“You should try it.”
“I like to be busy.” She took another large gulp of her drink. “It keeps me—”
“From thinking?” He understood. When he’d first been sold to the arena, he’d done the same. Except he’d filled the hours with fighting and fucking.
A spasm crossed her face. “Yes.”
Then Lore watched as every drop of color leached out of her cheeks. He frowned. “Madeline—”
She let out a small cry, and her glass dropped from her hand, shattering on the floor. Because of the crowd and the loud music, no one even glanced their way. She wrapped her arms around her middle and made a pained noise.
“Hold on.” He picked her up into his arms.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” He pushed through the crowd, ignoring Raiden and Thorin, who were subtly trying to get his attention. “You’ve gone as white as the Naskian salt plains.” He found a couch in a dark corner of the room. A Gallian man was sitting on it, but as Lore glared at him, the poor guest shot to his feet and scurried away.
He set her down, kneeling beside her. Her color was still not great. “I’m taking you to Medical.”
“No! I promise I’m fine.” She ran a shaky hand through her hair. “I’m okay. I haven’t eaten, that’s all.”
He stared at her, seeing that some color was slowly seeping back into her cheeks. “You need to look after yourself better than this, Madeline.”
She nodded. “I was just nervous about this evening. I’ll make sure I eat something, and as soon as this party is over, I’m heading straight to bed.”
Lore still wasn’t convinced. Too many times now he’d seen that look of pain cross her face.
“Thanks for your help tonight,” she said quietly. “The show, talking with Vashto and Cerria. Without you, we wouldn’t be on the right path to finding Blaine.” She plucked at the hem of her dress.
“I’ll do everything I can to help him.” And to help you. If you’ll let me.
She nodded, looking over his shoulder. “I see Harper and Rory.” She stood. “Thanks again, Lore.”
She brushed past him, and Lore fought the urge to follow her.
But he let her go for now. Pushing her too hard wouldn’t help. He got the feeling no one had ever taken care of Madeline before. He couldn’t stop the urge to take care of her, it was built into his very being. He wanted to see her happy and healthy, and…he really wanted her naked beneath him.
Whether she liked it or not, Madeline Cochran was going to be his.
***
Madeline woke with a gasp. She was in agony.
She pressed her hands against her burning stomach, rolling to the edge of her bed. The pain was outrageous.
Milk. She wanted some of the milky drink she’d found earlier in the kitchen. It had helped ease her stomach after the party.
Her room was awash in moonlight, and she stumbled through the shadows, clad only in her sleep shirt. It was a little too big and kept slipping off one shoulder, but at least it fell almost to her knees.
She staggered down the hallway, hoping she wouldn’t run into anybody. But it was late, the party having ended hours ago. Everyone should be sleeping by now.
She moved into the living area reserved for the high-level gladiators. A small kitchen area in the corner was kept well-stocked by the main kitchen staff. After rummaging through the cupboards, she found a glass and filled it with the milky liquid.
Madeline took a sip and tried not to wonder what alien animal it had come from. She waited for the drink to have some effect, but this time, it didn’t help. The horrible burning felt like acid gnawing a hole in her insides.
Stumbling away from the kitchen, she moved back through the dark living space. When a sharp spear of agony rocketed through her, she slammed into the wall. God, it hurt.
She headed toward the balcony. Maybe some fresh air would help? But she only made it to the window before another sharp pain cut through her. Pressing her forehead to the cool glass, she felt the prick of tears. She was miserable. Alone. And she missed her son more than anything.
She stared out the window at the shadowed city beyond. An alien city so far from everything that was familiar to her. Here, she was nothing. Here, she felt like the glass she was looking through—transparent and insubstantial.
All of a sudden, a light clicked on. “Madeline?”
Not now. She lifted her head. A bare-chested Lore, clad only in some soft-looking gray trousers, stood in the doorway to the living area. He always saw her at her weakest.
“Go back to bed,” she said.
“What’s wrong?” He moved closer, his brow knitted.