“No, I’m fine,” I lie, and based on his expression, he doesn’t believe me. “How are you? You got shot and stabbed in less than fifteen minutes. You’re either incredibly lucky or you suck at this.”
I admire the strong column of his neck as he throws back his head in hearty laughter. “Aye, it’s likely a little bit of both, lass. Do ya feel like ya can eat? I made chicken, but it burned while I was killing those arseholes. My Ma brought something over, though.”
First, he’s being irritatingly modest about the fact that he is Death in human form when it comes to fighting, and second, Iamhungry.
“I’m scared to ask how long I was out this time.” My eyes dart to the windows, but they’re covered by some high-tech blinds that block everything.
“I closed off any access to the penthouse while we re-set the security system-”
“And clean up all the blood and internal organs,” I add helpfully.
His lips twitch as he continues, “Including the windows. Not quite as bulletproof as I’d expected them to be.”
“Well, to be fair, you didn’t expect someone to parachute in with a fistful of explosives.” See? I can be gracious when I want to be.
“You’re definitely feelin’ better,” he grins, “you’re mouthing off to me like a little nashgab. I’ll go get dinner for ya.”
“Wait,” I call after him, “what the hell is a nashgab?”
By the time Ethan returns with a tray, I’m awake enough to be painfully aware that I smell like an abandoned possum den. What I think an abandoned possum den smells like anyway, I’ve never actually visited one. But I smell stale and sweaty, like my fear and all these medications leaked out of my pores or something. I’m gingerly sniffing my underarms when he walks back in.
“Hold off, lass. I’ll get ya cleaned up in a minute. One thing at a time. This is the first solid food you’ve had in…” he consults his watch, “four days. Ma left Scotch broth and fresh bread for ya.”
The bowl of soup looks and smells amazing. “What’s in this?” My question dies off as he holds a spoonful up, blowing on it softly before directing it to my mouth. “You’re not feeding me like a toddler!” I protest.
“Hold your hand up,” he says, still holding the spoon. “If you can hold it steady for thirty seconds you can eat by yourself.”
I impatiently raise my hand and… well, goddamnit! It starts shaking within a couple of seconds. “Fine.” Even I’m embarrassed by how sulky that sounds.
“Open up,” he directs the spoonful into my mouth. “The soup’s made of barley, braised lamb, and root vegetables. She says it reminds her of a stew her cook used to make in Moscow.”
“I had a chance to meet her,” I’m savoring the last of that spoonful so it comes out a little garbled. “She was very kind. And so beautiful! Are all Russian women that beautiful?”
“Aye, she’s one of a kind,” he agrees with a soft smile, buttering a small piece of bread for me.
“She’s very smooth, I respected her ability to seamlessly gloss over the awkward subject of you kidnapping me.”
Now, he starts laughing so hard that he drops the piece of bread on the floor, butter side down. That’s going to be a bitch to get out of that undoubtedly expensive oriental rug.
“I dinna think she’d mind me telling ya, my Da kidnapped my Ma, right out of the church where she was about to be forced to marry this evil old feck who bought and sold women,” he says, bringing up another spoonful of soup.
“No way!” This shit happens on a regular basis with these people? I obediently take the next spoonful of soup, hoping he’ll continue.
“As ya can see, she considered my Da an upgrade, though they had their… rough moments.”
“Every couple does,” I agree amiably.
“Aye,” he says huskily, “look at us.”
“We’re not a coup-” He pops a piece of bread in my mouth, watching me chew it and glaring at him.
“Would you like more?” he asks, “You’ve only had a few spoonful’s.”
“I’m sorry. Your mother's soup is so good that I could consume the entire pot, but I want to hold down the little I could eat.”
Fair enough. Dr. MacTavish is coming in a moment to tell me whether it’s safe to move you,” he says, picking up the tray.
“Wait. Move me?” That came out a little harsh and it kicks off another round of coughing. My stepfather doesn’t have to worry about killing me, this cough should do the trick.
