“Thank you for caring for me.” Though he was undoubtedly thankful, the husky timbre of his voice was due to the sheer want coursing through his system.
“With your accelerated healing and metabolism, you’re probably hungry.”
Oh, God yes. Yes he was. He dropped his gaze and from her small gasp, he knew he couldn’t hide the type and depth of his hunger. Under the cotton top he could see her nipples pearl, which only intensified his desire. If he didn’t step back, he was going to do something that, while he wouldn’t regret, he somehow knew Jackie would.
“If you wouldn’t mind, I could use some food.” As if on cue, the sizzle and scent of cooking sausage wafted through the door.
Jackie blinked, as if his words freed her from a trance, then she backed quickly away to slide out from the bed. “Certainly. Help yourself. It sounds like Ben already has.” She crossed to a door he assumed went to a bathroom and added, “I’ll be out in just a minute.”
Zan blew out a harsh breath and used up that minute to get his body under control. Then he padded into the kitchen where Ben had indeed made himself at home. He was by the stove, cutting up potatoes while he kept an eye on the frying sausage.
Zan sat down at the small kitchen table, wincing as the move pulled on the stitches at his hip.
“Here,” Ben dropped potatoes, a cutting board and a large knife in front of Zan. “I take it you know how to use one of these?”
Zan nearly smirked because, yeah, he could handle a knife. “I get by.” At ease, he began chopping potatoes into inch squares.
Ben watched the flash of the blade and gave an approving grunt. “So, how’d you and Dean get separated as kids?”
The blunt question threw Zan off guard. He paused and looked up, just as Jackie entered the kitchen. Her face was dewy, as if she’d just washed it, no make-up highlighted the curves of her cheekbones or slicked over the soft plumb of her lips. Her hair was tidy once again, pulled into a thick tail at her back.
She glared at Ben as she sat across the table from Zan. “That’s rude, and none of our business, Ben.”
“And your point?”
Despite himself, or because of his innate humor that had all but disappeared several months ago, Zan chuckled. “I don’t mind.”
Jackie turned her doe brown eyes to him and a southern body part reared its greedy head. “You don’t mind?”
The only thing he minded right now was Ben’s presence. Biting back a groan, he returned to his task. “I actually don’t remember much. In fact, I didn’t know I was adopted until I was fifteen and had pissed off my older sister for the millionth time. I thought the strange memories I had of an older brother were dreams, or a figment of my imagination.” He shrugged it away. “When I was about six, my family was killed. My mom was able to escape with me, but she died shortly after.”
He reached for another potato, organizing his thoughts away from what he’d thought horrible nightmares and not reality. Though the memories were no longer confusing, the terror and blood he’d witnessed at such a young age had left him with many agonizing nights, until he’d finally been told the truth and been able to understand and separate his past family with his current one. Truth, to him, was big on his list. He couldn’t stand liars, which was in itself a double standard considering some of the lies he’d effortlessly spewed out during his missions.
“Zan?”
He looked up to see Jackie watching him, the concern in her expression making him want to cuddle her close. Which was odd because while he was instinctively a protector and enjoyed, even craved, touch like any other shifter, he wasn’t a cuddler. Just ask any of his past lovers.
Flashing a wry smile he said, “Sorry. Where was I? Oh, yes. Luckily for me, a special man found us. I call him special because, though not one himself, he knew about shifters and placed me with a loving shifter family. So there I was, thinking I was the middle child until my sister drops the bomb on me. To this day she remains mortified at her outburst. But I forgave her long ago.”
Intrigued, Jackie asked, “Was that when you found out your brother was still alive?”
“No, not then. My mom—my adopted mom—showed me this necklace that my birth mother had. It was made of wood and had two names carved into it, one on each side. Deanato and Alexander. That’s when I was told that my family was killed when I was six.”
“That must have been horrible to hear.”
Jackie reached out and touched his forearm, stilling his hand. He’d been chopping faster as he spoke, remembering how angry and betrayed he’d felt at the time. But with Jackie’s casual touch, the tension simply melted away.