Lover Mine (33 page)

“It’s okay,” Qhuinn whispered. “You don’t have to say it out loud. I know what you want.”

Blay felt a cold sweat break out over his chest and his hands cranked down on the clothes he’d picked out for himself.

“Who,” Qhuinn asked hoarsely. “Who do you want.”

There was another long pause and then she said one word: “You.”

Blay stood up. “I’ll leave you two.”

He was utterly blind as he made for the exit and he snagged his leather jacket on his way on instinct.

As he shut the door, he heard Qhuinn say, “We’ll go very slowly. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to go very slowly.”

Out in the hall, Blay put some fast distance between himself and his bedroom, and it wasn’t until he came up to the double doors that led into the staff wing that he realized he was walking around in a robe. Slipping into the set of stairs that led to the movie theater on the third floor, he changed into his clothes in front of the dormant popcorn machine.

The simmering anger deep in his gut was a kind of cancer, eating him up. But it was so baseless. So useless.

Blay stood facing the shelves of DVDs, the titles on the jackets nothing but a visual pattern to his eyes.

What he ended up reaching for wasn’t a movie, however.

It was a slip of paper from his coat pocket.

A
s the door to the recovery room shut, Xhex felt like she should say something. Out loud. To Rehvenge. “So. Ah.” She pushed at her hair. “How are you—”

He cut off her awkward rambling by striding over to her, that red cane of his jabbing into the tile, his loafers clapping heel-toe, heel-toe. His expression was fierce, his violet eyes burning.

It was enough to give her a complex.

Pulling her sheet up higher, she muttered, “What the hell is wrong with y—”

Rehv swooped down with his long arms and gathered her up against him, tucking her with vital care to his chest. Ducking his head to hers, his voice was deep and grave.

“I never thought I would see you again.”

As he shuddered, she lifted her hands up to his torso. After holding herself back for a moment . . . she embraced him as fully as he did her.

“You smell the same,” she said roughly, putting her nose right into the collar of his fine silk shirt. “Oh . . . God, you smell the same.”

The expensive spiced cologne took her back to the days at ZeroSum when it was the four of them: him at the helm, iAm on the books, Trez on operations, her on security.

The scent was the hook that snagged her and pulled her through the keyhole of the abduction, tying her to her past, bridging the horrid span of the last three weeks.

She didn’t want the tether, though. It was just going to make her departure harder. Better to be grounded in immediate events and immediate goals.

And then just float away.

Rehv pulled back. “I don’t want to wear you out, so I’m not going to stay. But I needed . . . Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Together, they held on to each other’s arms and as always she felt that commonality between them, their shared half- blood sides latching on as
symphaths
did with one another.

“You need anything?” he asked. “Food?”

“Doc Jane said nothing solid for another couple hours.”

“Okay. Listen, we’ll talk about the future—”

“In the future.” As she spoke, she projected into her mind an image of them in deep discussion. Which was produced solely to buy him off in the event he was reading her.

Unclear whether he bought it. “I live here now, by the way,” he said.

“Where am I exactly?”

“Brotherhood’s training center.” He frowned. “I thought you’d been here before.”

“Not this part. But yeah, I thought that’s where they’d taken me. Ehlena was really good to me, by the way. In there.” She nodded in the direction of the OR. “And before you ask, I’m going to be fine. Doc Jane said so.”

“Good.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ll go get John.”

“Thanks.”

At the door, Rehv paused and then shot narrowed amethyst eyes over his shoulder. “Listen up.” The
asshole
went unsaid. “You matter. Not just to me, but to a lot of people. So you do what you have to and get your head right. But don’t think I’m clueless about what you’re planning for afterward.”

She glared right back at him. “Fucking sin-eater.”

“You know it.” Rehv cocked an eyebrow. “And I know you too well. Don’t be a fucker, Xhex. You’ve got all of us on your side and you can get through this.”

