Marissa leaned in and took a bloody hand. “My brother is going to take very good care of you.”

For a split second, she worried whether she should have kept quiet about the fact that a male was going to treat her. But the female didn’t seem to be tracking.

Dearest Virgin Scribe, what if she died before he got here?

Marissa crouched down, tucking her blond hair behind her ears. “You’re safe, it’s going to be all right.” That one eye looped over to her face. “Do you have kin we can call? Is there someone who we can get for you?”

The female’s head went back and forth.

“No? Are you sure?” The eye shut. “Can you tell me who did this to you?”

That face turned away.

Shit.

Backing off, Marissa went out to the shallow hall in the front of the house. There were long, thin windows on either side of the door, and she looked out to the lawn. The trees that had been so brilliantly colored just weeks before had molted their spectacular red and gold and yellow leaves, the spindly limbs underneath revealed like the bones of a too-thin dog.

It was impossible not to glance at the mirror next to the door and check to see that her hair was in place, and her makeup was holding up even after a ten-hour day.

Back when she had lived with her brother, she had worn silk gowns and heavy jewels, and had her hair styled up high on her head. Now? She had a pair of Ann Taylor slacks on, a blouse with a stand-up collar, and a pair of Cole Haan driving shoes on her feet because they were comfy. No jewelry other than a tiny gold cross that she wore because Butch’s God was important to him and her hellren had given her the necklace during his last Christmas season. Oh, and she had a pair of pearl studs in her ears.

In spite of Butch’s transition having been jump-started, and his status as a Brother and a relation of the King, her male remained fundamentally human, everything from his Catholic belief system to his taste in books and movies to his opinions on what he wanted in a “wife,” a product of his upbringing among Homo sapiens.

Touching the gold chain on her neck, she frowned as she had to fight the urge to take the thing off because her brother wouldn’t approve of it.

But come on, whether the symbol of her mating was on or off her throat, it wasn’t as if that changed anything. In her brother’s eyes, she had taken a rat without a tail as a hellren, and that fall from grace would never be forgiven.

A split second later, two shadows materialized out of thin air on the sidewalk: one taller and masculine, dressed in a white coat, the other smaller and feminine in a traditional nursing uniform.

As they approached and were illuminated in the security lights, Marissa rubbed her sweaty palms on the seat of her pants. Havers looked exactly the same as he always had, from the bow tie and the horn-rimmed glasses to the dark hair parted on the side and kept in Mad Men order.

At the last minute, Marissa switched the cross around to her nape and opened the door. Trying not to sound as if she were nervous, she announced, “She is in the parlor.”

No “Hello, how are you?” or “Hey, have you stopped being a prejudicial asshole?”—but then again, this was a medical emergency, not a social call.

“Marissa,” her brother said, nodding his head and stepping by her. “This is Cannest, my head nurse.”

“My pleasure, I’m sure,” the nurse murmured.

Marissa nodded at the female. “This way.”

Her legs felt stiff as she led them deeper into the modest house with its common furnishings, and for some absurd reason she pictured herself as a flamingo, her knees facing the wrong way. Meanwhile, all manner of memories boiled under the surface of her conscious mind, only the psychic weight of the tragedy unfolding in the other room keeping a lid on her emotions.

Her brother stopped at the archway into the parlor and gave his doctor’s bag to his assistant. “My nurse will do the triage, and advise me as to her condition. It will be better than having a male perform the examination.”

Marissa glanced into Havers’s eyes for the first time, and noted that his stare had remained the identical shade of blue that hers was. As if that would have changed, though?

“That is very considerate of you,” she said before looking to his associate. “Come with me.”

In the parlor, the nurse went directly to the sofa, and was kind to Rhym as she took the staffer’s place. The victim stirred as if recognizing that there was a new presence before her, and then moaned as her pulse and blood pressure were taken.

Marissa stood off to the side, crossing her arms over her chest and putting her hand up to her mouth. The movements were good, she told herself. It meant that the poor girl was still alive.

“Be careful,” she blurted as the nurse felt down that arm and tears mixed with the blood on that beaten face.

Dear God, who had done this? It had to be a member of the species—she couldn’t catch the scent of anything human on her.

Marissa had to drop her eyes as the exam became more intimate, and she motioned for Rhym to join her by the archway, as if she were protecting the privacy her brother was already respecting.

After what felt like forever, the nurse spoke quietly with the female and then came back over, nodding for Marissa to follow her out to where Havers was standing with his hands clasped behind his back. He bowed his head as he listened to his nurse speak in a quiet tone.

“She has extensive internal injuries,” the female reported. “She will have to be operated on immediately if she is going to survive. The arm is the least of the problems.”

Havers nodded and glanced at Marissa. “I took the liberty of arranging for transport. It should arrive in approximately fifteen minutes.”

“I’m going in the van with her.” Marissa got ready for a fight. “Until her blood comes, I am her ghardian.”

“But of course.”

“And I will assume the cost of treatment.”

“That will not be necessary.”

“It is very necessary. Allow me to get my things.”

Leaving them, she spoke to Rhym, and then she ran up to her office and got her phone, her purse, and her coat.

She thought about calling Butch, as there was some chance she wasn’t going to be home for the day, but she wasn’t going to know that for a little bit. And unfortunately, if she dialed up her hellren every time a crisis hit here at work? She would wear out his ringer.

Halfway down the stairs, she realized there was another reason she wasn’t reaching out to him.

Too close to what had happened to his sister.

And there was a possibility things could be completely the same if this female died from her injuries.

No, she thought as she returned to the first floor. He had enough on his plate without having old triggers scatter his grey matter yet again.

“I’m ready,” she told her brother, as if daring him to change his mind.

“The ambulance is two minutes out. I shall need to be in it with her as well—she is going to require a feeding if she has any chance of surviving.”

Havers gave her a little bow and retraced his steps to the front door. As he turned the corner, Marissa shook her head.

The idea that he would give of his own blood to help some unknown female, who was probably naught but a civilian, was both amazing … and a source of frustration.

That the male could be so kind to his patients and so cruel to her personally seemed like an insupportable contradiction.

But that was the glymera for you. Double standards abounded.

And typically were used to screw daughters, sisters, and mothers.

Chapter Three

As Butch stood in the BDB mansion’s grand, colorful foyer, he frowned and looked at his phone. He’d checked the time on his Audemars Piguet watch about three minutes prior, but figured maybe his Samsung whatever-the-fuck-it-was might give him an answer he could live with better.