Four-Letter Words Evans, Gabrielle (best detective novels of all time .TXT) 📖

There was no pressure or physical resistance, but Thane knew the exactly moment his brother had complied. Using the last of his waning energy, he created the connection needed to temporarily bond their life forces so that Mikko could cross the veil. Once completed, Thane approached the translucent curtain of shimmering fog that stretched out before him, closed his eyes, and jumped.

* * * *

“What’s wrong with him?” Zasha demanded for about the twentieth time.

He refused to release Thane’s hand, though the heat emanating from his mate burned his skin. Zasha didn’t care, though. He’d heal from it. More worrisome was the buckets of sweat that poured from his lover, drenching not only his clothes and hair, but the fabric of the chair beneath him. Thane twitched and moan, muttering unintelligible words in a voice filled with pain and fear.

After more than an hour of watching the man he loved suffer, Zasha was going out of his mind, and it seemed no one could give him answers.

“He’ll be okay,” Torren said.

“I’m sure this is normal,” Raith added.

Well, it sure as hell wasn’t normal to Zasha. Thane’s body temperature alone was probably frying his brain like fatback bacon, yet he was the only one who seemed concerned. “Someone do something. Get some icepacks or cold water or something. Why are you just standing there?”

Before he could receive more platitudes about how it was perfectly natural for a person to reach temperatures that literally blistered the skin, Thane stopped jerking and mumbling and slumped back in his chair, completely motionless. There was no flickering of his eyelids, no rising and falling of his chest that indicated he was breathing.

Instead of slowing decreasing, though, Thane’s temperature soared, burning so hot that Zasha cried out as he tumbled from his seat to the floor. Still, he wouldn’t release his mate’s hand. Thane had been very clear on that, and no matter how much pain it caused him, he wouldn’t give up until Thane was safely back where he belonged.

“Zasha, let go,” Nix whispered as he knelt behind him on the floor and squeezed his shoulder. “You need to let go.”

“No.” Zasha shook his head firmly, gritting his teeth to keep from yelling again. An unholy stench permeated the air as the skin on his hand blackened like the outside of a marshmallow held over a campfire. “I can’t. I’m not supposed to let go.”

“It’s okay.” Nix spoke quietly, calmly, as though he was soothing a small, frightened child. “Everything is going to be just fine. It’s okay to let go now.”

“No!” Zasha growled at him, increasing the pressure of his grip on Thane’s hand.

Thane was coming home. Zasha had promised to be there, promised to lead his lover back from the darkness. He didn’t care if his whole damn hand burned off at the wrist. He wasn’t letting go until Thane was awake and told him it was okay.

“Let…go.” It wasn’t Nix this time, though. The voice was weak and wispy, barely audible over the pounding of Zasha’s own heartbeat. “Thane…is…fine.” Then Mikko’s eyelids drooped closed once again, and his head lolled to one side, resting against his pillow.

“See?” Nix smiled reassuringly. “Everything is fine now. I promise that nothing bad will happen, okay? We need to get that hand looked at, though.”

Thane’s temperature was already returning to normal. It would take a bit longer for Zasha’s hand to heal, but he’d manage. “I’m okay. I just want to stay until he wakes up.”

“Stubborn,” Thane slurred. “C’mere, lieveling.”

“Thane? Thane, are you okay?” Jumping up from the floor, Zasha straddled his lover’s thighs to grip his handsome face with his uninjured hand. “Hey, you.”

“Why?” Slipping his fingers under Zasha’s wrist, Thane lifted his wounded hand and pressed his lips to the charred skin. “Why didn’t you let go?”

“You told me not to.”

Thane rolled his eyes and snorted. “The one time you actually listen.” Stripping his sodden shirt off over his head, he ignored everyone else in the room and pulled Zasha more securely into his lap. Then he tilted his head to the side, baring the side of his throat.

Zasha wasn’t overly fond of public displays of affection, but this time was a bit different. His hand did throb like the ten shades of hell, and despite his noble intentions from earlier, he really didn’t want to lose the appendage.

Skimming his nose along the pulsing vein in Thane’s throat, Zasha inhaled deeply, shivering from the intoxicating scent. With a possessive growl, he embedded his canines into the supple flesh while a single thought chased itself around in his head.

“Mine.”

Chapter Eighteen

“I don’t know!” Thane threw his hands in the air as he stomped from one side of the library to the other. “Yes, something strange happened while I was in Purgatory, but no one but Mikko was connected to me when I jumped.” Other than the unexplainable rise in his body temperature, there had been no other indication in the three weeks since then that anything was amiss.

He would have sensed if there had been something wrong, and he was sure no one had slipped between worlds with him and his brother. As far as he could see, Torren was just being paranoid. The guy was always looking over his shoulder, and he probably slept with one eye open.

“Thane, you didn’t see yourself,” Torren argued. “You fucking barbequed your mate just from touching him. That’s not normal.”

“Thank you for that assessment, Dr. Obvious.” He really didn’t need the reminder. Zasha hadn’t suffered any lasting effects. His hand had fully healed within a few days, but Thane was struggling with his feelings of guilt over what had happened. “What do you want me to say, Torren? I told you everything I know.”

“I just want to be sure that nothing came through that barrier with you.”

Thane could understand that, but the guy had been grilling him about it for weeks. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Just tell him.” Nix glanced between Torren and Thane