Lover Revealed (Black Dagger Brotherhood #4)(25)

Man, he’d had bizarre, wonderful dreams. Marissa at his bedside caring for him. Stroking his arm, his hair, his face. Whispering to him to stay with her. That voice of hers had been what kept him in his body, what kept him back from the white light that any idiot who’d seen Poltergeist knew was the afterlife. For her, he’d somehow hung on, and going by the steady, strong beat of his heart, he knew he was going to make it.

Except, of course, the dreams had all been a gyp. She wasn’t here and now he was stuck in this bag of skin of his until the next badass thing took him down.

Goddamn it, just his rotten luck to have kept breathing.

He looked up at the IV pole. Eyeballed the catheter bag. Then glanced over at what appeared to be a bathroom. Shower. Oh, God, he’d give his left nut for a shower.

As he shifted his legs around, he was aware that what he was about to do was probably a very bad call. But he told himself, as he hung up the catheter bag next to his IV meds, that at least the room spins had mostly stopped.

A couple of deep breaths and he grabbed the IV pole to use as a cane.

Feet hit the cold floor. Weight eased onto his legs.

Knees buckled without hesitation.

As he fell back on the bed, he knew he wasn’t going to make it to the bathroom. With no hope of hot water, he turned his head and eyed the shower with naked lust—

Butch inhaled like he’d been cracked on the back of the head.

Marissa lay sleeping on the floor in the corner of the room, curled up on her side. Her head rested on a pillow and a beautiful gown of pale blue chiffon spilled over her legs. Her hair, that incredible waterfall of pale blond, that medieval romance novel rush of waves, was all around her.

Holy shit. She had been with him. She had truly saved him.

His body had newfound strength as he stood and lurched across the linoleum. He wanted to kneel down but knew he’d probably get stuck on the floor, so he settled for standing over her.

Why was she here? Last thing he knew, she didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Hell, she’d refused to see him back in September when he’d come to her hoping for…everything.

“Marissa?” His voice was shot to shit and he cleared his throat. “Marissa, wake up.”

Her lashes flicked open and she snapped upright. Her eyes, those pale blue, sea-glass-colored eyes, shot to his. “You’re going to fall!”

Just as his body swayed backward and he toppled off his heels, she leaped to her feet and caught him. In spite of her willowy body, she took all of his weight easily, reminding him that she was no human woman and was likely stronger than he was. As she helped him back onto the bed and pulled the sheets over him, the fact that he was weak as a child and she was treating him like one out of necessity bit into his pride.

“Why are you here?” he asked, his tone as sharp as his embarrassment.

When her eyes didn’t meet his, he knew she also was uncomfortable with their situation. “Vishous told me you were hurt.”

Ah, so V had guilted her into this Florence Nightingale routine. That bastard knew Butch was a simpering idiot for her and that the sound of her voice would do exactly what it did and bring him around. But it was a helluva position for her to be in, a reluctant rope to the proverbial lifeboat.

Butch grunted as he rearranged himself. And also from the knock his pride was taking.

“How do you feel?” she said.

“Better.” Comparatively. Then again, he could have been dragged under a bus and still been miles ahead of what the lesser had done to him. “So you don’t have to stay.”

Her hand drifted off the sheet and she took a slow breath, her breasts rising under the expensive bodice of her gown. As she wrapped her arms around herself, her body became an elegant s-curve.

He looked away, ashamed because part of him wanted to take advantage of her pity and keep her with him. “Marissa, you can go now, you know.”

“Actually, I can’t.”

He frowned and glanced back at her. “Why not.”

She paled, but then lifted her chin. “You’re under—”

There was a hiss and an alien walked into the room, the figure dressed in a yellow suit and a breathing mask. The face behind the molded plastic was female, but the features indistinct.

Butch looked back at Marissa with horror. “Why the f*ck aren’t you wearing one of those getups?” He had no idea what kind of infection he had, but if it was bad enough that the medical staff was pulling a Silkwood, he had to imagine he was deadly.

Marissa cringed, making him feel like a total thug. “I…I’m just not.”

“Sire?” the nurse interrupted gently. “I’d like to take a blood sample if you don’t mind?”

He kicked out a forearm while still glaring at Marissa. “You were supposed to be wearing one of those when you came in, weren’t you? Weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Goddamn it,” he snapped. “Why didn’t you—”

As the nurse nailed him a good one in the crook of his elbow, Butch’s strength ran out of him like she’d popped the balloon of his energy with that needle of hers.

Dizziness slammed into him and his head fell back against the pillow. But he was still pissed off. “You should have one of those on.”

Marissa didn’t respond, just paced around.