As he ducked out, she found his faith in her resilience admirable. But she wasn’t buying it.

In fact, just the thought of any future beyond Lash’s funeral sent a wave of exhaustion blowing through her bloodstream. With a groan, she closed her eyes and prayed that for the love of all that was holy, Rehvenge would stay out of her biz . . .

Xhex woke up with a gasp. She had no idea how long she’d been out. Or where John—

Well, that one was answered: John was on the floor across from her bed, lying on his side, his head resting on the inside of the arm he’d curled up into a pillow. He looked tired even as he slept, his brows tight, his mouth in a weary grimace.

The comfort she took in seeing him was a stunner, but she didn’t fight it. Not enough energy—and besides, no witnesses.

“John?”

The instant she said his name, he was up off the linoleum, in a fighting stance, with his warrior’s body between her and the door to the hall. Pretty clear he was prepared to shred anything that threatened her.

Which was . . . really sweet.

And better than a bedside bouquet that would have left her sneezing.

“John . . . come here.”

He waited a moment, cocking his head as if listening for sounds. Then he dropped his fists and walked over. The instant his eyes swung toward her, his brutal glare and his bared fangs faded into a gut-wrenching compassion.

He went right for his pad, wrote something, and flashed it.

“No, thanks. I’m not hungry yet.” Which had always been true for her. After a feeding, she didn’t eat for hours, sometimes a full day. “What I would love . . .”

Her eyes shifted to the bathroom in the corner.

Shower
, he wrote, and showed her.

“Yeah. Jesus . . . I would love some hot water.”

He was all about the nursey-nursey, going in to start the spray, setting out towels and soap and a toothbrush on the counter.

Feeling like a piker, she went to sit up . . . and it became clear someone had tied a house around her chest; it literally felt like she was lifting a two-story colonial up with her shoulders. What got her legs swinging off the side of the mattress was a lot of effort—and the conviction that if she couldn’t at least get partially vertical on her own, he was going to call the doc and she was going to lose her shower.

John came in just as her bare soles hit the floor and he was Johnny-on-the-spot with the steadying arm as she stood up. When the sheets fell away from her, they both had a moment of . . .
Holy shit
—
naked
. But this was hardly a time for modesty.

“What should I do about the dressing?” she murmured, looking down at the white bandage that stretched across her pelvis.

When John glanced over at his pad, as if he were trying to decide whether he could reach it while still holding her up, she said, “No, I don’t want Doc Jane. I’m just going to take it off.”

She picked a corner free and as she weaved on her feet, she figured it probably would have been better to do this lying down—and under medical supervision. But fuck it.

“Oh . . .” she breathed as she slowly revealed the line of black stitches. “Damn . . . V’s female is good with a needle and thread, huh.”

John took the bloodstained gauze pack and nothing-but-netted it into the trash can in the corner. And then he just waited, as if he was very aware she was thinking about getting back on the bed.

For some reason, the idea she’d been cut open made her light-headed.

“Let’s do this,” she said gruffly.

He let her set the pace, which turned out to be only slightly quicker than reverse.

“Can you turn the lights off in there?” she said as they shuffled along, her baby steps measuring at the most three inches. “I don’t want to see what I look like in that mirror over the sink.”

The instant he was in range, his arm snaked out and he clicked the switch on the wall.

“Thanks.”

The feel of the humid air and the sound of the falling water eased her mind and her spine. Trouble was, the tension had helped keep her up and now she was sagging.

“John . . .” Was that her voice? So weak and thin. “John, will you get in with me. Please.”

Talk about your long silences. But then in the light that streamed in from over at the bed, he nodded.

“While you undress out there,” she said, “you can shut the door and I’ll use the loo.”

With that, she gripped the bar that was bolted into the wall and maneuvered herself over. There was another pause, and then John stepped back and the light source was dimmed.

After she took care of business, she dragged herself up and cracked the door.

