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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Haina
I wanted to scream!
Zane was, without a doubt, the most insufferable person I had ever met. And I’d been raised since birth by Commander Moord, who was a definite psychopath and took enjoyment in torturing me—and other people.
But Zane’s form of torture didn’t involve a cattle prod or waterboarding. His was far more psychological. I was one hundred percent convinced the man was trying to kill me with his godawful attitude.
You’d think he would be grateful to me for, you know, saving his life and everything, taking care of him,bathinghim, but no.
Even after Jorik warned him—because my eagle ears heard the warning, and I knew Jorik was hurting Zane when he warned him—Zane kept his stubborn and angry attitude the entire time he was laid up in the bed.
Which was only another day and a half, despite my protests that he wasn’t healed yet and needed to rest.
“Only a day and a half left of the serum in my system. We need to get moving,” he grumbled, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing up with a wince and a grunt.
“The boat isn’t fixed yet,” I said. “Where the hell do you plan to go? Should we all justrowthe rest of the way down the coast, in the little dinghy?”
He glared at me as he grabbed a clean black T-shirt shirt from the top of the dresser and gingerly tugged it over his head. Even though he’d been given a full vial of the serum, a lot of his extra energy and enhancements were going toward healing him. He was still in pain and without the super strength that Rix and Jorik experienced.
Naked from the waist down now—I’d seen them all naked so many times that I didn’t bat an eye—he grabbed khaki cargo pants and slowly stepped into them. I thought about helping him but decided against it.
He needed to realize his vulnerabilities and limitations on his own.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he slowly pulled on his socks, then his boots before stalking past me out of the room. “Where are they?”
“Down on the dock repairing the boat.Youshould be in bed resting.” I plopped my hands on my hips. “You might not be close to death anymore, but you are still recovering from a gunshot woundandwhat would have been a fatal infection.”
He grunted his response and flung open the door.
I chased after him. Well, notchased. I didn’t run, since he wasn’t running. But he stalked with purpose and speed, which was surprising given how much I could tell he was in pain.
But he didn’t turn down the path toward the ramp leading to the dock. He kept wandering farther into the woods toward the shed.
“Where are you going?”
He didn’t respond.
I didn’t expect him to.
Zane rarely spoke to me unless he absolutely had to.
He stopped at the shed, grabbed a giant round of wood, set it on a larger round, found the axe leaning against the metal wall inside the shed, swung it up over his head, then down into the center of the wood, cleaving it in two.
“What are you doing?” I hollered. “You’re going to rip your stitches.”
His face was pure rage as he used the axe to knock the two halves of wood to the ground. “It’s either this or strangle you,” he said, grabbing another round of wood. “And if I do that, those two down there will kill me—which will kill them.”
I shoved my fingers into my hair and pulled on it at the scalp, letting out a growl, then a scream as I spun on my heel and paced away from him. “What is your problem with me?” I yelled, pivoting back to face him and eating up most of the distance between us once again.
My chest heaved. My pulse raced. I glared up into his beautiful, granite-gray eyes, the feelings I had for this man terrifying, infuriating and so incredibly confusing, I thought I might pass out from how discombobulated my brain was when I was around him.
“No problem,” he said, lifting the axe to bring it down onto a fresh round of wood.
I heaved a humorless, dry laugh. “Liar. Oh my God, you are such a liar. And abadone.”
He merely gave me a half-glance and a single brow lift before knocking the halves of wood to the ground and grabbing another chunk of wood.
