44
886 Words
THIRTEEN
The sound that slipped between Lumina’s chapped lips was a combination kill me groan and weak give me water plea for help. She sat up in bed, hand to her forehead, and concentrated on keeping the contents of her stomach down.
Memories of last night and Jack’s potent potato vodka came back with strobe light, gut-lurching clarity. The kill me groan enjoyed an encore.
“You’re awake.”
Lu glanced up to see Magnus leaning against the arched doorway of her bedchamber, watching her with an expression both concerned and strangely intense.
How long has he been there?
“Unfortunately, yes. Ugh.” She swallowed what felt like a mouthful of garbage and stuck out her tongue, repulsed by the taste in her mouth. She fought the unwelcome feeling she might not want to know exactly what had happened during the last few hours of her day yesterday, which at this point were engulfed in a black, throbbing fog of hurt.
Magnus pushed away from the wall and walked closer. “I told you that was rotgut vodka.”
Her answering groan made him chuckle. If she hadn’t been in so much pain, she would have done a double take and stared; it was the first time she’d heard him make a happy sound.
She liked it. She wanted to hear him do it again.
“Excuse me, but you’re the one who suggested it. You said, and I quote, ‘It will put you right in the head.’ Which would only make sense if by right you meant dementia? Or maybe a coma?”
As she’d hoped, Lu was rewarded with that chuckle. Low, deep, and wonderfully masculine, it sent a little thrill through her body, which unfortunately made her want to lean over and retch. She grimaced, cradling her stomach.
“I suppose I should’ve given you better warning. Jack is Irish on both parents’ sides; they don’t make alcohol for the faint of heart.”
“Or the faint of stomach, either.” Lu rubbed slow circles over her belly, eying the glossy fur coverlet on the bed, worried it might soon be ruined. She’d never had a hangover before in her life, and could imagine few things worse.
All right, she could imagine a few things worse, but not self-inflicted things.
“Is it really that bad?” Magnus crossed the room and stood over the bed, looking down at her with his brows pulled together, all traces of humor vanished. “Are you going to be sick?”
Lu had to slowly inhale and exhale a few times before she could answer. “I think so.” She nodded, which made the room lurch in a really bad way. “Uh-oh.”
In a swift, sudden movement, Magnus knelt beside the bed. He said, “Look at me.”
She did, and found him staring at her in intense concentration. He didn’t move, touch her, or say anything else, but her queasy stomach and pounding head abruptly settled, and the fatigue, dry mouth, and allover body aches that accompanied them were just as suddenly gone, too. From one second to the next, she went from feeling sick to feeling great.
“Huh,” said Lu. “Okay, that’s weird.”
Magnus just stared at her. She swallowed, stretched her neck one way then the other, and sat up straighter, inhaling a deep breath.
He said, “How do you feel now?” and she slanted him a look.
“You did something.” Her soft accusation didn’t faze him. Strangely, though, he’d begun to turn a little . . . green. Realization hit her like a thunderbolt, and Lu gasped. “Magnus!”
He winced, closed his eyes. “Not so loud, please.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, making a grumble of distress in his throat.
“You . . . you take away pain? That’s your Gift?”
His full lips twisted. He cracked open an eye and looked at her. He said, “One of them. This particular one has a few unfortunate side effects,” then his face crumpled. “Jesus, woman, exactly how much did you drink last night?”
Lu swung her legs over the side of the bed, wanting to touch him but knowing he wouldn’t want her to, wanting to comfort him but not knowing how. “Magnus, you didn’t have to do that! It’s my fault, you shouldn’t have to—”
“I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” The young man standing in her bedchamber door was about her age, broad, blond, and ridiculously good-looking, with a soft glow around his head that seemed to be coming from behind him. He looked between her and Magnus, a little unsure, but Magnus shoved himself to his feet and growled, “No, Beckett. I was just leaving.”
Lu begged, “Magnus, please, wait—”
“I brought these for you,” he said gruffly, and dropped two pairs of gloves on the small table beside her bed. He turned and strode stiffly from the room without looking back before she could ask him again to stay.
As Magnus brushed past him in the doorway, Beckett grinned at him, flashing a dimple in his cheek.
- Writer
