We’d never fought before this, aside from the random argument here and there, so this was unsettling for all of us. Cabe set her down on the bed, brushing a lock of hair out of her face. The black strands were all over the place, matted with grime and blood from the alleyway, but even still, she was stunning. Her normally tan skin looked pale and smooth in the moonlight, her cheekbones sharp enough to create shadows against her face. Her small nose softened her features a little but not enough to take away from the natural fierceness of her appearance.
“She needs to be changed into something else,” Quint said from my left. He’d come to stand next to me, his eyes unfocused but still staring in her general direction. I scanned his face in the dark room. His ashy hair was a disheveled mess on his head, sticking up in all directions as if he’d pulled on it as he walked up the stairs. Guilt flared in my stomach, forcing me to hide my wince. I wasn’t helping the situation by barking commands, but I was also too far gone to stop it.
A new wave of possessiveness had me walking toward the bed, closing the distance between Annalise and myself as I checked her over again, trying to see if she was in any pain.
Not finding any obvious signs, I lifted my head and said quietly, “Cabe, get her clothes from my closet and get her dressed.”
My brother nodded, his blue eyes bright in the darkness. I watched him walk away before looking back down at her and reaching for her wrist. There was a hair tie there, ready to be used. As smoothly as my big hands could, I pulled it off, desperately hoping that the small movement didn’t rouse her. Before I could stop myself, I gathered the hair around her face, pulled the remainder from underneath her head as gently as I could, and twisted it all into a messy bun on the top of her head. I took a deep breath when I was finished, my hands shaking, my heart and mind at war with each other.
When Cabe walked back in with an outfit for her, I tried not to think about the fact that he would be undressing her and putting her in my clothes. It was too much, all of it.
I needed a fucking drink.
“I’ll be back up in fifteen minutes,” I began, my voice stiff. “I want the two of you gone when I get here.”
Quint laughed a humorless sound, shaking his head. “Yeah, whatever.”
I didn’t bother looking at Cabe before walking out the door and down the stairs, heading straight for the whiskey.
What. The. Fuck. Happened?
I couldn’t move. I opened my eyes ten minutes before, but all I could do was moan as I tried to force my stiff limbs into submission. My back was on fire, and my mouth felt like I had four teeth pulled just before the dentist performed root canals on four other teeth—without novocaine.
Every time I tried to roll over, I bit my tongue to stop myself from crying out.
I was in a strange bed in a gorgeous bedroom. Looking around me, all I saw was black silk sheets and fluffy pillows for what seemed like miles. The bed was huge and stupidly comfortable. Well, it would be if I could feel anything remotely like comfort.
In an attempt to sit up, I remembered my wrist had been broken in the fight with the Demon.
Wait.
Did I fight a fucking Demon last night?
My eyes widened at the thought. I looked around again to search for another person, someone to clue me in on what happened to me, but I came up empty.
I was alone.
Remembering my wrist, I tentatively put pressure on it. Nothing. No pain, no cast. In fact, I felt more strength in it than I had before I broke it.
What the hell?
How was that possible?
I lay back as the remaining events began to trickle into my mind. The Demon, the horrible ticking noise it made. I felt its hands squeezing my throat even now. I genuinely thought I was going to die, but then the Demon was thrown off me by someone…
Someone with blue eyes.
Quint had also been there. Seafoam too.
That’s when the pain started.
I sucked in a breath as I remembered it all—as I relived it. The horrible flames, the needles in my gums.
Well, that explained the aching muscles in my back and the pain in my mouth. But I still had nothing to clue me in on where I was and how I got there.
“You’re in my room,” a voice said from the shadows in the corner of the room.
I let out a startled gasp and whipped my head toward the intrusion, noticing a long sofa that sat facing a wall made up of large floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city skyline. Next to the sofa was a huge chair—almost like a love seat—facing the same direction, with a man sitting in it. It looked to be a separate sitting area within the room. He was looking away from me in the bed, but I could make out his strong features and dark hair.
Seafoam.
How did I not notice him before?
I was out of sorts, out of my element, but now that he’d spoken, I could feel him as if he were standing right in front of me.
“What am I doing in your room?” My voice was hoarse from all the screaming I did…some time ago. I had no idea how long I’d been out, but it was still dark outside, so it was either still my birthday or the night after.
Based on the pain I was in and the fact that I passed out, it was safe to assume it had been a full twenty-four hours.
My stomach rumbled, agreeing with my assumption. I was starving.
“The Transition takes a toll on the Human body, and you needed a place to heal and rest,” he stated firmly, not even bothering to turn around, as if I understood what the hell he was talking about. He continued without clarifying, “So I brought you in here to do just that. Your internal wounds were healed by magic, the broken wrist and torn vocal cords, but the weakness and lingering wounds on the outside are still very much there.”
I guess that was how my wrist healed, but…magic? Too much, too fast.
I looked around the room again before replying. It was baking in darkness, but I could make out the lightly painted walls, probably white or gray. The plush black carpet on the floor. A dresser to the right, a TV mounted on the wall in front of the bed with an entertainment center underneath. All the furniture was black and bold with heavy gold accents.
The room was masculine and classy. Neat and tidy. But there wasn’t a single thing in the room that gave away any hints about the man who lived in it. No pictures or mementos, just random paintings and photographs of New York City on the walls.
It almost made me laugh, how different he and I were. I had album posters littered all over my walls, while his were nearly bare. The whole room lacked personality.
“And now what?” I asked boldly. I wanted answers, and I’d get them. If not from him, from one of the others. I had little doubt in my mind that the other two guys were around somewhere. I could feel them like I now felt Seafoam—I knew that Quint and Blue Eyes were downstairs, walking around. Which was weird as fuck.
“Now,” he spoke slowly, drawing out the word. I hated that I was tempted to lean forward and hang on every syllable. Even his voice was fucking sexy. “You tell me how much you know about what happened last night.”
He still hadn’t moved or turned around, just kept looking out the windows, staring at the striking view in front of him.
“I think you already know the answer to that.” I tried to move off the bed as I talked, using my weak muscles to help me sit up, but couldn’t move much farther than to lean my useless body against the headboard. “You’re the one who accused me of not knowing anything about ‘what I was’ in the alley the other night, so there’s your answer.”