Page 22 of Bond of Passion

It was awkward at parties, for sure.

“You’ll get the hang of it. It’s hard being the newbie.”

“I can’t believe I just admitted all that to you.” She pulled up the rolling stool and adjusted his bed so he was sitting up. He still had to look pretty much straight ahead because of the stupid neck brace, but it was better than looking at the ceiling, with all the chains and nets hanging from giant hooks.

“How long have you worked here?” she asked. He loved her voice. It was husky and low like Gristlen’s had been but less formal and clipped.

“I got hired about a year ago, but the first four months was mostly training.”

“Needed a career change?” She swung the table with the tray of food across his lap. “Killing people gets old?”

Ouch. She’d said that with a bit of a bite. Good thing he liked being bitten.

“Killing assholes never gets old.”

One pale silver eyebrow climbed up her forehead. “So you only killed assholes? People who deserved it?”

Shit. Why did she have to go there? “I did what I had to do.”

“So you killed decent people.” Suddenly, she looked down at him like he was a pile of dog crap she’d almost stepped in. “That is what you’re saying.”

“Whoa,” he said. “Judgmental much?”

Dusky pink blotches bloomed across her misty gray cheeks. “Sorry. I guess I need to work on my bedside manner.”

He snorted. “I’d be careful with that term around here.”

“What term?”

“Bedside manner. At Underworld General, that could mean more than one thing. This place is crawling with sex demons, you know.”

“I’m well aware,” she muttered, and for some reason, he bristled at the thought of one of them, maybe even his brother, Grim, getting her into a supply closet.

“Have they been hitting on you?” The Sem brothers who ran the place wouldn’t flirt with any female except their mates, but few of the other incubi—or succubi—had exclusive lovers. And while Eidolon didn’t mind sexcapades in the building—which was a good thing since most of Tavin’s regular sex partners worked here—there were rules.

“Once or twice. Nothing I can’t handle.” She shoved a forkful of meatloaf into his mouth. “Speaking of which, are you related to the family that owns the hospital?” Her fingers traced the dermoire on his forearm as if trying to map it out, and he damned near moaned.

He’d been without sex for a couple of days now, which would normally be a death sentence for a Sem. But thanks to Shade’s ability to manipulate bodily systems, Tavin’s sex drive had been slowed while he healed. Eidolon had also given him libido suppressants, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate a female’s touch on a sensitive part of his body.

And his dermoire was extra sensitive.

“See the symbol at my elbow? The thing that looks like a star?” At her nod, he continued. “They all have the same symbol near their wrists. Means we had a common ancestor a gazillion generations ago. We’re so distantly related that it’s not even worth mentioning.” They were like twentieth cousins ten times removed or something.

“Someone once told me that the top symbol on the dermoire is your personal symbol. What’s yours?”

He reached up automatically to touch his throat where the serpent glyph rested just below his jaw, but he forgot there was a brace around his neck and cracked his knuckles on the plastic. He felt like a damned dog wearing a cone of shame.

“It’s a serpent,” he growled. He hated the thing.

Deja froze with a spoonful of peas six inches from his face. “A snake? I—ah, are you sure?”

He laughed. Which hurt. “Pretty sure.”

No, it wasn’t the symbol he’d been born with, but he didn’t tell her that. It was too embarrassing. Still, he’d welcome the flaccid worm back if it meant getting rid of the cursed viper that liked to bite and turn him into a mindless, murderous beast.

She fed him the peas, and he decided he’d stick with the meatloaf. Cafeteria peas were nasty. Not that cafeteria meatloaf was anything to write home about. Who knew what it was even made from?

“I also heard that personal symbols can transform,” she said. “Did that happen to you?”