I was pretty sure I was dying.
I didn’t move when someone knocked on my door. That would just send my stomach reeling again. And considering there was nothing left in my stomach that said a lot.
“Hey, I brought you some peppermint tea. My mom says it’ll help settle your stomach.”
I waved a hand at Bob, and then wish I hadn’t when the knot working its way up my stomach tract climbed higher. I covered my mouth and tried to breathe through my nose. It wasn’t like I could get up and dash to the bathroom, and puking into the bucket beside my bed was pretty disgusting.
“Can I get you anything else?”
I swallowed tightly before answering. “A gun.”
“I thought shifters weren’t supposed to get sick.”
“Me, too.” Well, we could get sick, but it took something really nasty to take us down, which made me wonder what exactly I had. My first thought was food poisoning, except Bob and Shade weren’t sick. Just me.
Lucky, lucky me.
“Shade said we need to get some liquids in you or you’re going to get worse.”
I wasn’t sure there was a worse.
“He asked the cook to make you some broth.” Bob winced as he looked at me, so I must have looked just as bad as I felt. “Do you think you can keep it down?”
“I can try.”
I was making no promises.
“Stryker called.”
Crap.
“I need to talk to him.” I started to sit up, but whatever wasn’t in my stomach tried to come up. I stilled and breathed through my nose again.
“Tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you.”
“I need my laptop and my phone, the one in the bottom drawer of my desk.” I licked my lips, which seemed to have gone dry. “The key to the bottom drawer is on my nightstand.”
“Okay, you just lay there. I’ll get everything and bring it to you.”
“Thank you, Bob.”
I closed my eyes when the door closed. I adored Bob. He was great, a true friend.
I was so glad he was gone. I know he was trying to help, but he was talking and asking questions…and talking.
I just wanted to curl up and die. I didn’t want to talk about how I did it.
I don’t know how long I laid there before I heard a knock and then the door opened. “I have brought you some broth, Master Sinclair. Cook says it will settle your stomach.”
“Thank you, Conrad,” I said without lifting my head. “Just put it on the nightstand. I’ll drink it as soon as I can lift my head.”
“Very good, sir.”
A moment later, Conrad came into view.
“Shall I call a doctor, sir?”
“No, I’ll be okay.” I’d had enough of doctors when I got shot. I could go the rest of my life with never seeing another one. “It’s probably just something I ate or a bug.”
