Page 62 of Thirst
I turned my back on him.
He was still there a few hours later when my fever spiked. He rolled up his sleeves and sponged me off, then changed me into yoga pants and a fresh T-shirt. My head felt like it was bobbing somewhere above my shivering body again. I watched him care for me as if I were observing a video of the two of us.
He looked…different. It took my fogged brain a second to understand why. Then it struck me: his white shirt was untucked, the pristine cotton splattered with water, and his short hair stood on end like he’d been dragging his hands through it.
For a moment, I just stared. Cain didn’t come undone. Ever. But right now he looked like someone had yanked a thread loose and the whole man was starting to unravel.
No—don’t read into it. It doesn’t mean anything.
Toward dawn I drifted into an exhausted sleep. When I woke, the door was shut, but a battery-powered lantern glowed in the corner of the cell, and a cashmere sweater lay folded at the foot of the cot.
I pulled it on. The fit was perfect, the cashmere warm against my chilled skin.
I released an agitated breath.
I know what you’re doing, Mr. Maritime Lieutenant. And it won’t work.
But I smoothed a hand down the soft blue fabric.
17
Cain
When I let myself into the cell that night, Nyx’s cell phone in my hand, she was curled up in the blankets, asleep, her mane of wine-colored hair spilling over the pillowcase.
It was long past sunset. I’d expected her to be awake—she had been earlier when I’d checked with the guard on duty—but she must’ve lain down again. At least she’d eaten—steak tartare, blood-wine.
She stirred, blinking up at me, dazed and unguarded, a crease marking one downy cheek.
Damn her, anyway. I hated how she could get to me even now, hated the guilt I felt at using the spiked handcuffs on her. I kept picturing them clamped around her wrists, biting into the tender skin...
I was a vampire, for Lilith’s sake. I wasn’t supposed to feel like this. I wasn’t supposed to regret.
I thrust the phone at her. “Nazaire’s been texting you,” I said gruffly.
She shot upright. “My father?”
I just held the phone out until she took it. Her fingers brushed mine, warm from her body. I ignored the spark it sent up my arm.
She opened her messages. I already knew what she’d find. He’d written in French, naturally, but I understood enough to read them, enough to know he was furious that she’d slipped the leash.
FATHER: Where are you.
FATHER: Why isn’t J answering his phone.
FATHER: Why are you headed to the coast.
As I’d suspected, Nazaire had tracked her phone.
FATHER: You are on Lilith Island. Answer me at once. Where’s J?
And finally:
FATHER: You’re with that lieutenant. Respond immediately.
Nyx’s brow pinched beneath her cropped bangs. Her thumbs moved, typing a reply.
I plucked the phone from her fingers. “Uh-uh.”
