Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood #8)(78)

"That's why I needed to be operated on."

The statement was voiced in a clear and level way. Trouble was, she

did not meet his eyes.

John flipped to a new page, wrote six letters in capitals and tacked on a question mark. When he turned the pad around, she barely glanced at the REALLY?

That gunmetal gray stare of hers swung away and locked on the far

corner. "It could have been an injury I sustained fighting him. But I hadn't been bleeding internally before I got out, so . . . there you go."

John exhaled and thought of those scratched and stained walls he'd

seen in that room. What he wrote next made him ache.

When she looked at what he'd put on the page, her face grew tight to

the point of anonymity. It was as if he were staring at a stranger.

He glanced down at his words: How bad did it get?

He shouldn't have asked, he thought. He'd seen the condition she was

in. Had heard her scream in the OR and been right in front of her as she had a nervous breakdown. What more did he need to know?

He was writing up an I'm-sorry when she spoke in a thin trail. "It was .

. . okay. I mean . . ."

His eyes locked on her profile and he willed her to continue.

She cleared her throat. "I don't believe in fooling myself. Doesn't serve any purpose. I was pretty clear on the fact that if I didn't get out, I was going to die soon." She slowly shook her head back and forth on the white pillow. "I was getting really goddamned weak from lack of blood and the fighting. Thing is, I was okay with the dying part, actually. I still am. Death is nothing but a process, albeit typically a painful one. Once it's over and done with? You're fine because you don't exist and all the bullshit is over."

For some reason, the fact that she was so blase made him anxious and

he had to rearrange himself on the little chair to keep from pacing.

"Was it bad?" she murmured. "I'm a fighter by nature. So to some 204

J. R.Ward

degree it was nothing special. Nothing I couldn't handle. I mean, I'm tight. I lost it in the clinic because I hate medical crap, not because of Lash."

That past of hers, he thought to himself.

"I will tell you this." Her eyes shot back to his and he actually jerked away at the burn in her stare. "What will make it bad? What will make the last three weeks totally unbearable? If I don't kill him. That will be insupportable to me."

The bonded male in him sat up and howled, to the point where he

wondered if she knew he wouldn't be able to let her be the one to off the motherf*cker: Males protected their females. It was the universal law if you had the cock and balls.

Plus the idea of her going anywhere near that guy made John mental.

Lash had already taken her once. What if he pulled that cloaking shit again?

They weren't going to get a second chance to get her back. No way.

"So," she said. "I showed you mine. Your turn."

Right. Okay.

Now he was the one staring into that far corner. Jesus Christ. Where

to start.

He flipped to a fresh page on his pad, put the Bic nib down, and . . .

Whole lot of nothing came to him. The problem was, there was too

much to write, too much to tell her, and wasn't that depressing as shit.

A sharp knock brought both of their heads around.

"Goddamn it," she said under her breath. "Give us a minute!"

The fact that there was someone waiting for an audience on the other

side of the door didn't exactly put him in a sharing kind of mood. That, coupled with the communication barrier and his innate cover-it-up

tendencies, made his head hum.

"Whoever it is can hang outside all night and all day as far as I'm concerned." She smoothed the blanket over her stomach. "I want to hear what you have to say."

Funny, that was what unlocked him, and he wrote quickly.

It would be easier to show you.

Her brows went in tight together when she read that, and then she

nodded. "Okay. When."

Tomorrow night. If you have clearance to go out.

"It's a date." She lifted her hand . . . and put it lightly on his forearm.

"I want you to know--"

The knock that cut her off had them both cursing.

"We need a minute!" she snapped before refocusing on him. "I want you to know . . . that you can trust me."

205

J. R.Ward

John locked eyes with her and was instantly transported to a different plane of existence. Mighta been heaven again. Who the f*ck knew or cared.

All he knew was that there was only her and him together, the rest of the world drifting away into a fog.

Was it possible to fall in love with someone twice, he wondered

dimly.

"What the hell are you doing in there?"

Rehv's voice on the other side of the door broke the moment, but

didn't erase it.

Nothing ever could, John thought, as she pulled back and he got up to his feet.

"Come in, *," she snapped.

The instant the mohawked male stepped into the room, John felt the

change in the air and he knew, as they looked at each other and stayed silent, that they were communicating as symphaths did.