The Warrior by Kay Camden

Author:Kay Camden [Camden, Kay]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-12-14T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Rex

The warmth of her hands on my mouth registers in my brain as the opposite of what she intended. Not a block but a sample. A skin-on-skin connection. A come-on. I jerk away, knocking my skull against the toilet tank. More bumps aren’t what this brain needs after that fight at Trey Bevan’s cottage. It’d be pretty dorky to fight sixteen guys only to get a concussion from a toilet hours later.

I don’t even know how I got in this bathroom, or why she’s in here with me. I search for my phone to ask, but she’s now standing in the doorway looking very annoyed. All she has on is a long T-shirt. Her hair is extreme. Past her a lamp glows in between two beds—one rumpled, one untouched. It all comes back then: my demand she return me to normal, her smartass dismissal, my exit of the room. My fatigue in the R5, the pill, the nightmare. Waking up under attack.

Which means she saw me have another freak-out. I could puke with the stupidity of it all.

And now that it’s been fully remembered the panic lingers, close enough to start it all again if I don’t find control. “What time is it?”

She signs something that looks like “What?” from the expression she makes. My phone could help me if I could find it. Where’s my dumb phone? She’s looking annoyed again, so I get up and push past her out of the bathroom, catching sight of the digital clock between the beds.

Everything wound in me loosens. Held lungs release. Air is so damn good sometimes. It isn’t the hour and minutes that relieve me, which is the stupid part. It’s just that time exists at all. That clock could be hours off and it wouldn’t matter to me. All that matters is it’s there, keeping its own time.

Sloane gets in her bed and switches off the lamp. I strip to my boxers and pull back the covers on my bed, considering a pill, deciding against it. It’d be nice to get actual sleep but one freak-out is enough tonight, and I don’t want to take the risk of another. When my head hits the pillow, I remember one more thing: her fingers in my hair and the full-body tingle they caused. Just fingers? My ass. She lies worse than me. That was magic, and it’s the first thing I’m going to make her teach me. Just fingers can’t create feelings like the one that traveled across skin not even being touched. Just fingers can’t make me think she cares. No one cares. It’s a damn good trick though because a tiny part of me is still fooled like hell.

I rub my head against the pillow again, hoping to rouse the memory of her fingers against my hair. I fall asleep replaying her voice in my head, plotting ways to get her to speak again.

The banging in my head turns real when I come out of a doze and realize it’s someone pounding the door.

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