Fawn, in her beautiful sable wolf form, lowered herself and curled up at Jame’s feet.
So I didn’t have to worry about Myra dealing with the weres. Good enough.
Jame wasn’t looking much better. He hadn’t once looked away from Ben, his eyes unblinking.
His arm had healed enough that he wasn’t bleeding anymore, but he hadn’t pulled it away from Ben’s mouth.
It was like he could do no more than breathe in short, shallow pants and wait for Ben to wake up. As if he were incapable of speech, thought, action, his whole existence hanging on Ben’s survival.
The needle was a tiny pinch as Mykal guided it into place. He messed with the tubing, and made sure everything was good to go.
“Do I need to do anything?”
“His body will draw it at the rate it can absorb. Just try to relax. Let me know if you experience anything stronger than a stinging sensation.”
I leaned my head back against the recliner. I wanted to keep an eye on Bathin, Rossi, Myra, and everyone else who were now in the room.
But the stinging sensation of blood being sucked out of me was a little distracting and more than a little painful. It wasn’t more than I could bear, but it was still uncomfortable. I closed my eyes, hoping to gather my energy. Soon the mumbling of voices in the room started to fade and a warm hand, Ryder’s, linked with mine.
I soaked in his presence, his strength and warmth, and nodded off.
Chapter 11
I woke, my mouth too dry, my eyes too sticky. I stared at the ceiling trying to figure out where I was.
My bedroom, the blinds pulled closed, just an edge of light fingering in around them.
I didn’t remember coming home. I rubbed my face, and the lump of cotton taped to the inside of my arm pulled tight.
That was the last thing I remembered—giving blood. I searched for how I’d wound up in my own bed. Nope. Nothing.
The sound of someone moving around in the kitchen leaked through the door, along with low voices and the smell of bacon and coffee.
Bacon and coffee was good.
My stomach growled in protest. I hadn’t gotten a chance to eat the dinner Mykal had delivered to us, though I had a vague recollection of gagging down some lemonade and chocolate mint cookies.
Which were, note to self, a terrible combination.
I pushed blankets away and found I was in the same T-shirt I’d worn yesterday and panties, but no longer wore a bra or jeans.
Probably Myra. Hopefully Myra. If not Myra, Ryder.
I rubbed at my face again then dug in my dresser drawer for jammie pants and a change of clothes. Someone was in my house. I figured it had to be someone I knew since I had all those fancy locks in place now.
I slipped into my jammie pants and walked out of my bedroom down to the bathroom.
Bathin sat on my couch, wearing black slacks and a white dress shirt that glazed his chest and flat stomach and was unbuttoned three below the collar. He flipped through one of the Hellboy comics Jean had let me borrow and I’d forgotten to return
I didn’t think I’d made any sound, but his eyes flicked to me, his fingertip pinching the edge of the paper. His gaze roamed. It could have felt creepy or like he was checking me out, but instead it seemed more like he was gauging if I was steady on my feet, and if I was injured.
Not caring, exactly, but maybe concern?
“Morning, Delaney Reed,” he said in that whiskey-and-fire voice.
I nodded. “You and who else?”
“Your boyfriend’s in the kitchen. He’s on the phone with your sister.”
