Paradise nodded. “That’s right. He’s one of the most dependable males I know.”
Standing in the glow of the surgical van’s red taillights, Boone stared at the closed doors of the RV’s back end like they had the answer to the universe on them. Dr. Manello had readily agreed to treat the human woman, and to keep too much attention from being drawn to the big-ass bloodstains in that alley, Boone had picked her up and carried her four blocks over to be examined.
Whereupon the good doctor had helped her into the treatment bay and shut things up tight.
Watching the exhaust rise up through the red glow reminded him of when Syn’s little ocular trick had turned everything Freddy Krueger. Who knew that vampire eyes could do that? Then again, there were all kinds of subspecies in the world.
Maybe the male had a little something else mixed in his veins. Who knew. But there was a more pressing issue with that Bastard—and not just the fact that, for some inexplicable reason, Syn had decided to take the blame for the dead human male back there in the snow.
Which was something Boone had tried to rectify in the alley. Syn had just talked over him, however, and then things had had to be sorted with the victim. But that misattribution of castration and other fun and games was going to be dealt with.
Back to Syn. When the Bastard had appeared in the alley, Boone’s memory had fired off with a connection made, but there had been no piecing together the mental triggers. Now he remembered. Last night, when he’d gone to Pyre to search for—read: look after—
Helania, he had sensed a presence in the crowd that he recognized, but couldn’t immediately identify.
It had been Syn. He was absolutely certain of it.
And ordinarily, that wouldn’t have been any big deal. The Bastard might have been a full-blooded warrior, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t blow off steam around some humans. Other members of the species did go there. It was just . . . why hadn’t he mentioned it to Butch in the group text that included everybody? The Brother had been updating everyone on the investigation, and had specifically asked whether anyone had been to Pyre’s Revyval.
Maybe Syn hadn’t seen the message, though. Or had had a conversation in private?
The surgical RV’s back doors opened, and Dr. Manello stepped down into the snow. After closing things back up, he shook his head at Boone.
“Can I ask you something?” the man asked.
“Yes?”
“Did you catch the bastard who did that to her?”
“I did. And I took care of things.”
“Thank fuck. Because that poor girl . . .” The physician shook his head. “She’s in rough shape. I’m giving her an IV right now to replace fluids and get some antibiotics into her. I stitched her up where necessary, but she’s going to need follow-up with a doctor to get them all removed. And more immediately, I don’t think she has anywhere safe to go and we can’t just leave her here.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I don’t know.” The doctor stared at the closed doors. “I’m going back in. I’ll let you know when she can have a visitor—and you, or someone else, is going to have to wipe her memories.”
How far back to go, Boone wondered as the physician reentered the RV.
Boone was still standing in the taillights when heavy footfalls brought his head around. Syn was striding toward him, the warrior’s heavy legs eating up the distance.
“The mess is gone,” he announced.
“What did you do with the body?”
“We wrapped it up and hauled it out of there. Started a trash fire on the blood in the snow. But no one’s going to give a shit—”
“Why did you cover for me?” Boone demanded. “And then not let me talk.”
Syn crossed his arms over his chest and there was a period of silence. Just as Boone was about to ask again, the Bastard nodded over his shoulder in the direction of where things had gone down.
“How often do you do that.”
Not a question. And even though Boone knew what the male was asking about, he said, “Do what?”
“Sing Christmas carols at the top of your lungs,” Syn snapped “What the fuck do you think I’m talking about?”
Boone looked away. In truth, he recognized that what he’d done with that assailant went way too far—and that was only part of the problem. The reality that he could not have stopped himself was the even