Tears gathered in my eyes at the truth of her words. Five was the highest number Beast understood. More than five was incomprehensible to her.
Beast is big. Bigger than big. Beast is... Beast is like hand of Jane’s God.
“We arenotan angel.”
No. Beast is not angel. Can hunt and kill. Jane is war woman. Can hunt and kill. Can heal. Can love. Can... Can teach and learn. Canchoose.
I considered what she meant. “Angels don’t have free will.”
Together we looked at the mangled DNA map.Beast wants to stay. Beast wants to live.
“Okay. So healing isn’t going to be fast or easy, but it’s possible. I don’t have to die right away. That makes iteasier to keep going. Maybe I can heal a little at a time without losing you. Eventually. For now, I choose to never be completely Jane again, even if it means never being completely healed.” In my dreaming state, I reached down and scratched Beast’s ears, the way I had scratched Brute’s.
***
When I woke again, I was in Jane’s form. Human. Dawn was graying the sky, sending meager pale light through the small door I had opened in the gable. The fire was out, the ashes barely warm. Brute was stretched out beside me, his werewolf warmth enough to keep me from freezing to death. I stirred and Brute sat up. “I’m brushing your teeth when we get back inside.”
Brute chuffed and gave me a doggy grin, tongue lolling, as if to say,You wanna play? Bring it.
I touched my middle. The pain wasn’t so bad. The star-shaped tumor was... It was smaller. My breath hitched. It was smaller. I stood and stretched slowly and discovered that I could move without pain. I wasn’t well, but I felt better, even in human shape. As if I had a little more time. As if I could stay human-shaped for a while longer, maybe take fewer meds.
I gathered up my weapons and toys and tore open the door. Raced through the sleet, into the house, and up the stairs to our bedroom. Silently, I placed all my magical toys and blades on the dresser and used the bathroom as fast as possible. The relief was an intense pleasure. I showered off the salt and the stench of an all-night sweat and did all the girl things. Dried off.
I raced out of the bathroom and threw myself on our bed. On top of Bruiser.
He wasn’t totally asleep, and he came fully awake fast, recognizing me, my scent, my laughter. “Jane.”
“Hey, sweetcheeks.”
“Are you objectifying my bum?”
“Totally. Love me?”
“With all my heart.”
I kissed him, hard, scrubbing my human face against his scruffy bearded face, wrapping my arms around him.“Prove it,” I growled, pulling away so I could see him, so he could see me. “Love me.” He hesitated, questions racing through his eyes, clear as if I was inside his brain. “I’m not healed but I’m a little better. Well enough for this. Well enough for us.”
We hadn’t been together since I got sick. He had been so damn considerate, kind, gentle. I didn’t want any of that. I wanted wild and raucous and I wanted itnow. I raked my human nails down his naked side, not breaking the skin but demanding.
Bruiser didn’t hesitate again. He rolled me over and under the warm blankets with him. He kissed me, gently, then slanted his face over mine, his mouth over mine, his tongue into mine. Something exploded within him. Onorio scent burst out. And he loved me. Helovedme.
***
Dawn had arrived and moved into midmorning when we managed to get our legs working and stumble to the shower. The smell of Bruiser’s citrusy soap and sex and sweat rinsed away. Twice. Perhaps overly clean, we dried off, and I rubbed CBD oil and hemp oil into my skin. Bruiser helped. Twice. Which resulted in a third shower. Weak in the knees, we dressed, and, holding hands, walked down the stairs to the long bar that separated the two kitchens.
Thank God for the barstools. I barely had the energy to drape myself over the bar. The entire main level smelled of yeast bread and bacon and eggs and pancakes.
Molly had turned on the lights in the baker’s kitchen and fired up one of the commercial ovens. Sweating, her red hair in bouncy curls, she slid bread tins into the oven. She was liberally dusted with flour. Eli and Liz, Molly’s witch sister, were standing side by side at the big, six-burner stove in the commercial kitchen, Liz flipping pancakes, Eli moving a lot slower than usual, turning bacon and scrambling eggs with a spatula. But they looked cozy together. Maybe a little flirty. Eli had a type and Liz was fearless and powerful and maybe a little dangerous. Yeah. He’d like Liz.
Molly’s sister had been out of the dating scene for along time. And she was cozied up to a hunk-a-hunk-a-hot-man. She was flushed and I didn’t think it was because of the stove top.
The baker’s oven closed and the scents of yeast bread and oatmeal and eggs and pancakes floated through the air. And bacon. I had missed bacon. My human self was hungry. Starving. As if he heard that thought, Eli turned and found me sitting at the bar, his eyes dark and intense. He placed the spatula handle in Liz’s hand and walked slowly around to me. His feet were encased in wool socks and he wore jeans and a heavy, loose sweatshirt. He stopped just outside of my personal space, holding my gaze. Bruiser glided off the barstool beside me and stepped into the kitchen, toward the commercial coffeemaker, giving us privacy.
“You look better,” he said.
“You look alive. I was worried there for a while.”
“Janie,” he said, reproof in his tone.
