Chapter 3

Dylan

I don't know what I was expecting teleporting to be like, but this isn't it. If I wasn't so worried about Matt, I'd be disappointed. Where were the swirly lights and the popping noises as we disappeared and reappeared? Where was the spinning darkness of inter-whatever travel? Where was the intense sickness as my body rejected being disassembled and reassembled, or whatever the process is?

Instead, I simply went from standing beside my car to standing… somewhere else. I look out at a parking lot, then turn around to face the building behind me. There aren't many people around, and nobody's paying attention to us—luckily—but there's a nifty sign above the door proclaiming this Renown Regional Medical Center.

Great. Ian and I head toward the door, our minds on the same track.

"Where are you going?" Marc asks from behind us. "They said you can't see him until they have Gabe's forms." There's a slightly mocking edge to his voice, as though forms are a stupid idea. He might have a point there.

"It's a big building," I snap. "We need to find where he is, even if they make us wait."

Marc smirks in a way that finally makes me understand what Matt means when he says he wants to punch Marc's smile off his face. "He's on the fourth floor, on the left side of the building, toward the front…" His eyes track up in that direction. "Three rooms in. There's a nurse monitoring him at the moment." The smirk fades from his face, and he meets Ian's gaze. "You need to be prepared. There's a machine breathing for him and a lot of tubes."

My knees turn to jelly, but I manage to stay upright. Marc said he was going to save him. The machine is only temporary.

Ian, his face ash-pale in the poor lighting, sets his jaw and swallows hard. "You can still heal him, though?"

Marc nods, and I blink back my tears. Dammit. Dammit, dammit. I can't cry. Not if Ian doesn't. All this time Matt wanted to tell his family, and I can't give us away now and deny him that. He gets to choose to do this.

Because now that the worst has happened, I know it would have been better for them to know. Who was I kidding, thinking that keeping us a secret meant it would be easier? That I could avoid getting involved with another family and maybe not have to go through losing another family?

What if Matt hadn't had his phone? If he'd been identified some other way, and Gabe had been notified? They'd have let me know eventually, but I wouldn't be here now. I'd be sitting at home, scared out of my fucking mind and not knowing who to call.

So yeah, when Matt wakes up, I'll tell him to talk to his family. Fuck, he can talk to his mailman, for all I care. The world can know. Because I don't ever want to be in a position where he's hurt and nobody thinks to call me, and I don't ever again want to have to hide what I feel for him.

Ian's phone rings, and he snatches it to his ear. "Gabe?" His eyes close. "Thanks. See you soon."

I head for the doors.

By the time I find the elevator, they've caught up to me. The massive main foyer of the hospital is eerily quiet. There's a young woman sitting on a cushioned bench by the windows, her eyes red-rimmed and a sleeping toddler sprawled across her lap. Two older men are talking in hushed tones by a door that has a sign saying ER This Way. But the gift shop and the café are shuttered and dark.

The fourth floor is a different story. The lights here are bright, and even though it's not as busy as I know it would be in the daytime, there's still a sense of bustle. We follow Marc—and the blue line painted on the floor—to the ICU. The doors are locked, and the desk beside them is empty, but there's a doorbell. Ian pushes it three times fast, drops his hand, then lifts it to press again. The nurse who opens the door a minute later is wearing a murderous expression.

"Sir, visiting hours are?—"

"My brother's here," he interrupts. "My best friend, I mean. His brother did the paperwork so we could sit with him."

Her face doesn't change. "What's the patient's name?"

"Matthias Coates. C-O-A-T-E-S. His brother's Gabriel."

"Dr. Howard said we should come," I add.

She doesn't reply, just closes the door and walks back toward a counter. Ian and I crowd around the little windows, trying to see what she's doing. Typing something into a computer, from the looks of it.

"What's taking so long?" Ian mutters. "Even Marc types faster than that."

"I do not type," Marc intones.

"How's Matt doing?" I whisper to him. "Any change?"

The look on his face questions my insolence for daring to speak to him, but then his eyes narrow and he inhales deeply.

Fear races through me. "Has something happened to him?"

Ian whirls around, but Marc holds up a hand, his eyes still on me. "There has been no change. I'm monitoring him. Once I can see him clearly, I'll begin what can be done without arousing suspicion."

I nod, then clear my throat. "Sounds good. Let me know if you need a distraction or anything." I can fake a panic attack if I need to. It probably won't even be all that fake.

"She's coming back," Ian hisses, and I turn, my heartbeat picking up. Soon I'll see Matt. It doesn't matter if he's hooked up to machines; I need to see him.

The nurse opens the door again. There's a tablet in her hand, though I can't see the screen from this angle. "Could I see some ID?"

