Brock was already in motion even before Caleb’s urgent summoning. He raced into the bedroom and crouched at her side. His handsome face was drawn with concern as he searched her eyes, his strong hands tender as he smoothed her sticky hair away from her cheeks.
No, he wasn’t merely concerned.
He was scared as hell . . . about her.
“Jenna, thank God.” He leaned in and kissed her with a desperation that rocked her. “You’ve had me so fucking worried, baby.”
“You just said a bad word,” Caleb pointed out.
Brock blew out a jagged laugh that held the raw edge of a sob. “Yeah, I did. Sorry about that, kid.”
Even as he spoke, he took Jenna’s face in his hands and kissed her again, as if he couldn’t keep from touching her.
His worry-filled eyes searched her bleary gaze. “Are you okay?”
She swallowed, testing her parched throat. “I’m not sure. I feel all right, but my head . . .”
A shiver ran through her, even though she wasn’t particularly cold.
“Caleb, go get the blanket off the sofa for me.”
The boy ran out to the other room. Jenna stared up at her mate. “You have a new friend?”
He smiled, lifting one bulky shoulder. “Looks that way.”
“He’s Breed,” Jenna said, less a question than a fact. “From one of the area Darkhavens?”
“Yeah,” Brock said. “It’s a long story. I’ll catch you up soon. There’s a lot to catch you up on.”
“I don’t think I like the sound of that.”
His grim expression didn’t do anything to dispel the note of dread creeping over her. “Right now, I’m just really glad to see you awake, beautiful.”
She frowned up at him, confusion deepening. “Was I sleeping very long?”
“Jen, you’ve been in some kind of coma for the past five days.”
“A coma,” she echoed, stunned. She remembered a feeling of exhaustion coming over her, how she’d gone to bed to lie down--just for a short nap. “Brock, something’s not right.”
He squeezed her hand, exhaling a troubled sigh. At the same moment, Caleb returned with the blanket.
“I brought the fluffy one,” he said, handing it over to Brock.
“Thanks, buddy.”
Jenna managed a smile as she thanked him too. “How old are you, Caleb?”
“I’m six.”
“Six.” Jenna glanced up at Brock, and his tender eyes said he knew where her thoughts had gone.
Back to Alaska, a long time ago.
Back to when Jenna’s own daughter, Libby, had still been a happy, vibrant six-year-old child.
Caleb’s little hands helped Brock tuck the blanket around Jenna’s shoulders and under her chin.
“Are you warmer now, Jenna?” the boy asked, earnest with concern.
