Man, he didn't have the energy to tackle the species discussion with her. Plus, there was a part of him that didn't want her to think of him as different.
"Food," he said, glancing over at a tray that was set on the bureau. "Can I have some?"
She stood up and planted her hands on her hips. He had a feeling she was going to say something along the lines of Get it yourself, you freak bastard.
Instead she walked across the room. "If you're hungry, you can eat. I didn't touch what Red Sox brought me, and there's no sense throwing it out."
He frowned. "I will not take food meant for you."
#p#分页标题#e#
"I'm not going to eat it. Being kidnapped has killed my appetite."
V cursed under his breath, hating the position he'd put her in. "I'm sorry."
"Instead of doing the 'sorry' thing, how about you just let me go?"
"Not yet." Not ever, some crazy-ass voice muttered.
Oh, Christ, not more with the—
Mine.
On the heels of the word, an all-powerful need to mark her lit him up. He wanted to get her naked and underneath him and covered with his scent as he pumped into her body. He saw it happening, saw them skin-to-skin on the bed, him on top of her with her legs split wide to accommodate his hips and his cock.
As she brought the tray of food over his temperature spiked, and what was doing between his legs throbbed like a bitch. Surreptitously he bunched the blankets up so that nothing showed.
She put the food down and lifted the silver lid off the plate.
"So how much better do you have to be for me to leave?" Her eyes went over his chest, all medical assessment, as if she were measuring what was under the bandages.
Ah, hell. He wanted her to look at him as a male. He wanted those eyes of hers going over his skin not to check a surgical wound, but because she was thinking about putting her hands on him and wondering where to start.
V closed his eyes and rolled away, grunting at the pain in his chest. He told himself the ache was from the surgery. Suspected it was more because of the surgeon.
"I'll pass on the food. Next time they come in I'll ask for some."
"You need this more than I do. And I'm worried about your fluid intake."
Actually, he was fine, because he'd fed. With enough blood vampires could survive a number of days without sustenance.
Which was great. Cut down on the trips to the bathroom.
"I want you to eat this," she said, staring down at him. "As your physician—"
"I will not take from your plate." For God's sake, no male of worth would ever rob his female of food, not even if he was starved to the point of dizziness. Her needs always came first—
V felt like putting his head in a car door and slamming it a couple of dozen times. Where the hell was this manual of mating behavior coming from? It was like someone had loaded new software into his brain.
"Okay," she said, turning away. "Fine."
Next thing he heard was banging. She was pounding on the door.
V sat upright. "What the hell are you doing?" Butch flew into the room, nearly knocking V's surgeon off her feet. "What's wrong?"
V cut into the drama with, "Nothing—"
The surgeon spoke over them both, all calm authority. "He needs food, and he won't eat what's on that tray. Bring him something simple and easy to digest. Rice. Chicken. Water. Crackers."
"Okay." Butch leaned to the side and looked at V. There was a long pause. "How you doing?"
Fucked in the head, thanks. "Fine."
But at least there was one good thing going. The cop was back to normal, his eyes clear, his stance strong, his scent a combination of Marissa's ocean smell and his bonding mark. He'd obviously been getting busy.
Interesting. Usually when V thought about those two together, his chest felt like it was wrapped in barbed wire. Now? He was just glad his friend was healthy.
"You look great, Cop."
Butch smoothed his silk pin-striped shirt. "Gucci can turn anyone into a rock star."
"You know what I mean."
Those familiar hazels grew serious. "Yeah. Thanks… as always." In the awkward moment, words hovered in the air between them, things that couldn't be said with any kind of audience. "So… I'll be back with chow."#p#分页标题#e#
As the door shut Jane glanced over her shoulder. "How long have you been lovers?"
Her eyes met his, and there was no getting out of the question.
"We're not."
"You sure about that?"
"Trust me." For no particular reason he looked at her white coat. " 'Dr. Jane Whitcomb,'" he read. " 'Trauma.'" Made sense. She had that kind of confidence. "So I was in bad shape when I came in?"