As she went over to her closet, she felt like her body was a bomb about to go off—and, man, she hated it: She’d had no idea how much she took for granted in the health department until she’d deliberately tried to complicate herself—
For no apparent reason, the Saturnine Ruby slipped right off her finger.
Glancing down, she watched the ring bounce on the carpet—and frowned as she bent over and picked the thing up. She and Wrath had traded back for convenience because both had struggled with something that didn’t fit—and the symbols of their marriage had meaning no matter whose hand they were on.
Or falling off of, as was the case—
“What the hell?” she breathed.
As she went to put the thing back on, she realized that her fingers were positively skeletal, the skin stretched over knobby knuckles and a sunken palm.
Heart starting to hammer, she rushed to the mirror in the bathroom, turning on the lights—
Beth gasped. The reflection staring back at her was all wrong—all totally frickin’ wrong. Overnight, literally, her face had hollowed out, all the fat gone from her cheeks and her temples, her chin sharp as a knife, the tendons in her neck standing out in bald relief.
Stark fear speared into her chest. Especially as she lifted her arm and pulled at the skin on her triceps. Loose. Way loose.
It was as if she had lost twenty-five pounds within hours—except for her belly.
Trying not to completely freak out, she headed for the closet to find something she could wear. In the end, she pulled on a pair of drawstring sweatpants, and one of Wrath’s few button-downs. The latter was like a cloud of fine white cotton around her—and that meant, as she had another hot flash, there was plenty of ventilation happening.
At least her slippers fit perfectly.
Heading down to the second-floor landing, she put her head into the study and didn’t find Wrath at the desk. Maybe he was working out?
She was going down the grand staircase when she found him.
He and George were walking out of the dining room along with a string of doggen, the staff carrying all kinds of silver trays across the depiction of the apple tree in bloom.
The second he caught her scent, he stopped. “Leelan! Are you sure you should be up?”
Turned out the smell of the food was one hell of a distraction: the spike of hunger she got in response enough to halt her in her tracks.
“Ah … yeah, I feel okay. I’m hungry, actually.”
As well as scared to death.
While the staff continued on into the billiards room, filing in past some sheets of heavy plastic, Wrath came over to the base of the stairs. “Let’s get you into the kitchen.”
Heading all the way down to join him, she let him take her arm, and leaned into his strength, taking a deep, easing breath. She’d probably just imagined everything up there. Really. Probably.
Crap. “You know, I slept well,” she murmured as if to reassure herself. Which didn’t work.
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hm.”
Together, they walked past the long dining table, and went through the flap door in the far corner. On the other side, iAm was once again at the stove, stirring a great pot.
The Shadow turned—and immediately frowned as he looked at her.
“What?” She put her hands to her stomach. “What are you—”
“Nothing,” he said, banging his wooden spoon on the steel vat. “You two like chicken soup?”
“Oh, yes, that sounds perfect.” Beth hopped up onto a stool. “And some bread maybe—”
Fritz materialized at her elbow with a baguette and a plate with butter. “For you, madam.”
She had to laugh. “How did you know?”
As Wrath sat on the stool next to her, George parked it between them. “I had him on standby.”
A steaming bowl of soup was slid in front of her by the Shadow. “Enjoy.”
“Him, too?” she asked of iAm.
“Yeah, the Shadow mighta been on it as well.”
Picking up the spoon Fritz offered her, she dug in, aware the three males were staring at her—Wrath with such intensity, it was almost as if he’d gotten his sight back—
“Mmmmm,” she said—and meant it. The soup was perfect, simple, not too heavy, and warm, warm, warm.
Maybe it was just that she’d been through the needing and not eaten for how long?
“So what’s going on in the billiards room,” she asked, to try to distract the males.
“They’re cleaning up after me.”
She winced. “Ah.”
Wrath patted around for the baguette and broke off the hard end, putting it aside. The piece he then tore for her was soft in the middle, crunchy on the outside—and the butter he put on it was the unsalted, sweet kind.