looked down at it. When she looked back up at Will, the smile had vanished from his face. At the third ring, he started for the driver’s door.
“Peter knows this is supposed to be a vacation, right?” Allison asked, forcing levity into her voice.
Will shot her a glance that she read all too easily. Peter Octavian was the only person with their cell phone number. He knew how important this trip was to both of them. If he was calling now, it could only be bad news.
He reached for the phone and flipped it open; Allison watched his eyes as he said, “Cody.” After a few seconds, Will winced and began to grimace, and Allison began to gnaw her lip and rock a bit, almost unconsciously, as she wondered what had prompted the call.
“We’re on our way now,” Will said, and slapped the cell phone shut before dropping it on the console between the front seats.
He hung his head, and Allison just waited. Finally, Cody looked up at her.
“Rolf and Erika were in New York trying to track Hannibal. They were supposed to check in last night but nobody’s heard from them,” Will explained.
Allison let that sink in for a moment. Will seemed so angry, so anxious, she wanted to assuage his fears. Erika they didn’t know all that well, but Rolf was a blood-brother to both Will and Peter—they shared the same vampiric father—and meant a great deal to both of them. To the entire coven, actually.
“Well, he’s alive, anyway,” she said. “If the worst had happened, you and Peter would both have felt his passing.”
Will wouldn’t look her in the eye.
“What?” she asked. “You didn’t feel anything, did you?”
He shook his head, and when he looked up, there were tiny tears of blood on Will Cody’s face.
“No,” he replied. “But I reached out for him just now—Peter’s already tried—just to check and make certain he’s all right. See if he needed help. And there’s nothing there, Alli. Nothing.”
“How . . . how can that be?” she asked, horrified.
“I don’t know,” he growled, and slapped his right palm on the side of the Jeep. “I can’t even guess what it means, because my only guess is that he’s dead and somehow we couldn’t hear him. But I’ll tell you this much, I’m going to find out.”
“We’re going to find out,” she said. “I’m going to New York with you.”
Will nodded slightly, then looked up at her.
“Get in.”
Nikki swam, disoriented, through unconsciousness. Just above the surface, she could hear garbled, fluid voices. She swam toward them as if toward the sunlight streaming down through the waves. When her eyes flickered open in the dimly lit room, her mouth felt parched and she couldn’t focus her vision.
“. . . drugged . . .” she managed to say.
She was startled when the face of a white-haired old man burst into her line of sight. Nikki blinked several times, then realized the old man was speaking to her. His voice seemed familiar, though she didn’t recognize him, and she wondered how long she’d been unconscious.
“Ah, you’re finally awake. You’ll feel better in a moment,” he promised. “Your arm will heal nicely, by the way. It wasn’t even a full break.”
The old man went on like that for a bit. It took her clouded mind a moment to realize he was a doctor.
“How . . . how long have I been out?” she asked, voice hoarse from disuse.
“Just since last night,” the doctor said. “Perhaps twelve hours or so, but that was partially because of the medication. You’re going to be just fine, Miss Wydra. Really.”
She nodded slightly. Then, belatedly, Nikki noticed how odd her surroundings were. She lay in a king-size cherry-wood sleigh bed, in a room with little decoration—yet enough to show that it was unlike any hospital room she’d ever seen.
“Is this—” she began, then had to clear her dry throat. “Is this a hospital?”
The doctor smiled. If he was a doctor. He shook his head slowly.
“No, miss,” he said
“Peter knows this is supposed to be a vacation, right?” Allison asked, forcing levity into her voice.
Will shot her a glance that she read all too easily. Peter Octavian was the only person with their cell phone number. He knew how important this trip was to both of them. If he was calling now, it could only be bad news.
He reached for the phone and flipped it open; Allison watched his eyes as he said, “Cody.” After a few seconds, Will winced and began to grimace, and Allison began to gnaw her lip and rock a bit, almost unconsciously, as she wondered what had prompted the call.
“We’re on our way now,” Will said, and slapped the cell phone shut before dropping it on the console between the front seats.
He hung his head, and Allison just waited. Finally, Cody looked up at her.
“Rolf and Erika were in New York trying to track Hannibal. They were supposed to check in last night but nobody’s heard from them,” Will explained.
Allison let that sink in for a moment. Will seemed so angry, so anxious, she wanted to assuage his fears. Erika they didn’t know all that well, but Rolf was a blood-brother to both Will and Peter—they shared the same vampiric father—and meant a great deal to both of them. To the entire coven, actually.
“Well, he’s alive, anyway,” she said. “If the worst had happened, you and Peter would both have felt his passing.”
Will wouldn’t look her in the eye.
“What?” she asked. “You didn’t feel anything, did you?”
He shook his head, and when he looked up, there were tiny tears of blood on Will Cody’s face.
“No,” he replied. “But I reached out for him just now—Peter’s already tried—just to check and make certain he’s all right. See if he needed help. And there’s nothing there, Alli. Nothing.”
“How . . . how can that be?” she asked, horrified.
“I don’t know,” he growled, and slapped his right palm on the side of the Jeep. “I can’t even guess what it means, because my only guess is that he’s dead and somehow we couldn’t hear him. But I’ll tell you this much, I’m going to find out.”
“We’re going to find out,” she said. “I’m going to New York with you.”
Will nodded slightly, then looked up at her.
“Get in.”
Nikki swam, disoriented, through unconsciousness. Just above the surface, she could hear garbled, fluid voices. She swam toward them as if toward the sunlight streaming down through the waves. When her eyes flickered open in the dimly lit room, her mouth felt parched and she couldn’t focus her vision.
“. . . drugged . . .” she managed to say.
She was startled when the face of a white-haired old man burst into her line of sight. Nikki blinked several times, then realized the old man was speaking to her. His voice seemed familiar, though she didn’t recognize him, and she wondered how long she’d been unconscious.
“Ah, you’re finally awake. You’ll feel better in a moment,” he promised. “Your arm will heal nicely, by the way. It wasn’t even a full break.”
The old man went on like that for a bit. It took her clouded mind a moment to realize he was a doctor.
“How . . . how long have I been out?” she asked, voice hoarse from disuse.
“Just since last night,” the doctor said. “Perhaps twelve hours or so, but that was partially because of the medication. You’re going to be just fine, Miss Wydra. Really.”
She nodded slightly. Then, belatedly, Nikki noticed how odd her surroundings were. She lay in a king-size cherry-wood sleigh bed, in a room with little decoration—yet enough to show that it was unlike any hospital room she’d ever seen.
“Is this—” she began, then had to clear her dry throat. “Is this a hospital?”
The doctor smiled. If he was a doctor. He shook his head slowly.
“No, miss,” he said
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