And once Bloodlust had you by the throat, how long before it pulled you under completely?
"You're going to be all right," she told him softly, stroking his dark hair. "Just relax. Let me take care of you, Lucan."
Chapter Twenty-three
He was lying in cool shade, a soft breeze sifting through his hair. He didn't want to wake up from the deep, dreamless sleep. It wasn't often that he found this kind of peace. Never like this. He wanted to nestle down into it, sleep for a hundred years.
But the faint trace of jasmine floating close by made him stir. He sucked the sweet scent into his lungs, tasting it in the back of his parched throat. Savoring it. He peeled open his heavy lids, looked up, and saw beautiful brown eyes gazing back at him.
"Feeling better?"
He was, actually. The searing headache was gone. His skin no longer felt like it was being shredded off of him. The twisting pain in his gut had faded to a hollow gnawing, uncomfortable as hell, but nothing he couldn't handle.
He tried to tell her he was better, but his voice came out in a hoarse croak. He cleared his throat, pushed sound out of his mouth. "I'm okay."
Gabrielle was seated on the bed with him, holding his head in her lap. She pressed a cool, damp cloth softly to his forehead and cheeks. With her other hand, she was stroking his hair, her fingers gentle and soothing.
It felt good. So incredibly good.
"You were in pretty bad shape. I was worried about you."
He groaned at the reminder of what had happened. The attack of blood hunger had knocked him on his ass. He'd been reduced to a sputtering, feeble ball of pain. And she had seen it all. Jesus, he wanted to crawl in a dark hole and die for letting anyone see him laid low like that. Particularly Gabrielle.
Humiliation over his own weakness hit him hard, but it was the sudden jolt of dread that made him rise up, fully awake. "Christ. Gabrielle, I didn't... did I hurt you?"
"No." She touched his jaw, not a trace of fear in her eyes or her tender caress. "I'm fine. You didn't do anything to me, Lucan."
Thank God.
"You're wearing my shirt," he said, just now noticing that her sweater and jeans were gone and her slender curves were draped in a shroud of his black tee-shirt. All he wore were his pants.
"Oh, yeah," she said, pulling at a loose thread. "I put this on a while ago, when Dante came by looking for you. I told him you were in bed, asleep." She blushed a little. "I thought he'd be less inclined to ask questions if I answered the door in this."
Lucan sat back, frowning at her. "You lied for me."
"It seemed pretty important to you that nobody see you... like you were."
He looked at her, sitting there so trusting with him, and he was leveled with admiration. Anyone else who'd have witnessed him like that would have put a titanium blade through his heart - and rightly so. But she hadn't been afraid. He'd fought through one of his worst bouts so far, and Gabrielle had been there with him the whole time. Taking care of him.
She had protected him.
His chest tightened with respect. With deepest gratitude.
He had never known what that could feel like, being able to trust someone like that. He knew that any one of his brethren would have his back in battle, as he would theirs, but this was different. This was someone looking out for him. Protecting him at his most vulnerable.
Even when he'd been spitting and snarling at her, trying to drive her away. Letting her see him for the true beast he was.
She had stayed beside him, despite all of that.
He didn't have the words to thank her for something so profoundly generous. Instead, he leaned in and kissed her, as softly as he could, with all the reverence he could never adequately express.
"I should get dressed," he said, groaning at the thought of leaving her. "I'm better now. I should go."
"Go where?"
"Topside, to take out a few more Rogues. I can't let the others do all of my work."
Gabrielle moved toward him on the bed, putting her hand on his forearm. "Lucan, it's ten o'clock in the morning. It's daylight up there."