“No, you didn’t—”

Ingridge switched over to the Old Language, the syllables muddled in places, the words running together. “Upon my bed of mortal demise, and with the Virgin Scribe watching o’er me, I hereby grant you all rights and responsibilities o’er my young, Natelem. I seek your acceptance of this precious gift upon your honor as a male of worth.”

Murhder twisted around. He wanted to see Brothers rushing in with a medic.

Not happening.

On to plan B.

Yanking up the tight cuff of the parka, he didn’t get far enough so he ripped off the jacket, and pulled his shirtsleeve up to reveal his wrist.

“Swear it,” she begged. “So that I might die in peace.”

“I swear it.” He met her eyes. “But you’re going to live.”

As she exhaled in relief, he bit into his own vein and then brought the puncture wounds to her mouth. “Drink, take from me and …”

She was still exhaling, her eyes closing, her body loosening, but she opened her mouth prepared to accept what he offered—

“Ingridge,” he said sharply. “Ingridge, take from me.”

His blood, red, warm, vital, dropped onto her lips. Yet she did not respond. There was no turn toward the source, no seal of her mouth upon his vein, no response whatsoever.

Murhder’s heart pounded. “Ingridge! Wake up and drink.”

With his free hand, he awkwardly reached under his extended arm and gently shook her body. Then he did this again, more forcibly—

She rolled off her side onto her back, but the movement was like blocks falling from a stack, not anything that represented volition.

She was gone.

“No …” Murhder swallowed hard. “Don’t go. Not now … please.”

As he argued against the reality before him, his eyes clung to her hollowed face and he prayed for some kind of rousing, his blood slipping down the back of her throat and entering her body, reviving that which was animated no longer.

Instead, she remained still. And the contrast between the vital red of what he wanted her to take from him and the pasty, deathly white color of her immobile lips made his soul scream at the unfairness of life.

With a shaking hand, he reached up to her mouth. He wanted to leave his blood where it was, but he couldn’t bear the idea that she looked unattended in her death. Forgotten. Uncared for.

Wiping the stain away as best he could, he whispered hoarsely, “I shall get your son, and I shall make sure he finds a safe home. This is my vow to you.”

Pulling the quilts up higher on her neck, as if he could stave off the cooling of the body, he was crushed even as he remained whole. And though she was nominally a stranger, it was impossible not to think of her as blooded kin, the two of them united by events that forged a bond ne’er to be broken.

Bending over the bed, he covered her fragile remains with his strength, the shield of his support too late in coming, the sword of the Reaper having already done its work.

Why was he always too late? Murhder thought as he gathered her in his arms.

Despair, a familiar swamp, drenched him in its swill of sadness, and he retreated deep into his mind as he began to weep.

I will find your son a proper father, he vowed silently. It will be the last thing I do before I join you unto the Fade.

Xhex ended the call to the training center’s clinic and looked across the meadow. The Brotherhood was somewhere in the trees and she waved her hand to catch their attention. Figuring they’d know what the signal meant, she went back inside the farmhouse, treading over creaking boards, walking through cold, still rooms.

When she got to the bedroom, she stopped short in the doorway. She had intended to go in.

She did not.

Across the cold, barren space, a tapestry of mourning tore at her soul, and told her all she needed to know about the futility of medical help. Murhder had covered the female’s form with his own body, and the shuddering of his shoulders as well as the scent of tears was such a private moment that she backed off.

Lowering her head, she covered her mouth with the palm of her gloved hand and put her other arm around her middle. Sometimes in-the-nick-of-time was still not good enough, and it was impossible not to put herself in Murhder’s position.

God, that male had been born under a dark star. He seemed destined for suffering.

She was standing in the middle of the main room when Rhage and Vishous came up onto the shallow porch.

“What’s going—” Rhage didn’t finish the question. The scents in the air said everything. “Shit.”

“She’s dead. The female is dead.” Xhex glared at V. “And no, he didn’t kill her.”

The Brother cocked an eyebrow. “Did I say anything?”

“I can read your grid.” She pointed to the center of her chest. “Symphath, remember?”

“How can we help?” Rhage interrupted. “What can we do?”

Xhex glanced over her shoulder. As she blinked, she saw Murhder crumpled over that corpse, and wanted to scream at destiny that the poor bastard deserved a break.

