Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, Trez thought as he breathed in again.
Recovery from a migraine was all about a soft landing for your return to consciousness. Usually the prescription was food and actual rest—because shit knew that even though you were in a dark room with nothing but Howard 100 streaming through your iPhone, you weren’t hanging proper with the sandman.
At the moment, however, he was seriously reconsidering years of get-back-to-normal trial and error: As the door shut behind his brother, and Trez was left alone with the Chosen Selena, every cell in his body went on full tingle.
Oh, man, he had to will on a lamp, even though it was a little early for his retinas to handle any real light—
Hello, goddess.
Selena was tall, and though she wore the traditional white robing of her station, it was clear she was built exactly like a female should be: Nothing was keeping down those curves of hers, not even all that draped fabric. And talk about your beautiful faces. She was all pink lips and pale blue eyes, her features perfectly symmetrical and engineered to catch a male’s stare and hold it. Then there was the hair. Long, thick, and the color of midnight, she wore it in the style of the Chosen, all coiled on the crown of her head.
So that all you could think of was taking it down and running your fingers through it.
She was perfect in every way.
And would not give him the time of day.
Which made her appearance up here with his bag of shit all the more remarkable.
“You have been gravely ill,” she said softly.
Trez’s eyeballs rolled back in his head. That voice. Shit, that voice.
Wait, she wanted him to respond, didn’t she. What had she—“Nah. I’m great. Just great.”
And becoming hard as a rock, fuck him very much. God, he hoped she didn’t catch the scent of his arousal.
“What may I do to help you?”
Umm … how ’bout drop the robe and hop up on this bed. After which you can ride me like a pony until I pass the hell out.
“Would you care for some of this food?”
“What food?” he mumbled.
“Your brother prepared for you that bag.”
Had the bastard even been here? he wondered.
“You just asked him to leave?”
Guess so. “Oh, yeah. Right.”
Trez eased back against the pillows and winced. As he went to rub his temples, he sensed her approaching the bed—and with a fast move, he yanked the heavy duvet higher on his belly.
Sometimes “naked” meant so much more than just “I don’t have any clothes on.”
Man, her expression was so worried. To the point where he had to force himself to remember she’d blown him off before. Which she really had.
Yup, as faulty as his short-term memory was—at least when it came to, like, his brother being in the room—he could recall exactly where he’d been when he’d seen this female last … as well as her less-than-enthused response to him.
He also remembered precisely how he came to know (of) her. He’d heard her name as soon as Phury had released the Chosen from the Scribe Virgin’s Sanctuary and Selena, along with the others, had started living off and on at Rehvenge’s Great Camp up in the Adirondacks. He’d even caught sight of her from time to time, but shit had been going down with Rehv and he’d been distracted.
That had passed, however. And he and iAm had gone up there at Rehv’s request recently—which was when he’d met her properly, one-on-one.
Okay, iAm had been with him, but he’d likewise put the guy out of mind. Then again, the moment he’d seen that female he’d forgotten his own name, most of his English vocabulary, and seventy-five percent of his sense of balance.
Instant. Cosmic. Attraction.
At least, on his part.
She was less struck stupid, of course—although he’d had hopes. And stalker tendencies. For the past week, he’d hung around the mansion for however many nights in a row, hoping to see her in the midst of one of her visits to service the Brotherhood. Because, hey, nothing says, “I wanna date ya,” like grounds for a restraining order.
Eventually, he’d won the lottery and managed to “run into her.” Like the simp he was, he’d told her she was beautiful—and not in a pickup-line kind of way. He’d actually meant it. Unfortunately, and unlike the countless human women he macked on, she’d remained unimpressed.
So again, why the visit up here?
Not that that was a question he was going to look too closely at.
“What may I get you?” she said. And man, that earnest concern put him to shame.
“Ah … actually one of those Cokes, please?”
Oh, yeaaah, the way she moved as she went over to the bag she’d put down. So smooth and even, her hips shifting under that robe, her shoulders counterbalancing, her …
He averted his eyes from her posterior assets.
Although, dayum.
As she came over to the bed, he moved himself closer to the middle of the mattress, hoping she would sit down. She didn’t. She bent at the waist and handed him the plastic bottle. Then she stepped back, keeping a respectful distance.
The soda let out a hiss as he unscrewed the cap.
“Please tell me what ails you.”
Her hands twisted in front of her, wringing, wringing.
“Just a migraine.” He took a long draft off the bottle. “Wow, that’s good.”
The view was better.
“What is it?”
“Coca-Cola.” Trez paused before his second hit, realizing she wasn’t asking about the Real Thing. “A migraine’s a kind of headache. No big deal.”
Well, except for the fact that his lasted up to twelve hours and made him feel like death.
Her beautiful eyes narrowed. “If it’s not of concern, why was your brother so worried?”
“He’s like that. A hysteric.” Trez shut his lids and draaaaaaaaaaaaaank. And once more. “Nectar of the gods, for real.”
“I’ve never thought of him in that manner. But of course, you know him better.”
As she hovered, he wished she were half as interested in the fact that his chest was on full display: He wasn’t arrogant, but usually the females looked at him and didn’t look away.
“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine,” he grumbled. “And so will I.”
“But you’ve been up here all day—since you came home last night.”
He was about to get truly annoyed with himself when he thought … wait a minute. “How’d you know that?”
The fact that she glanced away quickly made him sit up again.
“Your brother mentioned something about it downstairs.”
Doubt that. iAm rarely talked to people unless he had to.
So she must have been looking for him. Right?
Trez let his lids lower. “Hey, do you mind sitting down here—I’m finding it hard to keep looking up at you.”
Liar.
“Oh, but of course.”
Niiiiiice.
As she eased herself onto the bed and arranged her robing, he knew he was milking it, but come on. He’d spent a considerable amount of time lying on the tile in front of the toilet merely hours ago.
“Are you sure you are not in need of a healer?” she asked, her eyes hypnotizing him to the point where he just watched her blink, those long lashes swooping up and down. “And be of truth this time.”
Oh, he wanted to tell her one kind of truth, all right. But there was no reason to act a fool.
“It’s just a headache that lasts awhile. Honest. And I’ve had them all my adult life—my brother doesn’t get them, but I heard my father did. They’re not a party, but nothing that’ll hurt me.”
“Has your father passed?”
Trez tightened his face to make sure he showed nothing. “He’s still living and breathing. But he’s dead to me.”
“Whatever for?”
“Long story.”
“And …?”
“Nope. Too long, too complicated.”
“Did you have other plans this evening then?” This was said with a quiet challenge.
“Are you offering to stay with me?”
She looked down at her hands. “This … long story of your parents. Is that why you have a last name?”
How did she know …?
Trez started smiling, and it was a good thing she was ducking his eyes or she would have gotten a whole lot of his pearly whites.