Which was going to work in the Brotherhood’s favor.
And he was right.
Four of the lessers went straight for the thick of the fighting, but one, a bulldog with thick shoulders and arms that hung like a gorilla’s, came over to V—probably to check him for weapons.
Vishous waited patiently, not moving, giving off a fuckload of next-stop-coffin.
Even when the bastard went to lean down, V stayed where he was . . . little closer . . . little . . . closer—
“Surprise, motherfucker,” he bit out. Then he grabbed the nearest wrist and yanked hard.
The slayer went over like a stack of plates, right across V’s bad leg. But it didn’t matter—adrenaline was a hell of a painkiller and gave him the strength not just to withstand the agony, but to hold the SOB in place.
Lifting up his glowing hand, Vishous brought his curse down on the face of the lesser—no reason to slap or slam; simple contact was enough. And just before it landed, his prey’s eyes popped wide, the illumination making the whites fluorescent.
“Yeah, this is gonna hurt,” V growled.
The sizzle and the scream were equally loud, but only the former persisted. In the latter’s place, a nasty stench like burned cheese wafted up along with a sooty smoke. It took less than a moment for the power in his hand to consume the slayer’s puss, the flesh and bone eaten away as the bastard’s legs jerked and his arms flailed.
When it was a case of Headless Horseman, V disengaged his palm and sagged. It would have been great to get the weight off his bum knee, but he just didn’t have the strength.
His last thought, before he passed out, was that he prayed his boys kicked this one fast. The mhis wasn’t going to linger if he wasn’t there to support it . . . and that meant they would be fighting in public on a big scale—
Lights. Out.
TWENTY-NINE
As Payne’s feet hung off the side of her bed, she flexed one and then the other over and over again, marveling at the miracle of thinking something and having her limbs follow the command.
“Here, put this on.”
Glancing up, she was momentarily distracted by the sight of her healer’s mouth. She couldn’t believe that they had . . . that he had . . . until she . . .
Yes, a robe would be good, she thought.
“I won’t let you fall,” he said as he helped her into the thing. “You can bet your life on it.”
She believed him. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” He jogged his arm. “Come on . . . let’s do this.”
Except the gratitude she felt was so complex she could not leave it unexpressed. “For all of it, healer. Everything.”
He smiled at her briefly. “I’m here to make you better.”
“You are.”
With that, she carefully pushed herself onto her feet.
The first thing she noticed was that the floor was cold on her soles . . . and then her weight was transferred and things went haywire: Her muscles spasmed under the load and her legs bowed like feathers flexed asunder. Her healer was there when she needed him, however, scooping his arm around her waist and supporting her.
“I stand,” she breathed. “I . . . am standing.”
“You sure the hell are.”
Her lower body was nothing like it had been, her thighs and calves trembling so badly her knees knocked together. But she stood.
“We shall walk now,” she said, gritting her teeth as shafts of hot and cold rocketed up and down her bones.