Chapter 2

Dylan

Present Day

I lean back in my desk chair and stretch my arms over my head, the popping of my joints and the ache in my hands and wrists telling me even before I glance at the clock that I've been working for too many hours.

2:31 AM.

Fuck. The last time I looked, it was just after seven. I only meant to spend about an hour on this before moving on to the stuff I actually have to get done for work. Because even though this is work, it's technically not on my to-do list. I'm not even sure it's work, really. It's just some company I found that I have a weird feeling about. I might be wasting my time on it.

And worse than that, I've missed Matty's call, dammit. I grab my phone, trying to remember where he is today. Maybe if the time zone gods align, I can still?—

There's no missed call.

I blink at the screen, then unlock it and check the call register, just in case he did call but there was no notification.

Nothing.

Trying not to freak out, I open our text thread. There's nothing new there, either, but it does say where he was going today—Reno. He's in the same fucking time zone as me, and he didn't call.

That means he's either still working—which is bad , so fucking bad—or something's happened to him. Because if there's one thing I can rely on, it's that Matt will call me before he goes to bed, or at least send a message if he can't.

So… has he been fighting a demon for more than twelve hours? Or did the demon win?

My hands are shaking as I tap the screen to make the call. Maybe he's just so tired that he forgot and is sleeping peacefully right now. It would be the first time he forgot, but that's not going to stop me from making him wish the demon had won. He knows how much this matters to me.

Knows that I hate the not-knowing more than anything else.

I definitely won't feel guilty if I wake him up.

But he's not answering, and my stomach is beginning to cramp with true fear?—

"Hello?"

I freeze. The brisk, feminine voice is not Matt. Pulling my phone away from my ear, I check that I've called the right number. "Who is this?" I demand. My voice is a little raspy, partly because I haven't spoken out loud since my talk with Matt last night, and partly because my throat feels like it's about to close over.

"My name is Eileen Howard, and I'm a doctor at Renown Regional," she says clearly, and I try to keep breathing. "May I ask who I'm speaking with?"

Matty. No. Matty.

"Is he alive?" I whisper.

She hesitates, and I get it. Privacy laws.

"I'm his boyfriend," I add. "I… he's not carrying ID, is he?" It's a hunter policy for situations just like these. The cops tend to get really interested in people who carry around swords and get seriously wounded in what often looks like an animal attack. "I told him to carry his goddamn ID." That's what a worried boyfriend would say, right? "Please, just tell me if he's alive. His brother's his next-of-kin; I can call him and?—"

"He's alive," she interrupts, her tone gentling. "I'm sorry, what was your name?"

I exhale. Alive. That's good. But obviously incapacitated, or a doctor wouldn't be answering his phone. "I'm Dylan. He's Matt." I pause, a thought occurring to me. "If we're talking about the same guy?" Maybe this is a case of mistaken identity? Matt could have lost his phone and even now is trying to find a way to let me know.

Dr. Howard hesitates again. "If I tell you about an intimate tattoo he has, perhaps you can describe the rest of him?"

My heart sinks. "The tattoo on his hip that says ‘Bite here, I like it'?" I ask dully. He really does. It's the weirdest erogenous zone ever.

"Ah. Yes. I'm sorry, it seems your boyfriend is a patient of ours."

I swallow down the thousands of questions I want to ask. She won't answer them. "He was supposed to be in Reno today. Is that where you are?"

"Yes, at Renown Regional Medical Center. Can you give me the information of his next-of-kin? His brother, you said?"

"He lives in Illinois. I'll call him now. Is there a number that's best for him to reach you on?" I shut down my computer and grab my laptop bag. There's already a go-bag in the trunk of my car, like all good little hunters are supposed to have. Some lessons are hard to unlearn.

"It might be better if I call him directly?—"

"Doctor, no offense, but I'm not letting a stranger wake him up to tell him his baby brother's seriously injured. They already lost their parents in the worst way possible. Just give me a number he can call you on, and I guarantee you'll hear from him really soon."

Shoes. I'm going to need shoes. Fuck, when was the last time I put gas in the car?

The doctor reluctantly gives me a phone number, and I recite it back to her twice, cementing it in my memory. "I'm calling him now. And I'm on my way."

"I won't be able to let you?—"

"That's fine. I'll sit in the waiting room." Until Gabe either smooths things over so I can go in or arrives himself. "See you soon."

I end the call on that ridiculous inanity and scroll to find Gabe's contact in my phone as I let myself out of my apartment.

It only rings twice before he answers. The thing about being in the Collective is that middle-of-the-night phone calls are common, and they're rarely good.

"Dylan?" He sounds groggy but alert enough. "What?—"

"Matt's alive," I blurt, then stop and take a breath to hold back the tears.

"What— Fuck. What happened?" He's fully awake now, his voice urgent.

"I don't know. I called him and a doctor in Reno answered. She wouldn't tell me anything except that he's alive. I've got her number for you to call."

"Jesus. She wouldn't say anything else? Do you know what he was supposed to be doing in Reno?"

"No." Not specifically, anyway. We both know he was there because of something demonic. I toss my laptop bag onto the passenger seat and climb into my car. "I'm on my way there now, and I'll call Ian while you call the hospital."

"Thanks, Dylan. Hold on a sec." He must turn away from the phone, because his voice is muffled when he says, "Pass me that pen and go wake up Connor. Matt's in the hospital."

