But they could afford to stay a little longer. Just in case.

Better to be conservative than discovered. Besides, he needed a moment so his one remaining testicle could drop back down into place again.

Fuck.

TWELVE

“I do not believe this is necessary.”

Back at the Brotherhood’s training center, Assail stared down his body at the dark-haired human who was closing the gash on his calf and ankle with a needle and thread. When the man made no response and did not slow in his ministrations, Assail rolled his eyes.

“I said—”

“Yeah, yeah.” The guy poked his needle through skin once more and pulled until the black thread was taut. “You’ve made yourself perfectly clear. The only thing I’ll say back is that MRSA doesn’t give a fuck if you’re a vampire or a human, and leaving a six-inch open wound on your leg is the definition of stupid.”

“I heal rather fast.”

“Not that fast, buddy. And can you stop twitching? I feel like I’m working on a goldfish in water.”

Actually, he could not. His extremities had their own ideas at the moment, and as he checked the wall clock and calculated how little time there was before dawn, the trembling got worse—

The door to the room swung open and his cousins came back in.

“I thought you didn’t want to watch,” Assail muttered. And indeed, Ehric, the one on the left, was studiously not looking at the fix-it job.

As proficient a killer as the male was, his stomach turned squeamish at clinical matters, a contradiction that could be a source of amusement—but was not, currently.

Indeed, Assail was not in the mood for any manner of levity. He hadn’t consented to be brought here to this facility of the Brotherhood’s for treatment. What he had wanted to do was go back to his house upon the Hudson and scratch the itch that was quickly turning to a roar.

“When shall you be finished?” he demanded.

“I’m X-raying your shoulder next.”

“There is no need.”

“Where’s your medical degree from?”

Assail cursed and lay back flat upon the gurney. The medical chandelier above him, with its brilliant lights and its microscope arm, was like something out of a science-fiction movie. And as he closed his eyes, it was impossible not to remember coming here with his Marisol, right after he had gotten her free from Benloise . . . the pair of them passing through the extensive gating system, heading underground, entering this stellar facility.

He tried to train his mind elsewhere, however. That thought destination was simply too painful to bear.

“I shall need to depart prior to dawn,” he blurted. “And I want our weapons, phones, and other personal articles returned to us promptly.”

The doctor did not reply until he had put in his last stitch and tied a tight little knot at the base of Assail’s ankle. “You mind telling your boys to step out again for a minute?”

“Why?”

Ehric spoke up. “Zsadist wants us in here. And I am disinclined to argue with the Brother, as I am unarmed and desirous of retaining the blood supply to my head.”

The doctor sat back on his rolling stool, and for the first time, Assail read the stitching on the human’s white coat: DR. MANUEL MANELLO, CHIEF OF SURGERY. There was a crest and the name of a hospital system below the black cursive writing.

“The Brothers brought you in from the other species for this night?” Assail asked. “How is that possible?”

Dr. Manello looked down at his name. “Old coat. And old habits die hard—don’t they.”

As the human met Assail in the eye, Assail frowned. “Whatever do you mean.”

“Do you consent for me to speak candidly in front of these two?”

“They are my blood.”

“Is that a yes?”

“You humans are so odd.”

“And you can cut that superior tone, asshole. I’m married to one of your kind, ’kay? And excuse me for thinking you might not want to be called out for your drug addiction in front of a peanut gallery—whether or not they’re related to you.”

Assail opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “I know not of what you speak.”

“Oh, really?” The man snapped off his bright blue gloves and put his elbows on his knees, leaning in. “You’re fidgeting on my table like you have a case of the hives. You’re in a cold sweat, and not because you’re in any pain. Your pupils are dilated. And I’m pretty sure if I give you your coat back, the first thing you’re going to do is make an excuse to go to the bathroom and use the rest of the coke that was in the vial I took out of the inside chest pocket. How’m I doing? Reading your mind correctly? Or are you going to lie like a motherfucker.”

“I do not have a drug problem.”

“Uh-huh. Sure you don’t.”

As the human got to his feet, Assail did some studious ignoring of his own—no way was he going to look over at his cousins: He could feel their twin stares on him quite well enough, thank you rather much.

At least neither of them said anything.

“Look, it’s no skin off my back.” Dr. Manello went over to a worktable on which a computer, some pens, and a pad rested. Bending down, he scribbled something and tore the top sheet off, folding it in half. “Here’s my number. When you hit bottom, call me and we can help detox you. In the meantime, be aware that prolonged use of cocaine leads to all kinds of fun things, like panic attacks, paranoia, and even full-blown psychosis. You’re already in the weight-loss category, and as I mentioned, you’re twitchy as fuck. Your nose has also been running the entire time so I’m pretty sure your septum is deviated.”