The Thief (Black Dagger Brotherhood #16)(52)

Jane nodded. “Makes sense to me.”

As she said the words, there was a loosening in V’s entire body, a relaxation of muscle he hadn’t been aware of tensing.

“Do you think also…” Jane cleared her throat. “Do you think maybe you’re disappointed that things between you and your mother didn’t get fixed? That as long as she was alive—or whatever she was—there was a possibility that sometime, way down the line, she might be who you needed her to be? But now that’s gone.”

“I didn’t need shit from her.”

“Everyone needs something from their mother. It’s the way it works.”

When he smiled, she said, “What?”

“No one ever disagrees with me. But you.”

Jane looked down at her own hands, her brows getting tight. “Not one of my virtues, huh.”

“Actually, it’s a part of you I love most.”

When she glanced at him in surprise, he leaned in quick and kissed her on the mouth—even though he shouldn’t have. Then to cover up the faux pas, he jumped to his feet and extended his hand.

“I guess we better go.”

Jane got up on her own, leaving his palm in the breeze—another thing he loved about her. She would never need anything from him or any male. Any female. Anybody. Jane took care of herself—and had so much competence left over, she could take care of everyone else, too.

“Do we get back the same way we came here?” she asked roughly.

“Yeah, we just focus and—”

With a quick shift, she fit herself against his body, wrapping her arms around him and holding on.

Vishous closed his eyes and embraced her, tilting his head down so that his nose was in the sweet warmth of her neck. “I can’t say I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she whispered.

“Kissing you.”

Before she could reply, he sent them back down to earth.

He wished that they could have stayed in the Sanctuary alone, though.

Forever.





TWENTY-THREE


“I want to go home.”

Assail was sitting up in his bed with a rolling tray full of food in front of him, his eyes alert and back to normal, the whites as bright as they should be. And as Sola stood with Ehlena and Dr. Manello, she was at once excited and full of dread at his demand.

If he were terminal, he needed to be here. So that if something happened, it could be handled by people trained to, you know, handle those things.

“Hello?” he said. “Will one of the three of you respond?”

Sola looked at the other two and figured this decision was way above her pay grade. She was more support. Showering. Toothbrushing.

But it was hard not to want to get him away from this clinical environment, even if it was only for a little bit. He had been taken off all the monitors and the IV. The catheter was long gone. And other than a couple of pills, the purpose of which she didn’t know, he was mostly not being medicated. Whatever acute episode had been brought on by his cancer treatment had passed. For now.

“Well?” he insisted. “You just put me in how many machines over the last six hours, and you yourself said that my brain is functioning within normal limits. So what is the problem.”

Sola had to smile. With each passing hour, he was turning back into the man she had known and been bristled by. Assail had always had an autocratic way about him, as if he had spent his entire life giving orders and having them followed without question. It was irritating, and sexy—depending on whether she agreed with him on the issue or not.

“Have we all forgotten how to speak English?” he drawled. “Or am I having one of my phaseouts again?”

“Let’s talk about these—what do you call them?” Dr. Manello put his hands in the pockets of his white coat. “Phaseouts?”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Assail wagged his forefinger back and forth. “I’m not falling for that. You’re looking for an excuse to keep me here.”

And then they were all staring at her.

Clearing her throat, Sola said, “As long as you tell me what to watch out for and when to call, I’m happy to be there to care for him. And I always have nine-one-one—”

“Actually,” Dr. Manello cut in, “I’ll give you a number to phone. We can be to you in the blink of an eye. It’s best to keep in touch with us directly.”

“So is that a yes?” Assail’s eyes were like lasers on the doctor. “Are you letting me go?”

“I have one condition,” the other man said. “Myself or Doc Jane gets to come out and do regular visits.”

“So I’ll see you next week then.” Assail smiled. “I’ll pencil you in.”

Sola had to look away. These comments he made, like getting out of the drug business, or putting anything on a calendar, reminded her that he was not in a position to set long-term plans of any kind. She wasn’t sure whether it was delusion, denial, or part of his brain problems, but sooner or later, reality was going to be a crushing blow—and she hated that for him.

Dr. Manello made a pshaw movement with his hand. “You’re cute. Try every twelve hours—no, make that eight.”

Narrowing his eyes, Assail spoke in a Masterpiece Theatre tone. “Must you.”