I hear Tom's exclamation as I start the car and pull out onto the road, then Gabe tells me, "Okay, what was the number?"

I reel it off for him, along with the doctor's name. "Call me back, please?"

"I will," he promises. "And I'll see what I need to do so you can sit with him and get updates while we're traveling."

I want to close my eyes in relief, but the last thing any of us needs right now is for me to get into an accident. "Thank you."

"No, thank you. You're a good friend, Dylan." He ends the call before I can finish processing how much those words hurt.

It's my own fault, of course. Matt's wanted to tell his family about us for months. I'm the one who said no, even though I know he doesn't fully understand why. Even though I know it hurts him.

I guess these are my just desserts.

Pushing that thought aside, I tell Siri to call Ian. Just like Gabe, he answers quickly. "Dyl? What's up? You okay?"

"Yeah, but I just tried to call Matt and a doctor answered his phone. He's alive, but she wouldn't tell me more. Gabe's calling her now." I get it out as fast as I can. Everyone knows Gabe's the calm, reasonable one, with Matt coming in second. Connor and Ian… not so much.

" Fuck! "

"He's alive," I repeat. "I'm on my way there now."

"Where? San Francisco? Marc, get up, I need you to take me to Matt."

My foot hits the brake, and I'm grateful the early hour means there's nobody behind me. How could I have forgotten about this? Ian's boyfriend is a higher demon and he can fucking teleport .

Do I like the idea of being at a higher demon's mercy like that? Honestly, no. Even though I was on board with the "make Marc seem like a nice guy" campaign and I completely support Ian's relationship, the part of me that's been taught my whole life that higher demons are evil incarnate can't stand the thought of letting one have that much control over me.

But for Matt, I'll do anything.

"Come and get me," I blurt.

"What?" Ian sounds distracted, and I can hear rustling, like he's getting dressed.

"Ask Marc if he'll come and get me and bring me with you to Matt." I steer the car to the side of the road and park it. It'll be fine here, and if not, fuck it. I can get a new car.

"Wait, why? Where is he?"

"Reno." My phone beeps, and I look at the screen. "Gabe's calling. Hold on." I don't give him time to reply before switching lines. "Gabe?"

"Have you spoken to Ian?" His voice is tight.

"I have him on the other line. Want me to conference him in?"

"Yeah, that would save either of us from repeating this."

I hit the necessary buttons. "Ian, I'm conferencing you in with me and Gabe. Are you both there?"

They both reply in the affirmative, and then Ian demands, "Did you talk to the doctor?"

"Dylan, if you're driving, pull over."

Fuck. No.

"She said he was alive," I whisper.

"He is, but… it's not good. He was found in an abandoned warehouse by some teenagers looking for somewhere to make out. He's got massive internal injuries—he already lost his spleen and one kidney, and they're worried about his liver. A lot of his bones are broken. They think they've stopped all the bleeding for now, and he's been transfused to make up for the lost blood, but he's in a medically induced coma in the ICU." He pauses. "The doctor told me to get there as soon as I could and that things were critical."

Oh my god.

"Oh my god," Ian echoes my thoughts, his voice broken. "Matty."

Hot tears stream down my face. No. I can't lose him.

"Can he be moved?" a new voice asks, and it takes me a second to realize it's Marc.

"What do you mean?" Gabe sounds confused. "He's in a coma and his insides have been beaten to mush."

"Are you able to remove him from the hospital? Tell them you want to bring him home to be cared for?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ian snaps, but I swipe away my tears, suddenly hopeful. Marc is a higher demon. He can teleport. He has the ability to take over people's minds and kill them with a thought.

What else can he do?

Gabe must come to the same realization. "They won't let us take him from the hospital like that. We could maybe insist on a transfer to another hospital, one we have contacts at… or, Dylan, could you fake something? Somewhere to transfer him that doesn't exist?"

My mind races. A fake company is easy, but a fake hospital? Somewhere capable of trauma care that they'd be willing to release him to? "Yes, but it'll take me time. Six hours at least, and that wouldn't really stand up to any suspicions."

Ian, finally catching on, says, "If he's critical, they won't let you transfer him anyway. And six hours—" He stops, but we all know what he was going to say. Six hours is a long time for someone who's in critical condition. A lot can happen.

"It will be harder, but I can work on him in the hospital," Marc says dismissively, as though we're talking about knitting a scarf. "I'll need to make the changes more gradual. Instead of healing him all at once, just a boost to his natural healing ability."

The ragged gasp of relief that tears from me is painful. "You can do that?"

He sighs. "Why must you humans always question me?"

Gabe laughs, but there's nothing happy about it. It's a tearful sob. "The doctor emailed me some forms, and one of them will give permission for you to stay with him until I get there. Go, now. I'll call as soon as I've sent them back to her—ten minutes."

"Pick me up," I repeat. "I'm in my car on?—"

"I can find you," Marc scoffs. "Am I also to play taxi for you, Gabe?"

There's a brief hesitation, then Gabe reluctantly says, "No. The doctor knows I'm in Illinois. I can't turn up too early."

"We'll keep you informed," Ian promises. "Dyl, we're coming for you now."

I open my mouth to reply, then shriek as they appear on the road in front of my car.

"Dylan!" Gabe yells. "What?—"

"I'm fine. Marc and Ian are here. Do those forms now, because we'll be there in ten seconds." I end the call and take a deep breath.

Here goes nothing.