A Gathering of Angels by Cate Dean

you’re a drooling idiot.”
    He moved around to the passenger side and climbed into the car, checking his phone when his text notification chimed. “Leave the headlights off, and turn right out of the lot. I will never understand women.” She glanced over at him. “Not five minutes ago you wanted all the signs to point to Claire, and now that they do, you’re talking violence.”
    “That wasn’t Claire talking.” Not the Claire she knew, the Claire she missed with an ache that never went away. “And I’m going to find out exactly what the hell is wrong with her—even if it requires violence.”
     
    *
     
    C laire disconnected the call, and slid to the floor, shaking so badly she put the phone down before she dropped it.
    Simon knelt in front of her, enveloping her hands in his warm, solid grip. “Talk to me.”
    “Friends—God above, if Eric can track the phone, then—”
    Simon nodded. “Phones off, everyone. Pile them on the kitchen counter.” He kept his gaze on Claire as he held his phone out to Mindy Kay. The concern in those clear green eyes threatened to break her.
    “They should not be here. All I can do is get them killed, like I have with Marcus—”
    Tears blurred her vision. Horrified, she tried to free herself. Simon merely pulled her in, leaning against the wall as he gathered her into his arms. He was too strong, and she needed the comfort too badly to put up a fight.
    “I don’t know why I talked to Annie like that—no, I do. I’m terrified to face her, now that she knows the truth about me. It was easier when she thought I was dead.”
    “And that’s a story I’ll want to hear. Later. Right now, we need to take care of another friend—and it’s going to take all of us, because he’s in there fighting every attempt to help him.”
    Simon stood and held out his hand. Once Claire was on her feet, he took her arm and moved with her into the bedroom—just in time to see Marcus slap away Lea’s hand.
    “Enough.” She pulled out of Simon’s grip and limped forward, angrier with every step. Lowering herself to the bed, she braced her right hand on his chest and leaned in. “What you did back there saved all of us, Marcus—don’t interrupt.” He closed his mouth, studied her with shadowed eyes. No hint of gold edged the jade green, just the pain he could not fight. “Now it’s our turn. And I for one am not giving up on you, simply because you’ve decided to give up on yourself. You should know me better by now.”
    “Claire.” She didn’t need power to feel the pain that radiated from him, scraped his sand raw voice to nothing. “Jinn do not survive being pierced by metal. It is—how we are ended.” Swallowing, he closed his eyes. “You will merely prolong what is inevitable—”
    “Damn it—” She moved in until their noses all but touched, knowing what she said next could alienate the only people who might be able to save him. “I came back from Hell , and left behind everything I am. I feel like I’ve been pummeled within an inch of my life, and my best friend is most likely going to reject me on sight. What would you say to me if I were spouting the same self-sacrificing drivel?”
    Marcus let out a shaky breath, looked up at her. Through the pain, she saw an echo of his amusement. “The same. Not nearly as polite—gods—”
    He clutched the already soaked bed sheet. Fresh blood stained the bandage on his shoulder—the third bandage in less than an hour. Claire watched him shudder, fight to breathe, then go limp. Panic shot through her—she searched for a pulse, let out a shaky breath when she found it, slow and thready.
    Before she could ask, Simon moved to Marcus’ left side, pulling a knife out of his pocket. With a well-practiced flick he had it open.
    “Mindy Kay, hold his arm for me. Hold tight now—he’s strong, and hurting, and this will probably bring him around.” Sitting on the bed, he pushed lank curls off Marcus’ bare shoulder.