Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 126060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
“Four minutes down,” Amaranthe answered.
“Heartbeat,” Taviano announced, his voice relieved. “Weak, but it’s there. Not a rhythm.”
“We can’t have him in the tubes too long, not with a wound and his heart dicey,” Stefano said. “The closest exit is just a few yards from here by a slower shadow. Mariko, have Fiero and Donte bring the car to that location immediately and call ahead for the doc to be ready at Geno’s private entrance. Make certain it’s clear.”
Amaranthe had been touching Geno’s mind. He was drifting somewhere else, somewhere between she couldn’t quite reach. He was cold. Ice-cold. There was no sun. No warmth. It was dark and he was without direction. She needed to find her way to him to guide him back. Without warning he suddenly closed himself off completely to her. She felt the impact on her heart—her soul—as if a huge piece of her had been torn away and carried off with him.
“We’re losing him. We’re losing him,” Amaranthe said. “I can feel him slipping away.” She nearly crawled around Stefano in desperation to get at Geno’s chest. Taviano began chest compressions immediately.
Don’t, Geno. Don’t leave me alone. She’d never known she was alone or lonely until she’d shared his mind. Until she’d entertained the idea of discussions and laughter. Of family. Of children. Of belonging somewhere. Of fitting with someone. Their relationship had been too fast, but it was also a lifetime. They’d shared so much of themselves with each other through their connection. She couldn’t imagine losing him.
“Keep calling to him, Amara,” Stefano said.
Geno. She heard Stefano calling out. He sounded harsh. A complete authority. Reach out to us. To me. To Amaranthe. You can’t leave her alone. The family needs you. She needs you. Reach for us. Fight.
How close to the surface was the spirit of someone who died? Close enough to call them back when doing heart compressions? How much of the poisonous compound had gotten into Geno’s bloodstream and been carried to his heart?
Nicoletta was nearly spit from a shadow and slid on her knees to land beside Stefano. “Doc says to inject this straight into his heart, Stefano. It may or may not work. It’s the only syringe we have capable of traveling in the shadows, so make it count.”
Stefano didn’t hesitate. He took the syringe from her, removed the cap from the long needle with his teeth and plunged it straight into Geno’s chest, directly over his heart.
Amaranthe bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying out. Stefano was the most decisive person she’d ever come across. Ruthless. Just like Geno. The two were cut from the same cloth. Determined—so determined she couldn’t imagine Stefano losing his cousin. Stefano just wouldn’t let Geno die. No one dared disobey the man.
Her heart pounded and her nails bit into her thigh as she stared down at Geno’s gray face. His chest suddenly heaved, and his eyes flew open. Taviano caught Amaranthe and dragged her back away from Geno as he began to instinctively fight.
“Geno, settle. We’re here with you.” Stefano’s voice was absolutely calm. “Don’t move around. We don’t know how this poison works. We’re transporting you out of here fast, so lay back and let us carry you.”
“Amara. La mia danzatrice ombra. Where is she?” He had to reach for his voice, and it sounded far away to all of them, especially Amaranthe.
“Right here, Geno.” She knelt beside him again.
He held out his hand. “He didn’t touch you with that blade?” His voice was very gravelly, but still faded, as if he were far away.
She put her hand in his immediately, but he didn’t close his fingers around hers. She looked up at Stefano for reassurance.
“Get him to the car,” Stefano ordered, circling Amaranthe’s shoulders with one arm. “The doc’s waiting for him. He’s got the antidote, and he can bring Geno back as good as new,” he assured.
The riders lifted Geno and stepped into the shadow tube that led straight to the street where the car was waiting. Stefano and Amaranthe followed. Amaranthe was dismayed to smell the coppery scent of blood and occasionally catch of glimpse of dark splashes of red as she sped through the tunnel.
On the ride back to Geno’s apartment, she stayed silent, trying to puzzle out how Stefano fit in with Jean-Claude and the International Council. A member of the Ferraro family sat on the council. Still, she was certain, it was Stefano who was held in the highest of regard and consulted in secret. She knew only because she stayed in the background, one of the council’s hunters. Was it possible that Stefano was a hunter?
She studied him carefully under veiled lashes. He had far too many duties. She had no idea how fast he was in the shadows, but he certainly had the brains for it. He was shrewd and calculating. He was able to connect telepathically with others, strongly enough that she worried he might be able to catch her thoughts if she wasn’t cautious. But no, he couldn’t stay in too many places for long enough to be an elite hunter. He didn’t have six months or more to give to that kind of investigation. What did he do for the council? For Jean-Claude and the Archambaults?