lessening Society slaughtered dozens of families," she said, "and what was left of the population fled Caldwell. They're coming back slowly, but it's been a bad time lately."
Manny frowned. "What the hell is the Lessening Society?"
"Humans are not the real threat." She opened a closet door and swept her hand over every kind of crutch, cane, and cast support. "What are you looking for?"
"Is that what your man is fighting every night?"
"Yes. It is. Now, what do you think you want?"
Manny stared at her profile and added up the math. "She asked you to help her kill herself. Didn't she."
Jane's eyes shut. "Manny ... no offense, but I don't have the strength for this conversation."
"That's what it was."
"Part of it. A lot of it."
"She's better now," he said roughly. "She's going to be fine."
"So it is working." Jane smiled a little. "Magic touch and all that."
He cleared his throat and resisted footing the floor like a fourteenyear-old who'd been caught necking. "Yeah. Guess so. Ah, I think I'll take a pair of leg braces, as well as a set of arm crutches - I think that should work for her."
As he took out the equipment, Jane's eyes stayed on him. To the point where he had to mutter, "Before you ask, no."
She laughed softly. "I wasn't aware I had a question."
"I'm not staying. I'll get her up and walking, and then I'm going back."
"That wasn't on my mind, actually." She frowned. "But you could hang around, you know. It's happened before. Me. Butch. Beth. And I thought you liked her."
"'Like' doesn't begin to cover it" he said under his breath.
"So don't make any plans until this is over."
He shook his head. "I have a career that's going into the shitter - the cause of which, incidentally, is all the in-and-outing you guys have done to my brain. I have a mother who isn't all that fond of me, but who will nonetheless wonder why she's not hearing from me on major holidays. And I have a horse that is in bad shape. You mean to tell me that your boy and his ilk are going to be down with my having one foot in each world? I don't think so. Besides, what the f**k would I do with myself ? Servicing her is a pleasure, I assure you - but I wouldn't want to make a profession out of it or have her end up with the likes of me."
"What's so wrong with you?" Jane crossed her arms over her chest. "Not for nothing, but you're a great guy."
"Nice dodge on the particulars."
"Things could be worked out."
"Okay, say they were. Then answer me this - how long do they live for."
"Excuse me?"
"Life expectancy of vampires. How long."
"It varies."
"By decade or century?" When she didn't reply, he nodded. "Just what I thought - I'm probably good for another, what, forty years? And the shriveling is going to start in about ten. I've already got aches and pains every morning and the beginnings of arthritis in both hips. She needs one of her own to fall in love with, not a human who's going to be a geriatric patient in the blink of an eye." He shook his head again. "Love can conquer everything but reality. Which will win every stinking time."
Now her laugh was hard-edged. "Somehow I can't argue with that one."
He glanced down at the braces. "Thanks for these."
"You're welcome," she said slowly. "And I'll get word to V."
"Good."
Back at Payne's room, he entered silently and stopped just inside the door. She was dead asleep in the dimness, the glow gone from her skin. Would she wake up paralyzed again? Or would the progress stay with her?
He guessed they would have to find out.
Leaning the crutches and braces against the wall, he went over to the hard chair by the bed and sat down, crossing his legs and trying to get comfortable. No way he was going to sleep. He just wanted to watch her - "
Join me," she said into all the quiet. "Please. I need your warmth right now."
As he remained where he was, he realized the stay-sitting routine wasn't really about her brother. It was a coping mechanism to keep him separate from her whenever he could. They were absolutely going to be hooking up again - likely soon. And he would go down on her for hours if that was what it took. But he couldn't afford to lose himself in some fantasy that this was going anywhere permanent for them.
Two different worlds.
He just didn't belong with her.
Manny leaned forward, put his hand on hers and stroked her arm. "Shh ... I'm right here."
As she turned her head toward him, her eyes were shut, and he had a feeling she was talking in her sleep. "Do not leave me, healer."
"My name is Manny," he whispered. "Manuel Manello ... M.D."
Chapter Thirty
The whistle was hard and sharp, and as it bulleted around the mansion's foyer, Qhuinn knew the shrill demand had been made by John Matthew.
Fuck knew he'd heard it enough over the last three years.
Stopping with one foot on the grand staircase's bottom step, he mopped up his sweaty face with his balled-up shirt and then caught his balance on the massive carved banister. His head was as light and fluffy as a pillow after his workout - which was in direct contrast to the rest of him: His legs and ass felt like they weighed as much as this goddamned mansion -
When the whistle came again, he thought, Oh, right, someone was talking to him. Pivoting around, he got an eyeful of John Matthew standing in between the ornate jambs of the dining room doorway.
What the hell did you do to yourself, the guy signed before pointing at his own dome.
Well, check his shit out, Qhuinn thought. In the past, a question like that would have covered a f**k of a lot more than a change in hairstyle.
"It's called a trim."
You sure about that? I'm pretty sure it's called a hot mess.
Qhuinn rubbed the fade he'd given himself. "It's no big deal."
At least you know toupees are an option. John's blue eyes narrowed. And where is all your metal?
"In my gun closet."
Not your weapons, the shit that was on your face.
Qhuinn just shook his head and turned to go, uninterested in discussing all the piercings he'd taken out. His brain was tangled and his body was exhausted, so stiff and sore from his daily runs -
That whistle came again and nearly had him tossing a f**k-off over his shoulder. He cut the crap, though, because it would save time: John never let up when he was in this kind of mood.
Glancing back, he growled, "What."
You need to eat more. Whether it's at meals or on your own. You're turning into a skeleton - "
I'm fine - "
- so either you start working the chow or I will have that gym locked and not give you the key. Your choice. And I called for Layla. She's in your room waiting for you.
Qhuinn spun completely around. Bad idea; it turned the foyer into a Tilt-A-Whirl. Grabbing for the banister again, he bit out, "I could have done that."
But you weren't going to, so I did it for you - short of slaughtering a dozen lessers, it's going to be my good deed for the week.
"You want to be Mother Teresa, you'll have more luck practicing that shit on someone else."
Sorry. I picked you, and you'd better shake a leg - don't want to keep the lady waiting. Oh, and while Xhex and I were in the kitchen, I had Fritz make you a meal and take it up. Later.
As the guy walked off in the direction of the butler's pantry, Qhuinn called out, "I'm not interested in being saved, ass**le. I can take care of myself."
John's response was a middle finger flipped up and held over his head.
"Oh, for f**k's sake," Qhuinn muttered.
He so didn't want to deal with Layla right now.
Nothing against the Chosen, but the idea of being in an enclosed space with someone who was interested in sex just shut him right down. Which was ironic as shit. Up until now, f**king had not just been a part of his life; it had all but defined him. For the last week? The idea of being with someone left him nauseous.