“I wish you’d waited. I told you to wait.”
His chin came up, his eyes hardening. “I’m not in the habit of taking orders from—” He paused, then sighed. “Fine. I was wrong, you were right. I’m sorry.”
“What’s done is done, I suppose.”And someone lost their life for it.“Get me Ryan, would you? I’ll sort this out with him.”
Gabe frowned, a hint of hurt in his eyes. “You don’t want me here?”
“I figured you’d be asleep.”
“I’m not feral. I can stay awake for this.”
It was clear he wanted to help, to make it better.
“Fine. Let’s get the tranqs.”
Nineteen
Antoine awoke in his bed, and that was disorienting.
Where was Cally? Hadn’t she been beside him?
No. The Curia. Entombment. The agony of drowning, over and over.
Roberto. Nico. Tobias. Gabriel.
So how the hell was he back here, between silk sheets, sane again?
Unless this was madness. If so, it wasn’t so bad.
He drew a breath. And then another, relishing the ability to breathe again. His lungs worked, there was no water. He lay there a while, savoring breathing without pain.
The shutters were down on the windows, but the clock showed 8:14 p.m. Night had fallen, and he’d slept too long. And damn, he was hungry. Where was Cally?
A moment to check their bond, and he slumped in relief. She was here, in the house. Downstairs.
He rose, naked. His body was gaunt, and when he checked in the mirror, most of his muscles had wasted away. Skeletal and thin, like a zombie, not a vampire.
He pulled on a robe, and it hung too big on him. Weakness hampered his movements, and he grimaced in distaste. But his strength would return when he fed.
Cally was waiting for him. She’d got him out, somehow. Yes, he wanted to feed, but even more, he wanted to see her.
Besides, she must already have given him blood, for he wasn’t feral.
The house was quiet, but Noah sat in a chair outside his door. He stood up swiftly when Antoine appeared, eyes searching his face. “Welcome back.”
Antoine placed a hand on his shoulder in gratitude. There would be time to catch up later; for now, he needed Cally.
She sat in her chair beside the fire, dressed in a gray hoodie and black jeans, a book open on her lap. He entered too quietly for her to hear him, but she sensed him anyway and looked up, tucking the book away and rising to her feet.
“Hey,” he said. Her blonde hair was longer, tied back in a loose ponytail, a few stray curls framing her face. Beautiful. Serene. His.
“Hey yourself.” She swallowed hard, her steel-gray eyes running swiftly over him, as if reminding herself what he looked like. He remembered that slight crease on her brow whenever she frowned, but it felt like it had been years, not weeks.
Actually, he didn’t know how long it had been. Maybe it had been years. She didn’t look any older—but then she wouldn’t.
“Sorry I look like shit.”
“You look… thin. But you. Welcome back, my love.”