“Nothing,” she muttered. “There’s nothing to be done.”

“We can’t just leave a dead body here.” V took out a hand-rolled. “We’re gonna have to—”

“Don’t you fucking light up in here.”

That diamond stare narrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Have some respect—and if you point out she’s dead, I will have your throat in my hand before you get the final word out. This is still her house, goddamn it.”

As V’s icy eyes flashed with aggression, she hoped the Brother came at her. She wanted to fight with something she could physically strike. But instead, he turned around and headed back for the door. The muttering was under his breath. The f-bombs were nonetheless still audible.

Xhex ripped off her hat and rubbed her short hair. Talk about emotional grids. With the amount of anger she had in her, she was dangerous and not a value add in this highly charged situation. And the last thing Murhder needed was more drama.

Marching over to the open door, she leaned out. V had set up shop against a column and was blowing a stream of smoke into the night.

“I am sorry I took your head off,” she said roughly. “This is a shitty situation.”

The Brother looked across at her. His inhale on the hand-rolled was long and slow, the tip glowing bright orange. As he exhaled, he talked through the smoke. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be lighting up in someone else’s crib. It’s rude.”

Xhex nodded. Vishous nodded.

When she went back inside, she stopped short. Murhder had come out from the back bedroom, and other than bloodshot eyes that gleamed too bright, you wouldn’t have known he’d just lost it.

Good male, she thought.

Him showing any weakness around the Brothers did not seem like a good idea.

“I wrapped her up in quilts,” he announced in a hoarse voice. “Let’s shut this place up tight. The cold will preserve her body for the Fade Ceremony.”

Murhder knew his mouth was moving and he guessed that he was communicating things which made at least nominal sense because Xhex and Rhage were nodding back at him. His mind was somewhere else, however.

I told you where to find him.

Except she hadn’t.

And he had already tried to find out if there were any other spin-off labs. Over the years, when he’d gotten particularly antsy, he had searched the Internet for signs that such research could still be going on. The original pharmaceutical company had shuttered its doors, and there were no more facilities registered under the name. He had taken that as a good sign, and tried to use it to ease his conscience—

As conversation swirled around him, his eyes went to the desk.

Murhder ran across the bare room like that half-written letter was the way out of a three alarm fire.

Picking the piece of paper up with shaking hands, he read the Old Language symbols—and exhaled in relief. Okay. All right. She had told him after all.

He knew where to go. Ithaca. There was a rebranded laboratory associated with the original one doing work in Ithaca. She’d found it after scouring PETA websites that tracked pharmaceutical companies with animal rights violations.

Opening his mouth, he turned to Xhex—and then shut things up tight. Rhage was looming in the corner, a big blond mountain who was chewing a grape Tootsie pop like a Great White.

Best to keep this quiet, Murhder thought as he slipped the letter into his pants pocket.

“Where’s her son?” Rhage asked as he chewed. “We can help bring him here.”

Murhder shook his head. “He’s dead. He didn’t make it. She told me this right before she died.”

The Brother lowered his head and cursed. “I am so sorry.”

“Me, too. It’s so much tragedy.” He was aware of Xhex frowning as she looked at him, but he refused to acknowledge her. Symphaths always knew too much. “I guess we should just go, then—”

“We can’t leave her here.” Rhage went over to the flimsy front door and gave it a shake. The thing had been left open on a why-bother because the inside of the shack was the same temperature as the great outdoors. “This isn’t strong enough, even if you lock it.”

“To keep out the wind, it damn sure is.”

“There are wolf tracks all over these woods, and we scented a pack while we came across the meadow. Go around back. You’ll see that they’ve been sniffing the property already.”

Murhder rubbed his eyes to get the grit out. “We’ll tie it shut. The door. The front door.”

He had no idea what he was saying.

Xhex spoke up. “Rhage is right. She’s not safe here. Let’s take her back to my cabin, and Murhder, you can stay with her the whole time. You can do the Fade Ceremony there. The place has been shut down for the winter, so it will be cold, and it’s solid.”

Damn it, just let me go, he wanted to yell. He needed to find the exact location of the rebranded lab and case the place. There was no way he was fucking up his last chance with a haphazard attack. And he needed weapons. Supplies. A plan.