Swallowing Darkness - Laurell K. Hamilton [133]
I was almost certain that my fingertips were where they needed to be to feel the pulse. Admittedly, trapped underneath him, it was harder to judge, but I was almost sure. I couldn’t feel anything. I took a deep breath in and held it. I held my breath and put all my attention into my fingers, into feeling what there was to feel. I stilled my body so that I wouldn’t mistake my own pulse for his. I pressed my fingers into his flesh through his clothes, and willed that pulse to beat against my fingers.
There, was that it? The pulse came again, slow and thick against my fingers. It was slower than it should have been, but it was there. If we could get him to a healer, he would live. If we could get help, Jonty would not have to die for me. If we could find anyone who wasn’t my enemy tonight.
The bomb had worked. I could hear the muffled screams of the soldiers. If Jonty’s damage was any indication, the Red Caps were badly hurt too. Why had the Unseelie nobles not hunted me down and finished me while I was unconscious? What had they been waiting for?
I felt the scream beginning to build, like a pressure that I couldn’t fight. No, didn’t want to fight. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t help Jonty. I couldn’t see what was happening. I couldn’t fight back, but I could scream. That I could do, and it was as if even that would be a release, a help to my awful growing panic. I took deep, even breaths, forced myself to slow my pulse, and that trembling sensation that was trying to steal me away from myself. If I started screaming from sheer panic, I wouldn’t stop. I’d scream, and squirm under Jonty’s body until my enemies found me. I had no illusions what would happen if Cel’s people found me. Were there Seelie warriors on the field tonight too? If they found me, would they try to take me back to Taranis? Probably. Death, or more rape by my uncle. Please, Goddess, let there be other choices.
Where was Doyle? He hadn’t been the body at their feet, but if he was able to come to my side, where was he? Galen, or Rhys, Mistral, Sholto, any of them, what could have kept them from my side this long? Were they…dead? Were all whom I had loved dead?
Jonty moved above me. “Jonty,” I said.
He didn’t answer, and I realized that I couldn’t feel his muscles tensing at all. He was still unconscious above me, but he began to lift without his arms moving at all. Someone was lifting him. A few moments before I’d wanted him off of me so badly that I had had to fight down panic. Now, I wasn’t so certain. Whether the Red Cap being lifted slowly off of me was a good thing or a bad thing depended entirely on who was doing the lifting.
My pulse sped up as Jonty’s big chest rose upward. It was taking so long that I began to wonder if it was the humans, the soldiers. They would have trouble lifting him. Then he rose upward enough that I could see legs. The leg of a uniform, the torn leg of a designer suit. I said, “Doyle!”
He knelt, hands still on the big Red Cap, pushing like you’d shoulder press a weight. “I’m here,” he said.
I reached out to touch his leg. My hand came back with blood on it. Was it Jonty’s, or Doyle’s? What had been happening while I lay unconscious? In that moment, I almost didn’t care, because Doyle was here. I could touch him. It was all right, because he was there.
I could see more legs. Another was in black trousers and boots—Mistral. I remembered now that Galen and Rhys had been wearing soldiers’ uniforms. They were all here, all of them. Thank you, Goddess.
“Are you hurt?” Doyle asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Can you move out from under the Red Cap?”
I thought about it, and realized that I could. I began to push my way out from under Jonty’s rising body. I had to do a sort of modified crab walk on my elbows and butt, but finally my face was in the clean, fresh air. I took a deep breath of winter