The glass shattered with a crash.
A black tide burst through the window, sweeping up the medicine bottles on the table before surging along the floor toward Yang Ming.
Yang Ming did not retreat.
He pulled Jane behind him with one hand and pressed the second button beneath the counter with the other.
The iron door to the underground ward was only halfway down when the black substance crawled in along the wall. Rather than ram the door, it split into a dozen slender tendrils and slipped through the gap like a swarm of red ants searching for blood vessels.
"Thor." Yang Ming took off his gold-rimmed glasses and tucked them into his breast pocket. "Take Jane to the stairs."
Thor stood rooted to the spot, holding a mop.
"Me?"
"You have neither divine power nor a weapon right now." Yang Ming glanced at him. "The only thing you can do is get an ordinary person out of the fight."
Thor's face fell.
"But I'm-"
"The prince of Asgard," Yang Ming finished. "I know. Your Highness, protect her first."
Crimson Thorn hung down from the shattered window frame.
Her slender body resembled a soaking-wet black evening gown, with crimson streaks trailing from her shoulder blades to her waist. She did not attack immediately, merely surveying the clinic with narrow black eyes.
The medicine cabinet.
The operating table.
The iron door to the underground ward.
Finally, she looked at Yang Ming.
"You aren't a host."
Her voice went straight into his mind.
Yang Ming's brows shifted slightly.
"And you aren't here to register for an appointment."
Crimson Thorn's mouth split into a grin.
"Your neural responses are fast."
"Thank you. Take one more step, and I'll slow them down for you."
Thor wrapped an arm around Jane's shoulders and backed away.