"Well, you must keep me informed. Indeed. . . I shall be interested to hear of how you fare. "
"Thank you, sister. " Layla covered Payne's hand, a sheen of tears forming in the Chosen's eyes. "I have been so long unused and this. . . this is what I have wanted. I feel. . . alive. "
"Good for you, my sister. That is. . . very good. "
With a final smile of reassurance, Payne got to her feet and took her leave of the female. As she walked back to the quarters, she found herself rubbing that ache that had formed in the center of her chest.
Wrath couldn't get here fast enough, as far as she was concerned.
Chapter Thirty-three
Xhex woke up to John Matthew's scent.
That and fresh coffee.
As her lids lifted, her eyes found him in the dim recovery room. He was back in the chair he'd started out in, his torso twisted around as he poured coffee out of a dark green thermos into a mug. He'd put his leathers and his T-shirt on again, but his feet were bare.
When he turned toward her, he froze, his brows shooting up. And even though the java had been on the way to his mouth, he immediately put it out for her to take.
Man, didn't that just sum him up in a nutshell.
"No, please," she said. "It's yours. "
He paused as if considering whether or not to argue the point. But then he put the porcelain rim to his lips and sipped.
Feeling a little more steady, Xhex threw off the covers and slid her legs out from under. As she stood up, her towel fell from her and she heard John take a hissing breath.
"Oh, sorry," she muttered, bending down and snagging the terry cloth.
She didn't blame him for not wanting a gander at the scar that was still healing across her lower belly. Not exactly what you needed to see right before you ate your breakfast.
Wrapping herself up, she padded into the loo, used the facilities, and washed her face. Her body was rebounding well, her collection of bruises disappearing, her legs feeling stronger under her weight. And thanks to the rest and her feeding from him, her aches were no longer outright painful, but more just a series of vague discomforts.
When she came out from the bathroom, she said, "You think I can borrow some clothes from someone?"
John nodded, but motioned to the bed. Clearly he wanted her to eat first and she was on board with that plan.
"Thanks," she said, tightening the towel around her breasts. "What you got in there?"
As she sat down, he offered her a variety of things, and she took the turkey sandwich because the need for protein was a craving she couldn't turn down. From his chair, John watched her eat the thing, just drinking his coffee, and the second she was finished, he brought out a Danish that proved too tempting.
The combination of cherry and sweet glaze made her jones for some coffee. And what do you know, John was right there with a mug, as if he were reading her mind.
She polished off a second Danish and a bagel. And a glass of OJ. And two cups of coffee.
And it was funny. The silence of him had a bizarre effect on her. Normally, she was the quiet one in situations, preferring to keep her own council and not share her thoughts on anything. But with John's mute presence, she felt curiously compelled to talk.
"I'm stuffed," she said, lying back against the pillows. As he cocked a brow and lifted the last Danish, she shook her head. "God. . . no. I couldn't manage another thing. "
And it was only then that he began to eat.
"You waited for me?" she said, frowning. When he ducked her gaze and shrugged, she cursed softly. "You didn't have to. "
Another shrug.
As she watched him, she murmured, "You have beautiful table manners. "
His blush was the color of Valentine's Day and she had to tell her heart to calm the fuck down as it started to beat fast.