Page 352 of Immune

His headphones knock against my shoulder when we move, one side cracked, the black padding smeared with blood and dust. Of course he still has them. The world could split clean in half and Ewan Wells would probably still find a way to keep those stupid things around his neck.

A syringe bursts against the floor and clear liquid splatters across my boot.

“Oh. That’s nice,” I rasp, eyeing the liquid. “Floor drugs. Very health-and-safety-coded.”

“Don’t lick ’em,” Ewan says, voice tight against my ear.

I sigh, the sound coming out a little rattled. “You’re no fun.”

His laugh is one sharp breath against my head, terrified and relieved and furious. There and gone so fast it leaves behind a small ache that can join the rest of my pain. Then he’s moving again, fingers finding the release panel at my ankle. “Hold still.”

“I was actually thinking of doing the cha-cha through all the bullets,” I wheeze, rolling my eyes. Well, I think I roll them. I can’t really tell.

“How about we do that after?” he strains, a second before the ankle cuff snaps open.

Pain hits when my leg drops, my still-wounded knee and fresh restraint-burn blending together to make the nastiest cocktail known to man. My knee spasms and my stomach rolls. The room tips hard left, then right, then remembers I’m actually the one who’s drugged to her tits before having the audacity to keep spinning anyway.

Across the room, Fletcher fires twice.

Both shots hit where they should.

One guard goes down with a hole in his throat, and another drops behind the metal cabinet, rifle clattering from his hand. Fletcher doesn’t waste movement. He’s all broad shoulders and strength, blood on his mouth and blue eyes cold enough to freeze hell over twice before demanding it go another round.

Next to him, Xeon moves like silence has been sharpened into a person. There isn’t a bond there that pulls him to me, no thread to tell him where I hurt, and no biological compass dragging him through the room. And still, he finds every single threat that dares to turn my way.

A guard swings his weapon toward Ewan and Xeon is there before the barrel collides. He snaps the man’s arm, snatches the gun from his hands, and drives his blade under the ribs without uttering a word.

My chest aches, but not from the drugs. Not from the restraints. But from him. From the awful, beautiful fact that he came for me anyway.

Kaito reaches for the older man before I fully understand the leader is trying to slip out through the back door. One second, the man in clean gloves is moving. The next, Kaito is in front of him, dark eyes empty of everything except a single decision.

The leader freezes.

Smart.

Kaito doesn’t touch him yet.

Even smarter.

“I think you should stay,” Kaito says calmly. Quietly. Almost politely. Definitely deadly.

The last ankle cuff pops open and my legs are suddenly free. My body immediately tries to slide off the chair like it has somewhere better to be. Literally, it slides like a haunted sausage sailing down a waterslide, and Ewan catches me under the arms before I turn into a puddle of Omega on the floor. “Easy there, Tiny Terror.”

“I am beauty, I am grace, I am Miss United States,” I mutter under my breath, feeling as beautiful and graceful as a Zed standing in an algae-filled pond.

“You almost melted onto the floor,” Ewan points out, having heard my little grumble.

“Yeah. Gracefully.”

“I’d argue that it looked more like a crime scene, if you want me to be honest,” he sighs, his humor flaring brighter in the bond now than it was before.

I scoff. “Crime scenes can be graceful. Have you seen the chalk outlines they draw on the floors?”

“If you say so,” he snickers, right before he hauls me upright.

Good God above, I wish he hadn’t, because the entire world whites out around the edges. It’s like a flashbang of pain, and everything around me disappears for a really annoying second.

The bonds flare. Ewan’s smoke and clove crashes through me, not scent exactly. Not with the chemicals still swallowing the air around us. It’s more of a feeling. His fear, his hands, his heartbeat slamming against my back rapidly. Kaito’s bond follows, controlled and precise, wrapping around the furious parts of me before they can burst right out of me. Fletcher seems to anchor them both, steady and solid. Like a shield instead of a cage.