“Shh,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
Emmy didn’t fully wake, and her breathing steadied under his touch. He rubbed until she was calm, and then kept a hand touching her. Contact seemed to help.
And he thought about the last few days, and the way Zander had looked at her after he’d carried her downstairs. Reallylookedat her, seeing the entire person.
Something was shifting. Spence could feel it in the way Zander lingered in the doorway before leaving. In the wayhe’d called herbrave little dragon. In all the years Spence had belonged to Zander, he’d never seen his Master this protective and tender of anyone, but Spence also sensed something else. Not fear, exactly, but maybe not terribly far from it.
Spence had a feeling that had something to do with the thousands of years he’d been friends with Aaron Drake. Spence was convinced that was why Zander had avoided her.
And now? What would he do when she was well again? Spence had no idea.
But when he’d called her ours, earlier, Zander had agreed. Or at least he hadn’t argued.
Ours.
The word settled into Spence’s psyche like a key turning in a lock. He’d grown to care for Emmy during their breakfast conversations. He isn’t supposed to have favorite flock members, but he always does. He tries not to show it, but Emmy is by far his favorite, and it’s more than just him knowing her when she was little.
It’s who she isnowthat attracts him.
And he isn’t generally attracted to women. No, he’s attracted to dominance these days, the people who can hurt him in all the best ways.
Zander often let others play with him — dominate him, hurt him, order him around. Would he extend that same permission to Emmy? Would Zander allow her to top him, to make him submit to her needs?
Spence didn’t know, but if Zander pulled away from her again, he was of a mind to ask.
On screen, Buffy was arguing she can’t be the chosen one, and Spence left his hand on Emmy while focusing on the show.
Twenty minutes later, Emmy stirred, her face going pale.
“Bathroom,” she gasped, sitting up and leaning to stand from the bed.
Spence leapt from the bed, lifted her into his arms, and was careful not to bash her head in the bathroom door frame on the way in. He stood her in front of it, waited until she had her shorts down and was sitting, and then stepped just outside the bathroom once he saw she had her balance. He wasn’t as worried about her passing out now, but he stayed just out of her sight, as close as he could be and still give her some semblance of privacy.
The sounds were less violent now — still bad, but not the explosive horror of those first hours. Her body was purging less frequently, but she still wasn’t holding onto the liquids she managed to keep down.
He heard the baby wipes container open, then close. When he heard her moving, he went in and helped her back to bed.
“You seem better,” he noted, settling the sheet on her legs. She couldn’t handle covers with her fever most of the time.
“Better than nearly dead isn’t a lot.” There was a ghost of humor in her voice, so Spence just kissed her forehead.
And that reminded him he should check her temperature, so he aimed the sensor at her forehead and saw it was a half-degree higher than before. He noted it on his spreadsheet and then texted the last several hours to their traveling nurse.
While he waited for a response, he arranged fresh gel packs around her head, put the old ones in the freezer, and then asked her if she wanted ice chips or broth.
“Ice chips, please.”
The nurse texted back to thank him for the update, and said to just keep making her as comfortable as possible.
When Emmy was finished with her ice chips and Spence was settled back beside her, she said, “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“I know you were a slave before Abbott … before Zander killed the old Master of Maryland. I’d like to know more about you, and it seems that’s a big part of understanding who you are now, if you’re comfortable talking about it.”
“Oh, it was absolutely Abbott who killed him, and I hated him for it, at first. Eventually, I figured out he’d done me a huge favor, but it took a while.”
He blew out a breath. “When we moved here, it took me a while to get used to the new version of him, but it’s still the same person, just with different packaging, you know? Less formal, with the appearance of being easier to talk to, but underneath it all, he’s the same perfectionist control-freak I came to love.”
