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Another sigh. “Now,” Hades agreed. “You’ve grown into an annoying adult. Anyone ever tell you that?”
“Often. Hurry.” Already impatient, Rathbone flashed to his palace’s entryway. He counted the seconds. When no one appeared at the fifteen second mark, he geared up to return to Hades. With knives. Just before he acted, the healer arrived. A fae with a medical bag in hand and a note pinned to his tunic. That note read,You owe me. H.
Not bothering with a discussion, Rathbone flashed the male to Neeka. She hadn’t left the bed, and her condition had worsened. A white cottony substance rimmed her mouth. Her eyes were fully bloodshot.
“I told you to leave,” she shrieked, thrashing atop the mattress. “Why are you still here? I want you out! The other guy can stay, though.” She released a hollow laugh. “You brought drugs, right?”
“What happened?” The fae set the bag at the foot of the bed and dug inside.
“Zombider bite,” Rathbone grated.
The healer reared back, the bag falling to the floor, the contents spilling out. “You must chain her, or we must leave. If she bites us—”
“She won’t,” Neeka snapped. “Unlike foolish kings, I prefer quality to quantity.”
Rathbone took the insult as his due and nodded, echoing, “She won’t. Now, make her feel better.”
Terror radiated from the paling healer. “She’ll either expunge the toxin or she won’t. We’ll know the answer by nightfall. But we shouldn’t be here. We should leave.”
“Make her. Feel better. Now.” Rathbone rolled his shoulders, adapting a battlefield stance. “Her bite isn’t the ending you should fear.”
“Y-yes. Better.” Agitated and jumpy, the fae inched toward the bed once more. He gathered his scattered medications, then selected a syringe and a vial of gray liquid. Took several tries to make the needle sink past the vial’s cap, but he succeeded.
His trembling intensified the closer he got to Neeka. He stuck her in the arm as quickly as possible, leaping back when she hissed at him.
“Nothing’s happening,” she burst out, slurring the words. “I don’t...you can’t... don’t you dare look at me, Rath...” Her lids slid shut, her head lulling to the side. Her body went lax.
A small bud of relief flowered. Asleep, she felt no pain.
Rathbone drew in a heavy breath. She’d wanted him to leave. Fine. But he would return.
“You will wait in the room next door,” he told the fae. “If she wakes, you will administer another dose. And just so you know, I’ll sense each time you enter. Harm her in the slightest way—I suggest you do not harm her. Your treatment is tied to hers.” He deposited the male in the other room, then flashed to his private bathroom for a shower.
As the scorching water poured over him, washing away evidence of the battle, his thoughts remained on Neeka. He was responsible for her condition. The fact that he’d let her get hurt after he’d pinned her to the blanket and ravaged her mouth for a too-short stolen moment...
After the staggering sense of finding a key to his lock...
After she’d bantered with him in a candid exchange, letting layers of sarcasm and flippant disregard peel away to reveal her vulnerable core, revealing her inner turmoil...
Just as his mother left him with festering wounds, her mother inflicted irreparable harm. Neeka had trusted him with the knowledge.And with a single decision, I rejected her.
The guilt shredded him. He needed to make it up to her, but would she let him? She must. She wanted him. Badly.
She might hate him now, but she’d been unable to get enough of him before. He hadn’t forgotten the swift increase of her heartbeat, or the shallowness of her breaths. Or the fever flush that had radiated from her skin. Or how the sight and feel of her had elicited such intense desire, he’d felt drunk with it.
From the second their lips met, pleasure had frayed any semblance of self-control. How he’d managed to gather the strength to stop the kiss, he wasn’t sure. Now, that uncertainty haunted him. He shouldn’t feel this strongly for anyone but Lore. That he did...
What did it mean?
Rathbone emerged from the shower stall, dried off, and dressed in a clean pair of leathers. He retrieved the clavicle and flashed to the secret throne room, where Lore paced beside her throne, waiting for him.
For the first time, he wasn’t hit with a punch of frenzied lust at the sight of her. Because he was already frenzied by another female?
“There you are,” she said, and promptly burst into tears.
“No crying,” he said, doing his best to school his annoyance. Before their separation, even days ago, her upset had gutted him. Now he wished only to return to his oracle and never, ever seehercry again. “I come with a gift.” He held up the clavicle, showing the goddess the treasure as he approached.
She barely acknowledged the offering. “I can’tnotcry. I’m so afraid you’ve tired of waiting for me and chosen another female as your forever queen. Tell me you haven’t.”
