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Relative silence. Nothing out of order. V and Rhage were at the new clinic in case the caravan had been trailed by the enemy. Zsadist was doing a welding job on the south tunnel’s busted entrance. Rehvenge might even have left already.

Even though the clinic was fairly secure, he was prepared to shoot to kill. Ops like this one always made him twitchy—

Shit. This was probably his last op, wasn’t it. And he’d been a part of this one only because he’d come for Zsadist, not because he’d been called in as a member of the Brotherhood.

Trying not to get all up in his head, Phury walked down another hallway, this one taking him to the emergency services part of the clinic. He was passing a supply room when he heard the sound of glass on glass.

He pulled Z’s gun up tight to his face as he braced himself at the doorjamb. A quick lean in and he saw what was doing: Rehvenge was standing in front of a locked cabinet that had a fist hole through its door, and he was transferring vials from the shelves into the pockets of his sable coat.

“Relax, vampire,” the male said without turning around. “This is just dopamine. I’m not black-marketing OxyContin or some shit.”

Phury dropped the gun back to his side. “Why are you taking—”

“Because I need it.”

When the last vial had been lifted, Rehv turned away from the cabinet. His amethyst eyes were characteristically shrewd, like those of a viper. Man, he always looked as if he were measuring his striking distance, even when he was among the Brothers.

“So how do you think they found this place?” Rehv asked.

“Don’t know.” Phury nodded to the door. “Come on, we’re pulling out. This place is not secure.”

The smile that flashed revealed fangs that were still elongated. “I’m quite confident I can handle myself.”

“No doubt. But it’s probably a good idea that you take off.”

Rehv crossed the supply room with care, navigating around the fallen boxes of bandages and latex gloves and thermometer covers. He leaned heavily on his cane, but only a fool would have mistaken him for having a disability.

His tone was as kind as it ever got as he said softly, “Where are your black daggers, celibate?”

“None of your biz, sin-eater.”

“Indeed.” Rehv nudged a spray of tongue depressors with his cane as if he were trying to get them back in their box. “I think you should know your twin talked to me.”

“Did he.”

“Time to go.”

Both of them looked out into the hall. Zsadist was standing behind them, his brows down over eyes that were black.

“Like as in now,” Z said.

Rehv smiled calmly as his phone went off. “And what do you know. My ride is here. Pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen. Laters.”

The guy stepped around Phury, nodded at Z, and cocked his cell to his ear as he walked off with that cane of his.

The sound of him dimmed, and then there was a whole lot of silence.

Phury answered the question before his twin could ask it: “I came because you wouldn’t answer my calls.”

He held out the SIG, offering the weapon butt-first to Z.

Zsadist accepted the nine, checked the chamber, holstered it. “I was too pissed off to talk to you.”

“I wasn’t calling about us. I found Bella in the dining room looking weak and I carried her upstairs. I think Jane would be a good visitor, but that’s your call.”

Zsadist’s face drained of color. “Did Bella say anything was wrong?”

“She was fine when she settled in bed. Said she’d had too much to eat and that was the problem. But . . .” Maybe he’d been wrong about her bleeding? “I really think Jane should visit her—”

Zsadist took off at a dead run, his shitkickers pounding down the empty hall, the thunderous sound reverberating throughout the empty clinic.

Phury followed at a walk. As he thought about his role as Primale, he pictured himself racing off to check on Cormia with the same concern and urgency and desperation. God, he could picture it with such clarity . . . her with his young inside of her, him on all-shift anxiety, just like Z.

He stopped and peered into a patient