Chapter Two
Braden stared at Maeve. She seemed different or maybe his vision had changed. She was seated on the side of his bed.
Though he still felt death clinging to his heels, the grip had lessened. His self-healing had finally kicked in.
Maeve had never looked more beautiful. Her red hair was pulled back on the sides and not as unruly as usual. She had what was called an oval face. His wife, Laura, had explained it to him once. It meant Maeve could wear her hair any way she wanted and she’d always be pretty.
Stupid the things he could remember about his wife. He huffed a sigh.
Maeve had extraordinary light blue eyes. Unforgettable.
She was tall, too. Probably six-foot.
He’d gotten to know her over the past several months. She was a grounded female with a straight-speaking style that appealed to his wolf. In fact, she was as level-headed as any of his wolves.
His wolves. Right. He was due to head back to Savage soon to support his alpha-bond. Jeremy was doing a great job as his lead beta. He was also growing in power and strength. He’d be an alpha soon which would mean a dominance fight, something all wolves loved.
Why was he thinking about Jeremy?
His brain still sloshed. Sometimes he thought he heard Laura’s voice. He glanced around the room. Was she here now? Was she with him? Wait, had she come to him recently as a ghost? He couldn’t quite remember.
Maeve looked around as well. “We’re alone.”
A thought struck and he glanced at the pillow next to him. Why was it indented and the covers pushed back as though someone had gotten out of bed? His nostrils flared and elongated slightly. He could smell Maeve had been in the same bed. But why? He knew her. He’d even had a few solid fantasies about her, or maybe a few dozen. But he’d never once tried to initiate sex.
He slid his head to the right so he could look at her again. He was weaker than hell. “Have we been sleeping together?”
A smile touched her lips. “Not exactly, but we’ve shared my bed.” She rushed on. “It was the only way, Braden. I’m sorry. I know it’s not what you would have wanted.”
“Why the hell was it ‘the only way’?” She sounded way to dramatic for his warrior head.
“You weren’t in a simple coma. You were delirious, shouting at all hours, ripping yourIVout. Your stitches.”
He put a hand on his chest. “I know there were wounds here, but stitches? Why on earth would I ever need stitches?”
“You had major surgery. Your ribs had collapsed your lungs and one of them had pierced your heart. Alfonso took care of all of it.”
“Right. He was here. Alfonso. A few minutes ago.” He’d removed his catheter, but he didn’t say that to Maeve.
“You were transfused as well.”
“With your blood?” The thought he might have witches blood running through his veins, troubled him. He was a wolf.
“Mine and a couple of shifters.”
She looked pale. Another thought hit him. “How many times did you donate?”
“Twice.”
“Wait. How long have I been here?”
“Four days.”
He shifted his gaze away from her and could feel his brow tighten. He could remember lying face down in the rocky dirt of the Graveyard, blood flowing over his face from a head injury. “I should have died out there.”
“You would have. And yes, you should have. We don’t know why you survived.”
He remembered. “It was my wife. She came to me. She said I was supposed to live another two hundred years. How could she come to me?”
