of those, something was triggered in his mind, something . . . that he couldn’t quite place.
“Show yourself,” he said.
The tremendous figure that stepped out was dressed in the same kind of black leather Boone had on. But with the red light coming from what appeared to be his eyes, there was no seeing the face.
“Nice work,” the male drawled. “You could be a surgeon. Cleanup, however, is gonna be a bitch.”
Boone recoiled. “Syn?”
A high, keening whistle pierced the night, the sound coming from a number of blocks down the alley in the opposite direction.
Instantly, the red glow drained away, and that was when Boone saw the male properly: His Mohawk, his hard, harsh face, his broad shoulders.
“Give me the knife.” The Bastard came forward. “Quick.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I fucking say so.” When Boone didn’t comply, Syn cursed and spoke more slowly. Like he figured Boone’s hearing was broken. “Give me the human’s knife and go tend to her. Unless you think she’d rather it be me?”
Oh, yeah . . . that would be a hell-no. No offense to the Bastard, but anybody who’d just run for their lives did not need Syn in on their rescue.
Tossing the knife at the Bastard, Boone went over and knelt down by the woman. She still had her hands covering her eyes, and God . . . there was a lot of blood under where she was squatting. “It’s okay, you’re safe now.” He holstered his gun and went into his pockets. “We’re going to get you some help.”
Taking out a folded square, he ripped off its plastic wrap and flapped the Mylar blanket free of its folds. When he went to put it around the victim, she cried out and tried to shrink away from him. Without her hands for balance, she fell over into the dirty snow.
“No, no, you’re safe now.” He put the silver sheeting around her shoulders and gently righted her. “Here. This will help conserve your body heat.”
Boone held the blanket in place and glanced in Syn’s direction.
Someone was coming down the alley, and with the way Syn was standing over that bloody body with a knife in his hand? You could only pray it was another vampire—
“Jesus Christ,” came the annoyed voice. “What the hell did you do now?”
“Shit happens,” Syn replied.
“You know, it actually doesn’t when you’re not involved.”
As Boone frowned, he recognized Balthazar, another one of the Bastards. But what he didn’t understand was the conversation.
“You made a fucking mess.” Balthazar stopped at the foot of the human. “And now we gotta deal with it.”
Boone opened his mouth to cop to the sieve-like condition of the body, but Syn beat him to the punch.
“Look, the fucker deserved it. And do not pretend that you didn’t take your time with that slayer back there. Unless, of course, you think that cranial damage is the way to get lessers back to the Omega? Otherwise, it looked to me like you were having a nice time at that concussion party you were throwing—”
“Do not turn this back on me—”
“You could have just stabbed your prey, too. So try not to bitch at me for doing exactly the same thing you did.”
Boone opened his mouth to set the record straight, but both of them ignored him.
“That”—
Balthazar pointed at the dead body—“is a human. No pop! and fizz! bye-bye . . .”
“Who are you?”
As the argument over the dead guy continued on, the question was posed softly, and Boone looked back at his victim. The woman had lowered her hands some and was staring out at him through two black eyes.
“I’m just here to help you.” He made sure he positioned his body so there was no way she could see what was lying in the middle of the alley. “We need to get you treated by a medical—”
“No,” she whispered.
“You’re bleeding. Internally.”
“Where did you come from? Is this a dream?”
Boone took his phone out and put a code into the group text of people on duty for the night. “I’m going to have someone come here—”
“No!” She jerked away. “I don’t want to go to the hospital—”
“It’s not a human ambulance. Don’t worry.”
“Human . . . ?”
Fuck, Boone thought.
“Listen, just stay with me,” he said as he repositioned the Mylar blanket. “You need to stay conscious.”
* * *
“He hasn’t gotten back to me.”
As the male half of the couple across from Helania put his cell face-down on the booth’s table, she was feeling the need to bolt again. Twelve-thirty, almost—and