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“That’s the adrenaline rush on an empty stomach. Food will help settle you.” Ending the embrace sooner than she wanted, he guided her to the table and emptied the bags, stacking six large containers on the table. “Help yourself. I ordered breakfast food. It’s good any time of day.”
“It’s perfect.” At this point, she was ready to eat the packaging. The container she chose had pancakes and bacon. Stomach growling, she dug in.
“You need to take your medication.” He dug the bottle out from the pocket of his jeans and set it on the table in front of her. “Last thing you need is an infection.”
Once again, he was taking care of her. They ate in silence. It was more comfortable than she’d expected. Maybe because they were busy shoveling in food. He was packing away his third breakfast when she shoved her plate aside, pleasantly full.
She was feeling—not good, because she ached too much for that, but better than she had since… Was it only yesterday that her entire belief system had come apart at the seams? Seemed a lifetime ago. She popped one of the pills, downing it with the remnants of her coffee. She screwed up her nose and smacked her lips. “That’s cold.”
Without a word, he pushed back from the table and refilled both their mugs. “We need to talk about what happened yesterday. Tell me what you can about Cardelli.”
Hearing the name of her attacker made her stomach churn. Like any predator, Devlin had waited patiently until she was fed and lulled before pouncing. But he was right—there was no avoiding the situation, not if she wanted to live.
“I was at the park.” It all came back to her—the sultry heat of the sun, the muted traffic, the laughter and shouts of people enjoying the day, the faint breeze. “I’d just finished a pretzel and was walking. I sensed someone behind me.” Goose bumps broke out on her arms. She rubbed her hands over them. “I thought it was you.”
“Why?”
She canted her head to one side and dug back through the memory. “I’m not sure. No, that’s not quite right. There was something in the air. I can’t explain it. A rippling. Not exactly a heaviness. An awareness.”
He nodded and pulled another of the containers over in front of him. It was his fourth, but who was counting? He could pack in the food. Did he need more because of what he was? Seemed likely.
“Zoe?” He paused and gave her a pointed look.
“Right. Sorry.” She took a fortifying sip of coffee. “I turned to confront you, or him. You know what I mean.” Talking about it was difficult. The man had tried to kill her, was now dead because of that.
“You sensed the wolf, the wildness in him.”
“I guess I did.”
“Have you ever experienced that sensation or anything similar before?”
“Not that I can remember, but I live in New York. If I got a strange vibe from someone I’d have shrugged it off but stayed aware of them until they were gone. Then I would’ve forgotten about them.” It was terrifying to consider she might have passed some random werewolf on the street. Chilled, she brought her heels up on the edge of the chair and wrapped her arms around her legs, barely swallowing back a groan when her stiff and bruised body objected.
“What about during your childhood?”
“I was in and out of foster homes. Lots of weird vibes in some of them. I don’t see how my past has a bearing on this.” She hugged her legs tighter.
“The last word Cardelli spoke was ‘mage.’”
“I remember.” At the time, she hadn’t understood, had thought it might be part of a name. “You think he was working with this mage, that’s why you asked me about magic?”
“Yes.”
“I’m trying to wrap my head around the whole wolf thing, and now you’re telling me magic is real. Not sleight of hand or card tricks, but something else.”
He pushed his empty plate aside. “As a rule, wolves and mages don’t mix, or they haven’t until now. Mages keep to themselves and their own kind.” He rubbed his forehead. “I have no idea of the extent of their power, but there are two kinds of mages—white and dark. Dark mages use sex and blood magic to prolong their lives.”
She swallowed heavily, the food she’d eaten churning wildly in her stomach. “You’re talking about sacrifices, aren’t you?” And this mage had sent Pietro after her.
Hand over her mouth, Zoe bolted to the downstairs bathroom, barely making it in time. Kneeling in front of the toilet, she lost her breakfast and the medication she’d taken. Behind her, Devlin swore a blue streak. She couldn’t work up enough energy to care that he was seeing her at her worst. And, in her books, this was worse than being wounded. That was almost heroic. This was decidedly not.
When she was done, she flushed the toilet and leaned against a wall for support, not ready to test her legs just yet. A damp washcloth appeared in front of her face. Grateful for it, she rubbed it over her cheeks, forehead, and mouth.
He disappeared, leaving her alone on the floor. She was vaguely disappointed, even though she had no right to be. It wasn’t as if they were lovers or anything. They were barely friends, just two people thrown together under difficult circumstances—none of which were of their making.
As tempting as it was to hide in the powder room for the remainder of the day, she grabbed the edge of the sink and pulled herself upright, making it to her feet when he reappeared.
“Here.” He thrust her toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste at her. “Figured you’d want this.”
