Chapter 7
Nathan snapped awake and flailed to untangle himself from the blankets so he could see the alarm clock. It was two A.M., and he had no idea why, but something felt wrong. Nauseatingly wrong. Want-to-drink-for-a-week wrong. He sat up and blinked at the empty space next to him.
His ass throbbed with a dull ache, and he had scrambled to his knees and was well on his way to launching himself into a full-on search party by the time he spotted Fury’s bag still on the floor, unzipped and mussed, as though someone had gone digging through it.
Nathan sank onto his heels in relief, mentally chastising himself. If the man had left in the middle of the night, it would have been his prerogative. Nathan would have survived. There was no call for all the damned anguish at the thought. Nathan
