Lover Reborn

arms, the tiny, swaddled bundle, didn’t move as much anymore.

This was the tragedy of the In Between. Unlike the Fade, it wasn’t meant to be forever. It was a way station to a final destination, and everyone’s was a little different. The only thing that was the same? If you stayed too long, you couldn’t get out. No eternal grace for you.

You just transitioned into a Dhund-like nothingness, with no chance of ever getting free of the void.

And these two were reaching the end of their rope.

“I’m doing the best I can,” he said to them. “Just hold on… fucking hell, just hold on.”

EIGHT

The first thing Xhex did when she checked back into consciousness was look for John in the recovery room.

He wasn’t in the chair across the way. Wasn’t on the floor, propped up in the corner. Wasn’t on the bed beside her.

She was alone.

Where the hell was he?

Oh, yeah, sure. He crawled all over her in the field, but then he left her here? Had he even come back for her operation?

With a groan, she considered rolling onto her side, but with all the IV lines in her arm and wires on her chest, she decided not to fight her plug-ins. Well, and then there was the happy fact that someone had drilled a large bore hole in her shoulder. A number of times.

Lying there with a snarl on her face, everything about the room annoyed her. The blow of the heat from the ceiling, the whirring sound of the machines behind her head, the sheets that felt like sandpaper, the rock-hard pillow and the too-soft mattress…

Where the fuck was John?

For the love of God, she may have made a mistake mating him. The loving him thing was what it was—no changing that, and she wouldn’t want to. But she should have known better than to make things official. Even though the traditional sex roles of vampires were changing, thanks in large part to Wrath loosening up the Old Ways, there was still a load of patriarchal shit surrounding shellans. You could be a friend, a girlfriend, a lover, a coworker, a car mechanic, for fuck’s sake, and expect your life to be your own.

But she feared that once your name was in the back of a male—and worse, a full-blooded warrior male— things changed. Expectations shifted.

Your mate started getting up in your face and thinking you couldn’t take care of yourself.

Where was John?

Fed up, she shoved herself off the pillows, took out her IV and clipped the end so that the saline and whatever else didn’t drip all over the floor. Next she silenced the heart monitor behind her, and then ripped the pads off her chest with her free hand.

She kept her right arm immobilized against her rib cage—she just needed to walk, not wave a flag.

At least she didn’t have a catheter.

Putting her feet on the linoleum, she stood up carefully and gave herself props for being such a good little patient. In the bathroom, she washed her face, brushed her teeth, used the loo.

When she came back out, she expected to see John in one of the two doorways.

Nope.

Going around the end of the bed, she took things slowly, because her body was logy from the drugs, the operation, and the fact that she needed to feed—although shit knew, scoring John’s vein was the last thing she was interested in. The longer he stayed away, the more she didn’t want to see his hairy ass.

Goddamn it.

Over at the closet, she opened the paneled doors, ditched her johnny, and changed into some scrubs— which, of course, were not her size, but male-sized. And wasn’t that a metaphor. As she struggled to dress with one hand, she cursed John, the Brotherhood, the role of shellans, females in general… and especially the shirt and pants, as she struggled to one-handedly roll up the bottoms that pooled around her feet.

As she marched for the door, she studiously ignored the fact that she was looking for her mate, and instead focused on the songs going through her head, little a cappella versions of such happy Top 40 hits as “What Gave Him the Right to Call Her Out on the Field,” “How in the Hell Could He Have Left Her Down Here Alone,” and the ever-popular standby “All Males are Morons.”

Doo-dah, doo-dah.

Tearing open the door, she—

Across the corridor, John was sitting on the hard floor, knees peaked like tent poles, arms crossed around his chest. His eyes met hers the instant she made an appearance—not because he looked her way, but because he had been focused on the space she would fill long before she had actually come out.

The ranting in her brain silenced: He looked like he had been through hell and had carried the flames of the devil’s living room back in his bare hands.

Unwrapping his arms, he signed, I thought you might like your privacy.

Well, shit. There he went, ruining her bad temper.

Shuffling over, she eased herself down beside him. He didn’t help her, and she knew he was doing that on purpose—as a way to honor her independence.

“Guess this was our first fight,” she said.

He nodded. I hated it. The whole thing. And I’m sorry—I just… I can’t explain what came over me, but when I saw you injured, I snapped.

Her exhale was long and slow. “You were okay with me fighting. Right before we were mated, you said you were cool with it.”

I know. And I still am.

“You sure about that.”

After a moment, he nodded again. I love you.

“Me, too. I mean, you. You know.”

But he hadn’t really answered her, had he. And she didn’t have the energy to follow up any further. The pair of them just sat on that floor in silence until eventually she reached out and took his hand.

“I need to feed,” she said roughly. “Will you…”

His eyes shot to hers and his head bobbed. Always, he mouthed.

She got to her feet without his aid and extended her free hand to him. When he took her palm, she summoned her strength and pulled him up. Then she led him into the recovery room, and locked the doors with her mind as he sat down on the bed.

He was rubbing his palms on his leathers as if he were nervous, and before she could go over to him, he jumped up. I need to shower. I can’t get close to you like this—I’m covered in blood.

God, she hadn’t even noticed he was still in his fighting clothes. “Okay.”

They traded places, she heading for the edge of the mattress, he going for the bathroom to turn on the hot water. He left the door open… so as he stripped off his muscle shirt, she watched his shoulders bunch and twist.

Her name, Xhexania, was not just tattooed, but carved in beautiful symbols across his back.

As he bent down to draw off his leathers, his ass made a stupendous appearance, his heavy thighs flexing as he shucked one leg and then the other. When he got in the shower, he went out of eyeshot, but he returned soon thereafter.

He was not aroused, she realized.

First time for that. Especially as she was about to feed.