Food. She needed food. And caffeine. Blessed, blessed caffeine.
Although her body was doing a piss-poor job of waking, her mind was a hub of activity. It didn’t feel whatsoever foggy, she remembered everything about the kidnapping; remembered the pooch pouring into her mind and giving her the strength that she’d needed to fuck Slade’s shit up and save herself from a second dose of liquid mercury.
In other words, he’d saved her ass.
Oh, how humiliating. And nice. Which meant she’d have to thank him. And wouldn’t he just love that? Especially after her insistence that she didn’t need his protection.
Well, she’d just have to suck it up. He’d not only mingled his mind with hers—something demons didn’t do often or casually—he’d also gotten her to safety. Hell, he’d even taken off her shoes and tucked her into his bed.
Yeah, she was gonna have to thank him all right. First, she’d have to find him.
Extending her enhanced senses, she picked up the slightest echo of voices. She couldn’t make out who those voices belonged to, what they were saying, or where they were in what Harper had once told her was a huge-ass apartment.
The thought of getting up made Devon want to cry, but she couldn’t lie here forever. Sadly. And she desperately needed sustenance.
Devon peeled back the cover and, squinting against the dim light coming from the ceiling spotlights, awkwardly sat upright. With only slits for eyes, she gave the room a thorough once-over. Well. She supposed “lavish” was a good word to describe the open, airy space. The color of the quality bedding and luxury rug perfectly matched the sleek gray walls. The hardwood floors looked polish-smooth, just like the walnut furniture, which was as masculine and solid as its owner.
There was a wide-screen TV mounted on the wall opposite the bed. French doors led to a pretty terrace, and high windows offered a scenic, breathtaking view. There was also some kind of hi-tech little sensor on the wall that appeared to control the lighting and temperature.
Yeah, it put her bedroom to shame. It put her entire apartment to shame. It was really little wonder that he’d been horrified by the condition of hers.
Although there were no bright colors in the room, it didn’t look dull or lack personality as she might have expected. It looked stylish and modern.
Devon shuffled to the edge of the mattress, her movements all sluggish and clunky. Then she just sat there, her shoulders bowed over her chest, staring at nothing. She was just so tired.
A yawn cracked her jaw as she glanced down at herself. Devon grimaced. Her clothes were all wrinkled, and her sweater was torn and stained with what was probably Slade’s blood. Taking stock of herself, she noticed there was some bruising and grazes from when she’d grappled with Slade. Awesome. At least they’d fade fast—most demons tended to recover from minor injuries quickly.
Licking at her dry lips, she pushed to her feet. There was a lot of weaving and stumbling, but she managed to find her way into the attached private bathroom that was all white gleaming tiles and smooth black marble. Oh, she was having total bathroom-envy right now. There was a monster of a bathtub. Hell, you could fit at least three people in there … which would be weird, but still.
Turning to the mirror over the sink, she winced at her reflection. Bed-head. Smudged lip gloss. Pasty face. Mascara goop at the corners of her red-rimmed eyes. And he’d seen her this way? Devon groaned, mortified. What bothered her more was that he’d seen her looking so frail. She didn’t want to show any weakness around him or his demon.
Devon finger-combed her hair as best she could, smoothing away the frizz. She fumbled for the toothpaste and scrubbed some on her teeth and tongue with her finger, wanting that tacky taste out of her mouth. Then she turned on the faucet, wet her hands with warm water, and went to work on her face.
Done, she checked her appearance again. Well, the makeup residue was mostly gone, and her eyes seemed a little more alert, but she was still a wince-worthy sight. At least she no longer looked like she belonged on an appeal poster for hurricane survivors.
A little steadier on her feet, she shuffled back into the bedroom. God, she just wanted to curl up on the bed. Or even the floor. Any flat surface would do, really.
Devon almost flinched as the doorknob turned. Tanner slipped into the room, fluid and silent. God, she needed to put a bell around the guy’s neck or something and … oh, the goddamn gem had brought her coffee. She fairly salivated at the smell of it.
“You’re awake,” he said in that deep, gravelly voice that reached so deep inside her she felt it in her bones. “Good. Thought you could use this.”