This Side of the Grave (#5 Night Huntress)

“He’s getting dressed,” she said in a crisp tone while the ammonialike scent of annoyance drifted from her.
“I take it he’s not supposed to be up doing that?” I asked her.
“No, but that’s not stopping him,” she replied bluntly.
“I can hear you, Anne,” my uncle snapped.
She gave me another pointed look before lowering her voice to a whisper. “Don’t let him overexert himself.”
A round of coughing prefaced my uncle muttering, “I can still hear you.” My brows rose. Whatever was wrong with Don’s health, his ears were
sharp as ever.
After another series of fumbling sounds, my uncle opened the door. He had on a slightly wrinkled pullover shirt paired with gray pants that
matched the color of his eyes. For a second, I just blinked, realizing this was the first time I’d seen Don with his hair mussed and wearing something
other than a suit and tie.
“Cat. I’m afraid you’ve caught me a bit by surprise.”
The irony in his voice was familiar, even if his appearance wasn’t. In the months since I’d seen my uncle, he seemed to have aged ten years. The
lines around his mouth and eyes were pronounced, his gray hair was nearly white, and his impeccable posture was slightly stooped. I swallowed the
lump that worked its way into my throat.
“You know me,” I managed. “Always a pain in the ass.”
Don reached out to squeeze my shoulder. “No you’re not. Not even when you’re trying to be.”
The way he said that, combined with the sadness that flitted across his expression, almost made me lose it. Right then I knew that his condition
was terminal. Otherwise, Don would’ve told me with sardonic affection that yes, I was a colossal pain in the ass and always would be. Not held on to
my shoulder with a grip that trembled even as he managed to flash me a smile.
All the things I’d dismissed before came back in sharp focus. Don’s recurring cough the past several times I’d spoken to him, brushed off as “just
a cold.” The plans canceled at the last minute, rescheduled just to be canceled again . . .
I wrapped my arms around him, feeling the weight loss that his clothes concealed, taking in a deep breath that filled my lungs with the scent of
antiseptics, sweat, and sickness. More tears burned my eyes that I blinked back. Whatever’s wrong with him, vampire blood will cure it, I reminded
myself, trying to get a grip on my emotions. Don was probably just being stubborn and refusing to drink any, even though he of all people knew the
amazing healing powers of undead blood.
Well, I’d get him to rethink that stupid decision.
“So, I hear you didn’t want me to know you were sick,” I said, managing to sound mildly chiding instead of hysterically worried. Point for me.
“You’ve had enough to deal with lately,” Don replied.
I let go of him and swept my gaze around the room. His bed was one of those adjustable ones where the head and foot could be raised, but it
lacked the normal hospital rails on either side of it. An open laptop was perched on a rolling tray nearby, alongside several stacked folders, his cell
phone, pagers, and an in-house office phone.
“How typical of you not to stop working even though you looked like death warmed over,” I said in a half-joking, half-censuring way.
My uncle gave me a baleful look. “I might look like death warmed over, but now you are death warmed over, remember?”
I would’ve smiled at his quip, but I was too worried by the grayish tone to his skin and the slow, painful way he moved as he took a step away
from me. My uncle always had a commanding presence no matter the circumstances, but now, he seemed frail. That scared me more than facing
enemy forces while unarmed.
“What’s wrong that’s got you here?” I asked, again controlling the fear that made my voice higher than normal.
“I have a bad flu,” Don replied, his words roughened by a cough.
“Don’t lie to her.”
Bones’s voice flowed into the room, and a few booted strides later, so did he. His dark brown gaze focused on Don, who visibly stiffened.
“Your abilities don’t give you the right to—”
“My bloodline does,” I interrupted Don, clenching my hands into fists. “You’re my family. That means I have a right to know.” And if you don’t tell
me, I’ll just green-eye your nurse until she does, I mentally added.
Don was silent for a long moment, looking between me and Bones. Finally, his shoulder lifted in a faint shrug.
“I have lung cancer.” His smile was strained, but his trademark dry wit still rose to the occasion. “Appears those warnings on cigarette packages