I found a spot in front of the sink, intent on getting a glimpse of Layla or my son and daughters, when a nurse said, “We’re losing him again.”
Alarmed, Doc added, “Layla’s heart rate is spiraling downward.”
My vision blurred, my pulse pounding in my ears like the little drummer boy on speed. I clutched onto the stainless steel sink as my insides churned and the walls closed in. The sound of metal crunching did nothing to zap the shock running through my veins. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t even breathe. The scrub room spun, and a sense of death clung to my exposed skin, sinking deep into my pores before spreading out like fissures in the earth, scorching a path straight to my heart.
I couldn’t track the flurry of activity through the window. I blinked several times to clear the haziness, and on my last blink, I zeroed in on Doc holding the paddles of the crash cart over Layla.
I gasped, fisting a hand to my mouth as bile shot to my throat.
Layla’s dead. Dead. My wife isn’t breathing. Where is my son?
The lights flickered on and off as misery bled from my soul. My elemental powers were on the precipice of destroying everything around me.
I bolted out into the hallway, stumbling in the process, then bent over and gulped in air. I pounded on my chest, then rubbed as hard as I could to curb the piercing pain that was sucking the life out of me.
Outside air. Blood.I needed both of those to quench the fire and the suffocating feeling burning my lungs.
I ran down the hall like a drunken sailor, pushed through the doors into the lab of the old part of the infirmary, and plowed into my father.
His green eyes were brimming with sadness. “Tripp filled me in. I’m here for you, son.”
I threw myself at him like a boy running scared. I’d never needed my father like I did in that moment. I berated myself as I cried. I was Sam Mason, strong and powerful, and hardly anything screwed with my head. The word weak wasn’t in my vocabulary. Sure, I had flaws. Flying scared the fuck out of me. But I still got on a plane. Yet there I was, afraid and seeking solace from my dad, which I’d never done in my life. I mean, I’d never cried in his arms.
My father didn’t stand for weak individuals. As a military man in charge of the Vampire Navy SEALs, he whipped weaklings into shape. Those that didn’t fit the mold, he would send packing. However, this wasn’t about my stamina as a soldier but as a husband and father. If anyone understood how it felt to lose someone, it was him. After all, he’d lost his wife and my mother.
“My wife and son are dying again,” I choked out as my soul ripped into a million fucking pieces.
He rubbed my back. “Samuel, you need to calm down.” He gently eased away, held on to the sides of my arms, and gave me a tender but somewhat stern look as we stood eye to eye.
He never called me Samuel, except when he wanted to make a point or was angry with me. He wasn’t mad, but his tone was firm, which belied the emotional pain washing over him.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “You know, Dr. Vieira will not let Layla or your son die,” he said, as sure as my pulse throbbed in my ears. Then he went over to the fridge and snagged a bottle of blood.
I wiped the tears off my face and anchored my body against one of two lab benches.
He returned and handed me an open bottle. “Drink. You’re white as a ghost.”
I chugged the processed blood like a thirsty fool on a hot summer day, staring at my father. He looked like I felt—drained and weary. Dark circles colored the area beneath his green eyes, he had a day-old beard, and his black hair was damp but so was the blue buttoned-up shirt he was wearing, which meant it was raining. Nevertheless, I got the feeling he’d had a hell of a time with Jack Aberdeen.
I was about to ask how his Montana trip had gone when Jo glided through the double doors from the new wing, wiping sweat off her forehead. As an empath, I could feel others' emotions, but I was striking out. My guess was my panic was blocking my otherworldly ability.
Her chest lifted and deflated on a sigh. “Your blood did the trick for your son. What’s weird is, as soon as his vitals improved, so did Layla’s.”
I set the empty bottle on the bench beside me. “Thank fuck,” I muttered, expelling the oppressive feeling caught in my chest.
My dad cleared his throat. “Are Layla and the boy connected?” His tone was more inquisitive than surprised.
That would be strange but not out of the realm of possibility in the world of magic.
Jo went over to our father. “Hey, Dad.” She kissed him on the cheek. “It’s probably just a coincidence. Dr. Vieira had been using the crash cart at the same time I was giving Sam’s blood to his son.”
Coincidence or not, all that mattered was they were alive.
My father’s phone rang, and he excused himself, swearing under his breath as he stalked down the aisle between the lab benches, fishing his phone from his pants pocket. I never wanted to be in his shoes. Dealing with politics and trying to keep our existence a secret was more than enough to drain the energy out of a vampire.
“I want to see my family,” I said to Jo.
She massaged her shoulder. “You will. But not right now. Dr. Vieira and Dr. Martin will be running tests. The nurses are cleaning up Layla and the babies. Doc is also whipping up a batch of his healing potion with Abbey’s blood and shifter blood for Layla. That should help her recover quicker. Look, Sam—take some time to relax. I’ll call you when you can see them. And if anything goes awry, I’ll definitely hunt you down.” Her confident tone was helping to loosen my muscles.
