Page 19 of Bond of Passion

“Did Deja fill you in on your condition?” Eidolon asked Tavin.

“Yeah.” Tavin must have tried to nod because he rapped his knuckles on the neck brace in frustration. “She said I got real fucked up.”

“Not in those words,” she blurted, horrified to think her boss would believe she’d been so unprofessional.

“Nah,” Tav drawled. “She used all the medical jargon bullshit like she’s supposed to.” He winked at her, his blue-green eyes like pools of tropical water, and if he thought that would charm her…

He was right, damn him. Especially when he smiled like that, as if she were the only female in the universe and that dimple was all for her.

Not that a smile and a wink and an illegal amount of charm changed anything. He still had to die horribly. He still had to feel everything she’d felt. Betrayal. Shock. Pain. The thought made her giddy. Maybe she was finally turning into a good Neethul after all.

“Tavin, you were lucky,” Eidolon’s glyphs glowed brighter or dimmed to near nothing as the physician moved his hand over Tavin’s body. “You needed surgery to remove bone shards—yours and the bomber’s. We also had to pin your ribs back together. Gem and I were able to repair the damage to your colon, liver, and spleen, but you’ll still need to take it easy. We only got organ function to about eighty percent.”

Tavin reached up and touched the collar around his neck. “What about this?”

Eidolon’s arm stopped glowing as he cut off his power. “Your spine was broken at C3, and your spinal cord was nearly severed. If it hadn’t been hanging on by a thread, I couldn’t have repaired it.”

“Damn,” Tavin breathed, his face going pale and yellow, the color of the parchment she’d used to record her family’s finances. “I did get lucky. But you fixed it, so why am I still in this brace?” A little panic crept into his voice. “I can feel my toes and fingers, so I’m good, right? Right?”

Deja almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“Tav, I was able to initiate repairs, but it’s going to take some time for you to heal fully.” Eidolon’s voice lost the intimidating edge that made Deja nervous around the guy. Compassion bled into his tone, and she took note. He’d given the commencement speech at her nursing school graduation, and he’d said that their new job would require constant learning. They should never stop trying to be better. As a role model, she could do worse than Eidolon. “Shade will be in later to optimize your immune system and healing responses. He’ll perform some motor function exercises, and we’ll know more then. Right now, you need to stay still and calm.”

“Shit.”

“You’re going to be okay. I promise.” Eidolon gestured for Sin to come over. “You up for some questions?”

Tavin glared up at the ceiling. “Doesn’t look like I have anything better to do.”

Sin sank onto the wheeled stool and scooted next to Tavin. “Before the explosion, you warned everyone. How did you know there was a bomb?”

Good question. Deja was curious about that too.

“The stench,” he said. “I didn’t recognize it as a bomb at first because it smelled like a death potion. The kind my moms make.”

Moms? Deja frowned, and a heartbeat later, it came back to her. Tavin had told her that he and his two brothers had each been born to a different one of three Fury sisters on the same day, at the exact same time. He and his siblings were then mixed up in the cradle so no one knew who had birthed whom. The Furies were simply, The Moms.

Tavin licked his lips and some dumb part of her wanted to kiss them. “But something was off. Then I remembered that bone bombs were one of Zeph’s favorite ways to kill targets.”

Now Deja was really lost. Who was Zeph? And why would Tavin know about the guy’s favorite methods of killing?

“Zeph loved making messes.” Sin studied her fingernails, as nonchalant talking about death as any Neethul. “Until Con and I lit him up. But, yeah, I suspected a bone bomb when I saw the aftermath. I’m sure Lore will confirm.”

“So what are we talking about here?” Eidolon asked.

“Assassin weapons,” Tavin said. “Bone bombs are planted inside a victim via food or drink, usually without their knowledge. They’re programmed to trigger once they’re in the proximity of a specific target.”

Deja had been standing near the wall, trying to pretend she wasn’t even there, but she was so startled she blurted, “How do you know that?”

His gaze shifted to her, the cold, steely glint cutting through the blue in his eyes making his words even sharper. “I was an assassin until I started here about a year ago.”

“An assassin?” Fresh betrayal washed over her, and she felt the blood drain from her face. “But you told me—” She broke off, but not before his gaze narrowed on her.

“I told you what?”

He’d told her, the very day they’d met, that he was working at the festival’s medical tent sponsored by Underworld General. Then, throughout the course of their four-month relationship, he’d maintained that he worked at the hospital.

He’d never once said he was a damnedassassin.