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"Oh, God," she murmured, a wave of nausea rolling up on her.
How much more messed up could her life get? She had something this monumental to deal with, and yet she'd gone and gotten naked with Brock.
Then again, maybe she'd needed to be with him precisely because of everything else she was dealing with lately. What she didn't need was to complicate an already overcomplicated situation.
She sure as hell didn't need to sit there and worry about what he might think of her now. She didn't need to go there at all, but telling herself that didn't keep the thoughts of him from entering her head.
And as she peeled the bandage from her healing thigh and turned on the shower, she told herself that she didn't need Brock or anyone else to help get her through whatever lay ahead. She'd been alone for a long time. She knew what it was to fight on her own, to pull herself through dark days.
But knowing that didn't keep her from leaning on the memory of Brock's strength--the soothing power of his tender words and his gifted hands. His gently murmured promises that she wasn't alone. That with him, she was safe.
"I don't need him," she whispered into the empty echo of the room. "I don't need anything from anyone."
There was a small quake in her voice, a wobbly note of fear that she despised hearing. She sucked in a sharp breath, blew it out on a curse.
Jenna stepped into the shower and under the warm spray, closing her eyes. She let the steam envelop her fully, let the steady rhythm of the falling water swallow up her soft, shaky sobs.
Brock should not have been surprised to run into one of the other warriors, since nightfall was approaching topside and most of the Order would be heading out soon on patrols of the city. But probably the dead last person he wanted to see as he came out of the shower room, where he'd spent a good hour under a frigid dousing, was Sterling Chase.
The former Enforcement Agent was cleaning his firearms on a table in the weapons room. He looked up from his work when Brock strode through, already dressed in black fatigues and combat boots, ready to get a jump on the night's missions.
"Looks like you and I are partners tonight," Chase drawled. "Lucan's sending Kade and Niko down to Rhode Island. Something about intel Reichen picked up on his recent work in Europe. They're heading out as soon as the sun sets."
Brock grunted. He and Chase, patrol partners? Talk about a bad day heading farther south. "Thanks for the update. I'll try not to accidentally kill you while we're looking for bad guys tonight."
Chase gave him a deadpan look. "Likewise."
"Shit," Brock hissed on a sharp exhale. "Which one of us pissed him off?"
Chase's brows arched under his short-cut, blond crown of hair.
"Lucan," Brock said. "I don't know why the hell he'd team us up, unless he's trying to prove a point to one or both of us."
"Actually, the assignment was my suggestion."
The admission didn't exactly make things better. Brock stilled, suspicion rankling his brow. "You suggested that we partner for patrol."
Chase inclined his head. "That's right. Consider it an olive branch. I was out of line earlier with regard to you and the human. I shouldn't have said what I said."
Brock stared, incredulous. He bore down on him, more than ready to escalate things if he got even so much as a whiff of duplicity out of the arrogant male. "Let me tell you something, Harvard. I don't know what kind of game you think you're playing, but you do not want to fuck with me."
"No game," Chase said, his piercing blue eyes steady. Clear. Honest, to Brock's amazement. "It was beneath me to act the way I did earlier, and I apologize."
Brock backed off, lifting his chin as he considered the surprising sincerity of Chase's words. "All right," he said slowly, cautious that he didn't get too comfortable too soon.
He'd been on enough missions with Sterling Chase. He'd seen him operate, and he knew the male could be a viper--both in armed combat and in wars of words. He was dangerous, and just because he was extending his hand in an apparent truce now didn't mean Brock should be too eager to turn his back to him.
"Okay," he murmured. "Apology accepted, man."
Chase nodded, then went back to cleaning his weapons. "By the way, that cut on your neck is bleeding."
Brock growled a curse as he reached up and ran his fingers over Jenna's little bite mark. There was only the faintest trace of blood there, but even a fraction of that would have been too much to escape the notice of one of the Breed. And under a truce or not, it was just like Chase not to let that notice slide by without comment.
"I'll be ready to roll at sundown," Brock said, his eyes trained on the bent blond head that didn't so much as twitch in response, Chase's attention remaining fixed on the work spread out on the table before him.
Brock pivoted and stalked out to the corridor. He hadn't needed the reminder about what had happened between Jenna and him. She'd been on his mind, occupying the bulk of his thoughts, since the moment he left her in his quarters.
Chase's apology made him realize that he owed one, as well.
