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Doc Jane took off his pants, and as he went commando, he quickly pulled some sheets over his privates. She pushed them aside, looked him over professionally front to back, and then asked him to flex his arms and legs. After she lingered over a couple of spectacular black and blues, she covered him again.

“What did they work you over with? Those bruises on your thighs are severe.”

“Crowbars. Big, massive—”

Blay cut in. “Clubs. Had to be those ceremonial black clubs.”

“That would be consistent with the injuries.” Doc Jane took a moment, as if she were a computer processing an information request. “Right, here’s where we are. What’s going on with your legs is undoubtedly uncomfortable, but the contusions should heal on their own. You have no open wounds, and although it appears your palm was knifed, I’m assuming that happened a little earlier, because it’s healing already. And nothing appears broken, which is a miracle.”

Except his heart, of course. To be beaten by your own brother—

Shut it, you pantywaist, he told himself.

“So I’m just fine, right, Doc?”

“How long were you out cold?”

He frowned, that vision from the Fade suddenly swooping down out of his memory like a black crow. God . . . had he died?

“Ah . . . I have no idea how long. And I didn’t see anything while I was out. It was just blackness, you know . . . I was down for the count.” No way he was talking about that little all-natural acid trip. “But I’m good, you know—”

“I’m going to have to disagree with you there. Your heart rate’s high, your blood pressure is low, and I don’t like that belly of yours.”

“It’s just a little sore.”

“I’m worried something’s ruptured.”

Great. “I’ll be fine.”

“And your medical degree is from where?” Doc Jane smiled, and he laughed a little. “I’d like to give you an ultrasound, but Havers’s clinic got hit tonight.”

“What?”

“What?” Blay asked at the same time.

“I assumed you knew.”

“Were there survivors?” Blay asked.

“Lash is missing.”

While the implications of that little news flash sank in, Jane reached into her bag of goodies and took out a sealed needle and a vial with a rubber top. “I’m going to give you something for the pain. And don’t worry,” she said wryly, “it’s not Demerol.”

“Why, is Demerol bad?”

“For vampires? Yes.” She rolled her eyes. “Trust me.”

“Whatever you think sounds good.”

When she was finished shooting him up, she said, “This should last you a couple of hours, but I plan to be back way before that.”

“Dawn must be close, huh.”

“Yup, so we’re going to have to move fast. There’s a temporary clinic set up—”

"I can’t go there,” he said. "I can’t . . . That would not be a good call.”

Blay nodded. “We need to keep his whereabouts on the DL. He’s not safe anywhere right now.”

Doc Jane’s eyes narrowed. After a moment, she said, “Okay. Then I’ll figure out where I can get you what you need in a more private setting. In the meantime, I don’t want you to move from this bed. And no eating or drinking, in case I have to go in.”

As Doc Jane packed up her Marcus-whoever-he-was bag, Qhuinn counted the number of people who wouldn’t have come near him, much less try to treat his injuries.

“Thank you,” he said in a small voice.

“My pleasure.” She put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I’m going to fix you. Bet your life on it.”

In that moment, as he looked into her dark green eyes, he honestly believed she could fix the whole wide world, and the wave of relief that washed over him was as if someone had tucked a soft blanket all around his body. Shit, whether it was the fact that his life was in capable hands or the result of whatever she’d pumped into his arm, he didn’t really care. He’d take the easing where he found it.

“I feel sleepy.”

“That’s my plan.”

Doc Jane went over and whispered to Blay for a moment . . . and though the guy tried to hide his reaction, his eyes widened.

Ah, so he was in deep shit, Qhuinn thought.

After the doc left, he didn’t bother to ask what had been said, because there was no way Blay was going to go there.