The Savage Grace: A Dark Divine Novel(18)

“Marcos?” I asked, with the realization that he was missing. “Where’s Marcos?”

Talbot shook his head.

At first I was confused, but then I knew what he meant without his saying it out loud.

Marcos was dead.

I didn’t have time to react to this revelation. A loud cracking noise above my head warned me that another portion of the corridor ceiling was about to fall—and it would come down right on top of us. I pushed all my emotions into my powers and made a run for the exit with my father in my arms and Talbot trailing behind me. My left ankle throbbed, threatening to break for a third time in a week, and just when I didn’t think I could go any farther, Brent, Ryan, and Zach appeared at the end of the corridor. I blinked at them through my smoke-stung eyes, wondering if this was a miracle or a mirage.

“Help,” I gasped.

The boys approached slowly at first, like their own inner wolves were physically trying to hold them back from the fire. Then, with what looked like a burst of unified courage, Ryan and Brent grabbed Talbot, and Zach took Dad from my arms. Together we pulled them from the corridor, just as the ceiling caved in behind us.

LATER

Four cop cars and three large fire trucks cordoned off the street outside the burning building. Their red-and-white flashing lights mixed with the yellow-and-orange flames, creating a garish portrait in front of me as I watched through the open doors from the back of an ambulance. My breath fogged inside an oxygen mask that sent clean air down my burning throat and into my aching lungs.

Dad was in the next ambulance over. I couldn’t stand not being able to see what they were doing to him. Why hadn’t they left for the ER already? I suddenly remembered seeing in a TV show once that paramedics can’t move the ambulance if they’re using a defibrillator. oh, no! I clawed at the mask and pulled it from my face. I’d started to climb out of the vehicle when the paramedic who had looked me over grabbed my arm.

“You can’t go yet, miss.”

Without thinking, I pushed him away—harder than I’d meant to—and he stumbled into the gurney I’d just left. “I need to be with my father,” I said, and staggered out of the truck.

“No, miss”—a fireman tried to stop me—“go back.”

“He’s my father!” I pushed past him toward the other ambulance.

“Let her through,” a female paramedic shouted. “She’s needed.”

The woman waved me over. I followed her around the big open doors of the ambulance and almost lost my footing when I saw the scene unfolding inside the back of the truck. Two paramedics worked over my unconscious father, who lay so still on a gurney, strapped to a backboard. One held an oxygen mask over my father’s face while the other prepared an IV. Dad had absolutely no reaction to the needle the woman stuck in his arm. I tried to imagine that he was just sleeping. Tried not to think about how he looked barely alive.

“Daddy?” I hadn’t called him that since I was eight.

The paramedic looked up from kneading a bag of liquid into the IV.

“This is his daughter,” the woman who had called me over told her before she could protest my presence.

The paramedic in the ambulance nodded. “My name is Jen, honey. What’s yours?” Her voice was soothing but urgent at the same time.

“Grace,” I said, my voice barely audible. “Why haven’t you left yet?”

“We’ve assessed his needs, and we’re doing what we can for him before we leave. He’s lucky, I’m certified to give him pain meds before we reach the ER.”

My breaths started to come much too quickly.

“Is your father allergic to any medications?”

“Um, I…” My head felt light, and suddenly my brain didn’t want to work. I knew he was allergic to something, but I couldn’t think of what it was. I couldn’t think of anything other than watching the way my father’s chest barely moved in response to the oxygen pump. My own breaths came so fast now I feared I was going to hyperventilate. Just then, I felt someone else’s presence next to me. I looked up and found Talbot standing there, wrapped in a thick blanket that was supposed to help prevent shock. Soot smudged his face, and his hair looked gray from the ashy dust that clung to his disheveled mane.

He put his hand on my back. “Deep breaths, kid. You won’t be able to help if you pass out.”

I nodded and took in several deep breaths and concentrated some of my healing power down my ragged throat. “Um, penicillin.” I finally remembered that’s why my mom never let any doctors prescribe it to us kids—just in case we were allergic like my dad.

“What’s his blood type?”

“O negative.”

“Are you a match? They may need to do a blood transfusion at the hospital.”

“Transfusion?”

I looked back at Talbot—only one question playing on my mind. If Dad were given a blood transfusion with my blood, would he be infected by the werewolf curse? Talbot gave me a look like he understood my unspoken question. His eyes seemed to say, I really don’t know.

“No,” I lied. It was too risky.

“Anyone else in your family? His is a hard blood type to match.”

Jude, I thought. As a nurse, my mom insisted we all know one another’s blood type. She kept them written on a laminated card in her wallet.