Chapter Nineteen
There had been quite a few times recently when I’d come to in a bed, fuzzy on how I’d ended up there. As I swam back towards consciousness this time around, I resolved to make an effort to live more carefully. Fewer panic attacks, less maht-drinking, less black powder.
Being carried back to my bed in a pleasure-induced stupor by my lover, though—that was all right. That I wouldn’t mind repeating.
Del was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes, brooding in the bedside armchair. The wall behind him was a washed-out, uneasy mauve—but at least there was no more of that awful red.
“Hey there,” I murmured, and Del was out of the armchair in an instant. He stood beside the bed, positively coursing with energy, ready to Do Something Useful—but the last time I’d seen him (