Ian and I scramble to show her. Marc takes his time, then straightens his cuff. I realize for the first time that he's wearing a suit. Who the fuck puts on a suit to come to a hospital in the middle of the night?

She compares our IDs to her screen, then hands them back to us. "Two visitors at a time only, I'm afraid, though you can take turns. There's a visitor lounge around that corner where the third person can wait."

My stomach drops to my shoes. There's no question that Ian will go, and normally I'd challenge Marc for the right to go with him—but Marc needs to go. He needs to save Matt.

I swallow hard. "I'll w?—"

"The three of us will enter," Marc says smoothly, his voice dark and drawling and… itchy? Why does my brain suddenly itch? "You will make an exception this one time, due to the circumstances."

The nurse nods and steps back, holding the door wide. "Of course."

Holy fuck. Holy fuck . Did Marc just mind control the nurse?

From the stunned glance Ian gives me, he's thinking the same thing—and it's obviously not something he's seen his boyfriend do before. The hunter in me—the human who loathes the thought of that kind of violation—wants to protest, but I guess I'm not as good a person as I thought, because I don't.

Not when it means I get to see Matt.

Instead, I swallow my bile and ethics and follow the nurse into the ICU.

"I'll need to ask you to turn off your cell phones," she says once the door is closed behind us, and Ian and I immediately obey. She looks at Marc.

"I didn't bring it."

Part of me wonders how anybody could leave home without their phone, but I guess a higher demon doesn't exactly need wireless technology at his fingertips.

"Please keep your voices down for the benefit of all the patients in this ward. If you cause a disturbance, you'll be forced to leave. The doctor will come to speak with you shortly, but until then, be prepared for a shock. Matthias?—"

"Matt," Ian corrects. "He prefers Matt."

Her face softens the tiniest bit. "Matt has been through some massive trauma. He's very bruised and may not be recognizable at first. There's a tube in his throat to help him breathe and quite a few other machines. It can be very confronting, so if you feel you need a moment to regroup, you can step out." She gestures to the doors behind us. "Now that I know you, there won't be a problem with letting you back in."

I manage a nod. Ian just looks sick.

"Please don't touch Matt. I understand that will be difficult and that your instinct will be to offer comfort that way, but he requires further surgery that can't be completed until he's more stable, and even a gentle touch may cause more damage."

Oh my god. I clench my fists tightly, needing the bite of my nails into my palms to keep from freaking out. What happened to him?

"Are you ready to go in, or would you like a few more moments to prepare?"

"Take us in," Ian and I say in unison, and Marc nods.

She leads us past several glass-fronted rooms and then stops in front of one directly opposite the nurses' station. I stare through the glass at the still form lying in the bed. The only thing recognizable about him is his hair.

"There was no head injury?" Marc asks, but his tone is absent. He's staring hard at Matt.

"No," the nurse replies. "Through some stroke of luck, his head escaped serious injury. Some minor contusions only, and a few cuts on his face. He's in a medically induced coma, so he won't be responsive at all, but feel free to speak quietly to him and each other." She nods toward the open door. "You can go in, and the doctor will be with you shortly."

Inside the room, the only sounds are the beeping and humming of the machines that are keeping Matt alive. There are two chairs on the far side of the bed and a door that I guess leads into a bathroom. No window.

But then, I guess people in comas don't need a view.

"Matty," Ian breathes, but I can't speak.

"Sit, both of you," Marc orders.

I glance over at him. He's standing at the foot of the bed, his gaze skimming up Matt's body. "Don't you need to?—"

"I'm best positioned here. Sit."

I pull a chair closer to the bed and plant my ass in it. I want to reach out and touch Matt so badly; just brush my finger along his skin and reassure myself he exists —but I don't. I won't do anything to make this worse.

His chest is rising and falling evenly, though I guess that's thanks to the tube running into his mouth. Half of his face is covered by a mask, but the nurse was right about cuts and bruises. A sheet is pulled up to his waist, and his upper torso is covered by a hospital gown, but his arms and neck are visible, and everywhere there isn't a bandage, tube, or wire seems to be bruised or cut. His arms are splinted, hands swollen, and I remember what Gabe said about bones being broken. Can they really not do anything about that yet?

I've never been a religious person, but if it wasn't for the fact the demon standing only three feet from me has sworn to heal him, I'd be praying for Matt now.

That's so fucked-up.

Ian pulls the other chair up beside mine, sits, and looks at his boyfriend. "Tell me again that you can fix him."

Marc doesn't take his eyes off Matt. "Your lack of faith in me is disturbing, grubby human. Stop bothering me."

Somehow, I find that more comforting than all the life-saving machines in the room.