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A moan rippled up her throat as she was laid reverently on a soft surface, followed by a hard retch that pulled her stomach muscles. In a heartbeat, she was shifted onto her side and something plastic thudded on carpet. When she cracked her eyes open, a trash can was next to the small couch she rested on.
“If you need to, go ahead.” Thane settled himself on the edge of the couch, gathering her hair away from her face. His voice was hardly more than a whisper, yet it cleaved her brain in two with pain. “That came on fast, sugar. Was it brewing or did I cause it by pushing you too far, too fast?”
She hurled. Lost her dinner, her stomach lining, and her dignity in one fell swoop.
When it was done, she moaned pitifully, wondering how the hell he could stand to look at her, let alone want to do anything sexual with her when he'd seen her like this. Tears of exertion became tears of self-pity. The migraine raged on, blurring what was left of her vision, and she wanted to tear her hair out, stab her eyes, anything to alleviate the pressure and the pain for just a few seconds of relief.
“Liam's sent an icepack and a box of tissues. You want some help cleaning her up?”
“No, I'm good. Thanks. I'm not going to be there for the announcement, Atticus—could you send my regrets? Leaving her isn't an option. The spray works fast, but she needs to sleep it off, and I'm not comfortable letting her stay in here unattended when she's sick.”
Atticus grunted. “I’d offer to stay with her, but I guess I know what your answer will be. You can stay in here as long as necessary, Liam doesn't use it during open hours as a rule. The intercom button is on the desk next to his keyboard—if you need anything, just use that. We'll come check on you, make sure you're both okay.” Heavy footsteps on the carpet, booming through her head. “Blanket and pillows. Use the desk lamp if you need to lessen the light—it's one of those fancy ones that has different settings.”
“Thanks. If anyone asks, she wasn't running from the scene.” Thane's voice hardened. “She'd never live the embarrassment of that down, so if someone comments on it, tell them she knew the signs of an impending migraine and was going for her meds.”
“Already got it under control. Pretty much word for word. Take care of her, Thane.”
Thud, thud, thud. Boots on carpet, boots gone away. The click of a door opening, the wash of sound from beyond the walls, the snick of the door shutting.
Dry tissues wiped over her face, removing the evidence of her sickness. Her eyes rolled, fluttered, trying to focus on the man who was, yet again, in charge of tending to her in her most useless moments. No one from Avalon had been permitted to see her so weak before now—even with Lisha in the house, Connie took care of herself when a migraine sliced her to ribbons.
Thane had been witness to it twice.
“On your back, sugar. There we go, nice and gentle.” Thane helped her lie flat, then lifted her head and slipped a pillow beneath it. Something cold pressed against the back of her neck, blanking her thoughts for a minute as the sharp coldness obliterated the pain for blessed moments. She realized he'd placed the icepack between the pillow and her nape and wanted to kiss him.
More tissues stroked over her face, irritating the oversensitive skin that felt like it was on fire, then covered her nose. “Need you to blow, Connie. I know it hurts, I know. Do it for me, then I can give you the meds, okay?”
She didn't want to. Everything hurt. But he asked so nicely, and he wasn't shouting at her for running away. He was doing what Thane did best and looking after her when she was too weak and pathetic to do it herself. Though her stomach revolted, she blew as hard as she could, almost triggering a second round of vomiting as the pulse points in her head exploded.
“Good girl. Good girl, breathe through it. The trash can's there if you need it.” His hand brushed lightly over her hair, then she heard the crackle of packaging. “Two minutes and you can close your eyes and sleep this off.”
She whimpered as the plastic nozzle eased up her right nostril, then breathed deep without him asking. At the pinnacle of the inhale, she heard the click of the mechanism as it pumped a shot of sumatriptanup her nose, then tasted the bitter crap as it ran down her throat.
The nozzle disappeared from her nose, replaced by a rim against her lips. Thane eased her head up just enough to keep her from drowning as he let water trickle into her mouth, washing away the worst of the taste. When she pushed the bottle away, he stood and walked away, leaving her feeling sick and sorry and alone. As more tears rose, a blanket came down on her, starting at her feet and draping over her trembling body, all the way up to her chin.
“I'm gonna turn the lights down low, sugar. As dark as I can. I'm right here, I'm not leaving you, but you need to sleep now. Don't worry about what happened, just close your eyes and float away.” A warm palm cupped her cheek, then firm lips touched her forehead.
She listened to him walk away again, then the lights cut out into blessed darkness. A moment later, another light flashed on and was quickly muted to a low glow. Barely enough to illuminate the walls of Liam's office. It was soothing, in a way. A chair creaked as weight settled into it, then silence fell.
When the audiobook began to play, she couldn't have loved him more.
*
Sitting in Liam's chair, bathed in the soft light of the dimmer lamp on the desk, Thane leaned back and steepled his fingers, tapping them thoughtfully against his lips. His phone was on the desk, a husky male voice narrating a tale of romance and battling characters from the speakers. He'd seen the flash of relief on Connie's face, a spike of peace through the pain, when he pressed play and let the words conquer the silence.
His sub was sleeping now, exhausted and far too fucking pale.
He had questions, more than he'd get the answers to, but it didn't stop him from spinning the last thirty minutes around in his head like a clay model on a sculptor's wheel. Around and around, studying the flaws and weaknesses in the art. Looking for where he'd gone wrong, what had tipped the scales from a brief punishment into a disaster.
Thane glanced at her, his lips twisting as he frowned. Yes, he'd been angry that she'd let her temper fly without any apparent control. He'd wanted to make sure public submission was the right course of action for them tonight—something they should have discussed before they’d gotten near the club. She'd offered it so beautifully, but he'd heard the quiver beneath her words, that subtle ripple of hesitance she probably didn't know was there.
Her reaction emphasized the truth.
The gift had been presented, then snatched away. Understandably. She was Avalon's Mistress, one of the reasons he'd been attracted to her from the start. He had nothing to lose by coming out as a Switch, no friendships to screw up with the revelation, and no standing within the club to uphold.
Connie's life was here. Her friends. Her contemporaries.
So, what to do?
