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Max had messaged Chase after the whole fallout of Friday night but had not seen him. Chase was as buoyant and carefree as ever, like nothing bad had happened. Max was relieved to see it. Then again, as scary as it had been, the experience likely hadn’t had the same impact on Chase. Max was the one who knew exactly what it meant to be at a vampire’s mercy.
With a smile, Chase greeted Franklin. “Hello. Where’s Fernando?”
“I expect him shortly.”
“Oh good.” To Max, Chase said, “Fernando’s the nicest man you’ll ever meet. Don’t be worried about meeting him. I was, the first time, but he’s really a great guy.”
The most terrifying vampire mafia boss in North America was nice…sure. Max could hear out of his left eye, too.
“Oh, they’re starting.”
Franklin was right. Engines were revving, the sound mingling with the thunder overhead. Max focused on Zander. He seemed utterly in his element, as comfortable on that bike as his living room couch. The helmet obscured his face but he still looked cocky. His…vampire? Not-quite-boyfriend? Whatever, Zan was off like a shot the second the lights turned green. People cheered as the racers burned rubber, engines loud as they tore down the strip. Max felt adrenaline race up his spine just watching their speed.
The other rider was nearly neck and neck with Zander. With the superbikes, one would think the human would still have a handicap. A vampire’s reflexes were better, their senses keener. Surely the human would be at a disadvantage?
The racers were only partway down the strip when the worst possible thing happened—rain.
Max almost thought he imagined the first raindrop hitting his face, but when he held out his hand, two more landed. The storm wasn’t going to hold off any longer. He’d barely registered the drops when it started coming down in sheets, covering everyone and everything, obscuring his sight from the bikes.
“Shit, this is bad.” Chase cast a worried glance at the sky. “If they hit even one oil slick out there, they’ll wipe out at these speeds. Franklin, can we call them back? Cancel the race?”
“No way to communicate while they’re out there.” Franklin did not look happy about this, running a stressed hand through his hair. “We can only hope they come back in safely. They’re almost halfway down now.”
Ronan came hustling toward them with an umbrella, which he snapped open and handed to Chase. “Both of you get under this.”
No sense getting more wet so Max obeyed the direction. His eyes, though, stayed focused on Zander.
Nothing about Zander’s speed was sensible. Adrenaline, or his sense of competitiveness, pushed him forward when common sense should have slowed him down. His opponent was of the same mindset, as he kept right on Zander’s tail, nearly catching up with him at moments before Zander put on more speed.
It all happened in a split second, but under Max’s horrified eyes, it felt like slow motion. The human rider lost control of his bike. As he went down, his front wheel collided with Zander’s back wheel, taking him down without any effort. Both riders were thrown free, skidding along the pavement and fetching up against the concrete barriers on either side.
Max’s heart leapt into his throat. He was running before he even made the conscious decision, sprinting for all he was worth down the rain-slicked pavement.
Franklin beat him there, of course, vampire that he was. He knelt at Zander’s motionless side, carefully removing his helmet.
Zander didn’t move.
Zan, oh god, Zan. Max slammed to a halt near him, looking him over with anxious eyes. That right shoulder was definitely dislocated. Zander’s racing jacket had ridden up, and his back and left hip were a shred of skinned flesh, bleeding freely. He looked so utterly still, barely breathing, that Max’s heart clenched and trembled with fear.
“Why isn’t he healing?” Franklin muttered in confusion.
Max’s head snapped around. “What?”
“He should be healing that road rash already.” Franklin looked both confused and worried as he met Max’s eyes. “When was the last time you fed him?”
“I haven’t. He’s refused to feed from me. The last thing he had was a blood bag…almost two weeks ago, now.”
Franklin’s eyes closed in fatalistic understanding. “He’s undernourished. Fuck. GET ME A STRETCHER OVER HERE!”
Undernourished? What the hell did that mean? Wait, had Zander starved himself rather than feed from Max? Had he put himself into such a state out of concern for Max? Please, someone tell him that wasn’t the case.
Franklin’s hand landed on Max’s shoulder. “When he wakes up, you must feed him. I know this isn’t the right location for it, but—”
Max threw up a hand. “I’ll do it. Don’t worry. He’ll heal better if he’s fed properly, right? Then I’ll do it.”
“Good. There’s trailers standing by for medical emergencies. Let’s get him into one, then you can feed him. Hopefully he’s awake by then.”
Two people with a stretcher clattered toward them. With help, all four lifted Zander carefully on, then carried him as quickly as feasible toward the trailers. Max noted in passing that another EMT team was already helping the human racer. Hopefully he was okay. Frankly, Max couldn’t spare him any real attention. Zander took his full energy.
