“Why doesn’t she want you to know where she goes while you’re working?”
“Excuse me?”
“Females don’t keep secrets from mates who respect them. And that’s as far as I’m going to take this. But blind or not, you need to get a clearer picture of yourself.”
Wrath marched forward over the wet floor. “Payne. Payne! Come back here this fucking minute!”
He was arguing with himself, though.
The female had left him alone.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, Trez thought as he breathed in again.
Recovery from a migraine was all about a soft landing for your return to consciousness. Usually the prescription was food and actual rest—because shit knew that even though you were in a dark room with nothing but Howard 100 streaming through your iPhone, you weren’t hanging proper with the sandman.
At the moment, however, he was seriously reconsidering years of get-back-to-normal trial and error: As the door shut behind his brother, and Trez was left alone with the Chosen Selena, every cell in his body went on full tingle.
Oh, man, he had to will on a lamp, even though it was a little early for his retinas to handle any real light—
Hello, goddess.
Selena was tall, and though she wore the traditional white robing of her station, it was clear she was built exactly like a female should be: Nothing was keeping down those curves of hers, not even all that draped fabric. And talk about your beautiful faces. She was all pink lips and pale blue eyes, her features perfectly symmetrical and engineered to catch a male’s stare and hold it. Then there was the hair. Long, thick, and the color of midnight, she wore it in the style of the Chosen, all coiled on the crown of her head.
So that all you could think of was taking it down and running your fingers through it.
She was perfect in every way.
And would not give him the time of day.
Which made her appearance up here with his bag of shit all the more remarkable.
“You have been gravely ill,” she said softly.
Trez’s eyeballs rolled back in his head. That voice. Shit, that voice.
Wait, she wanted him to respond, didn’t she. What had she—“Nah. I’m great. Just great.”
And becoming hard as a rock, fuck him very much. God, he hoped she didn’t catch the scent of his arousal.
“What may I do to help you?”
Umm … how ’bout drop the robe and hop up on this bed. After which you can ride me like a pony until I pass the hell out.
“Would you care for some of this food?”
“What food?” he mumbled.
“Your brother prepared for you that bag.”
Had the bastard even been here? he wondered.
“You just asked him to leave?”
Guess so. “Oh, yeah. Right.”
Trez eased back against the pillows and winced. As he went to rub his temples, he sensed her approaching the bed—and with a fast move, he yanked the heavy duvet higher on his belly.
Sometimes “naked” meant so much more than just “I don’t have any clothes on.”
Man, her expression was so worried. To the point where he had to force himself to remember she’d blown him off before. Which she really had.
Yup, as faulty as his short-term memory was—at least when it came to, like, his brother being in the room—he could recall exactly where he’d been when he’d seen this female last … as well as her less-than-enthused response to him.
He also remembered precisely how he came to know (of) her. He’d heard her name as soon as Phury had released the Chosen from the Scribe Virgin’s Sanctuary and Selena, along with the others, had started living off and on at Rehvenge’s Great Camp up in the Adirondacks. He’d even caught sight of her from time to time, but shit had been going down with Rehv and he’d been distracted.
That had passed, however. And he and iAm had gone up there at Rehv’s request recently—which was when he’d met her properly, one-on-one.
Okay, iAm had been with him, but he’d likewise put the guy out of mind. Then again, the moment he’d seen that female he’d forgotten his own name, most of his English vocabulary, and seventy-five percent of his sense of balance.
Instant. Cosmic. Attraction.
At least, on his part.
She was less struck stupid, of course—although he’d had hopes. And stalker tendencies. For the past week, he’d hung around the mansion for however many nights in a row, hoping to see her in the midst of one of her visits to service the Brotherhood. Because, hey, nothing says, “I wanna date ya,” like grounds for a restraining order.
Eventually, he’d won the lottery and managed to “run into her.” Like the simp he was, he’d told her she was beautiful—and not in a pickup-line kind of way. He’d actually meant it. Unfortunately, and unlike the countless human women he macked on, she’d remained unimpressed.