also had to study the damned ward. And confer with Sherry. And—”
“You’re tense.”
Rule snorted. “I hate hospitals.” That much he could say. Cullen would accept it, even expect it.
“You need Lily. She’ll help.”
“She’s following in the car.”
“You need her,” Cullen repeated, and closed his eyes.
Cullen—or his wolf—was much too observant. Rule did need Lily. Her touch would help greatly . . . because of the mate bond. The bond Lily had first cursed, then accepted, and finally come to value for the gifts it brought them.
The mate bond. The Lady’s gift.
The bloody knot inside Rule tightened.
Man and wolf alike feared for Lily, were frantic at the separation, desperate to fix what they had no power to fix. But it was the man who felt betrayed . . . and who knew that betrayal pointed within as well as toward the Lady. It was the man who was riven by guilt.
“Consent is necessary,” he’d told Lily. As they knelt beside Brian where he lay dying, he’d told her the Lady could do nothing without her consent. He hadn’t urged her to play host to Wythe’s mantle, no, but he’d aided and abetted. He’d known when he asked that she didn’t believe it was possible. A hypothetical, that’s how she’d seen it when she gave permission.
He hadn’t warned her of danger. He hadn’t thought there was any.
Fool, fool, fool . . .
They slowed, turned, and slowed even more. The siren cut off. Rule glanced over his shoulder to look out the bit of windshield he could see. He caught a glimpse of the ER doors before the ambulance angled to the right, then started backing up. “We’re there,” he told Cullen, squeezing his shoulder.
Cullen’s eyes flew open. Vivid eyes, clearly awake and aware . . . but with no trace of the man. Wolf eyes. He didn’t speak or move.
“Good,” Rule said softly. “You’re keeping still. That’s good.” He made the sign for “hold” to reinforce that. Cullen-wolf understood English just fine, but physical language carried more meaning to a wolf.
They stopped. The driver opened his door and hopped out. The other EMT joined Rule in the back; Rule had to move forward to give him room. Cullen tilted his head to keep his gaze fixed on Rule, so Rule made the sign for “hold” again.
Obediently he lay still. The ambulance doors were flung open. The driver gripped the foot of the gurney and, with the redhead at its foot, slid it out. Rule followed. He jumped down lightly . . . and froze.
Three guns were pointed at him. Three guns held by three uniformed guards fanned out between them and the open ER doors. No—they were aiming at the goddamn patient. At Cullen.
A growl tried to rise in Rule’s chest.
The EMTs stopped dead. “What the hell!”
“Just a precaution,” one guard said. His hair was gray, his arms thin, his belly taking over what his chest had lost through the years. He wore bifocals. He held his .45 straight out in both hands. “You’ve got a lupus patient. We’re here to make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone.”
“I know he’s a lupus. That’s what he’s here for,” the redheaded EMT said, a jerk of his head indicating Rule.
The guard’s gaze flicked to Rule. “He’s lupus, too?”
“Yeah, but he’s been—”
“Don’t move, you.” The guard’s gun fixed on Rule now. “Manny, cover Joe while he gets those cuffs on the one on the gurney. I’ll keep this one from interfering.”
“That’s illegal, you know,” Rule said pleasantly. He would not growl. He would not grab. He would not slap that fool’s face so hard it slid right off his empty head. “You have no need for your weapons, no reason to draw on us, and you can’t shoot me for accompanying my friend.”
“I can make sure you don’t cause trouble. That’s what I’m doing. Move away from the gurney.”
“No.” Rule inhaled slowly. He was in control, dammit. “I’m going to put my hand on my friend’s shoulder. If you shoot me, you’ll have two patients and one hell of a lawsuit.” He started to do just that, but his phone interrupted with an electronic version of a gypsy violin—several bars from Oleg Ponomarev’s “Smelka.”
Lily’s ring tone.
TWENTY-THREE
“. . . BE there in about five minutes.” Lily finished leaving a message for Rule and disconnected.
“He didn’t answer?” Scott said.
“Maybe they’ve got a phone Nazi in charge at the ER.” Her fingers were tingling. An odd sensation was rising in her, as if she had bubbles in her brain.