Page 60 of Thirst
This hurt went soul deep.
This was I’m-in-love-with-a-man-who-was-only-using-me hurt. It coiled around my ribs like wire. Even breathing was painful.
How could I have been so stupid?
I forced myself to inhale, then exhale. Took another breath, and then another. Slow and easy.
A shiver shook my whole body.
I was so cold… and hot.
A couple of tears dripped down my cheeks. I wiped them away, not because it helped, but because I refused to lie here and cry.
The door swung open. I pried my eyelids apart and pushed upright, back braced against the wall, teeth rattling like they were trying to escape my skull.
Cain strode into the cell in a crisp white shirt and black pants, his hair still wet from a shower.
“In here,” he said over his shoulder and turned back to me, composed, controlled—and clean.
The contrast to my own self—filthy and shivering—couldn’t have been greater. Right then, I’d have given every penny in my secret Swiss account to call down a thunderbolt and knock him flat on his perfect, freshly washed butt. I ground my chattering teeth together and wrapped my arms around my bent legs, trying to still the shaking.
Two men followed Cain into the cell with a mattress and a folded-up metal frame which they assembled into a cot while shooting furtive looks at me. They made up the bed, then turned to him.
“That all, sir?” asked the taller man, a redhead with an open, freckled face.
“Get her some soup,” he said. “The kitchen should have it ready. And a metal cup.”
“I’m on it,” he said and the two jogged off.
I remained on the floor, hugging my knees.
Cain pulled back the covers. “Get in.”
I mustered a sneer. “That an invitation? Because thanks, but no thanks.”
His mouth thinned, dangerously so. In two strides he was on me, hands closing around my upper arms as he lifted me into the air and set me down on the cot. My boots were removed, and he pressed me down, tucking the covers around me with clipped, efficient movements.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
“Oh, excuse me,” I returned from my prone position, voice wavering despite me. “Thank you, Lieutenant, sir. Except why am I this sick in the first place? Oh yeah. You.”
Something flickered across his face—regret? Guilt? Whatever it was, he quickly buried it.
“I went easy on you. Anyone else would be in way worse shape right now. And I’d be interrogating them instead of tucking them in.”
My mouth opened, but he pressed a finger to my lips.
“Uh-huh. No more talking.”
“You—!” I pushed his hand away, sputtering weakly.
His growl raised every hair on my body. “You need to rest, damn you. Then you can fight me, okay?”
I shut my mouth.
“That’s better,” he murmured as he straightened.
I shot him another glare, but he was right. I had no fight left. Just keeping my eyes open took all my energy.