What she got was that pad in her face:
I would have left my boxers on but I don’t wear them under my leathers.

“That’s okay. I’m hardly the shy kind.”

Although that proved to be not entirely accurate as the two of them got into the stall shower together. You’d think after all she’d been through that a little skin, in a darkened room, with a male she trusted and had already been with, wouldn’t have been a big deal. It was, though.

Especially as his body brushed against the back of her as he shut the glass door.

Concentrate on the water, she told herself, wondering if she’d lost her damn mind.

As she tilted her head up, she started to list to the side and his big hand slipped under her arm to hold her vertical.

“Thank you,” she said roughly.

Awkward as the situation was, the hot water felt great as it bled into her hair down to her scalp, and the idea that she could clean herself off was suddenly more of a priority than everything John Matthew wasn’t wearing.

“I forgot the soap, damn it.”

John pulled another lean and lunge, his hips pushing into hers. And although she tensed up, bracing herself for something sexual . . . he wasn’t aroused.

Which was a relief. After the stuff Lash had done to her—

As the soap was pressed into her palm, she locked down all thoughts of what had happened in that bedroom and just wet the bar under the spray. Wash herself. Dry off. Back to bed. That’s all she had to think about.

The strong, distinct smell of Dial wafted up and she had to blink fast.

It was exactly what she would have chosen herself.

 

 

Amazing, John thought as he stood behind Xhex.

If you looked down at your cock and balls and told them that if they behaved badly you would slice them up and bury them in the backyard, they actually listened to you.

He was going to have to remember this.

The shower stall was a generous size for a male, but it was close quarters with the two of them and he had to keep his ass pressed against the cool tile to make one hundred percent sure that Mr. Bright Idea and his twin sidekicks, Dumber and Dumberer, stayed away from her.

After all, the pep talk had done wonders, but he wasn’t going to push it.

Besides, he remained shocked that Xhex was so weak he needed to hold her upright—even after feeding. Then again, you didn’t just shake off four weeks of hell after a two-hour nap. Which was how long she’d been asleep, according to his watch.

As she hit the shampoo, she arched her back, her wet hair brushing against his chest before she turned around to rinse the suds. He switched his grip as necessary, holding first her right upper arm, then her left, then again her right.

Trouble hit when she bent over to wash her legs.

“Shit—” Her balance shifted so fast, his grip popped off her slick, soapy biceps and she fell right against his body.

He had a brief, vivid impression of slippery, wet, and warm and then he slammed himself back against the wall and scrambled for a less full-contact way of keeping her upright.

“I wish there was a seat here,” she said. “I can’t seem to keep my damn balance.”

There was a pause . . . and then he took the soap from her. Moving slowly, he traded places with her, easing her into the corner he’d parked his ass in, and putting her palms on his shoulders.

As he knelt down, he turned the Dial bar in his hands, working up a good froth while the water pounded on the back of his head and rivered down his spine. The tile was hard under his kneecaps and one set of his toes pressed into the drain as if the thing had teeth and was taking a nibble, but he didn’t care.

He was about to touch her. And that was all that mattered.

Wrapping his hand around her ankle, he gave her a gentle tug, and after a moment, she eased her weight to the opposite side and gave him her foot. He put the bar of soap down next to the door and smoothed over her sole and up onto her heel, massaging, cleaning . . .

Worshiping without expecting anything in return.

He went slowly, especially as he headed up onto her leg, pausing every now and again to make sure he didn’t push on any of the bruises. Her calf muscle was rock-hard, and the bones that went up into her knee seemed strong as a male’s, but she was dainty in her own way. At least compared to him.

As he went even higher, up onto her thigh, he gravitated to the outside. The last thing he wanted her to worry about was him coming on to her, and when he got to her hip, he stopped and picked up the soap again.

After rinsing the bottom of her foot off, he tapped her other ankle, and felt a spear of relief as she obligingly gave him a chance to repeat what he’d done.