J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 5-8 - J. R. Ward [394]
Trez put the screen back in place and looked over his shoulder. “Your lips are blue. You want me to make you some coffee?”
“You’re a bodyguard, not a butler.”
“And we’ve got how many people standing around here with silver trays?”
“I can get it.” Rehv went to sit up, and his stomach lurched. “Fuck.”
“Lie back down before I knock you out.”
As the guy left, Rehv resettled against the cushions, hating the aftermath of what he did to the Princess. Hating it. He just wanted to forget the whole thing, at least until next month. Unfortunately, the shit was on an endless play loop in his head. He saw what he’d done in that cabin tonight over and over again, saw himself jerk off to seduce the Princess and then fuck her at that windowsill.
Variations on that perversion had been his sex life for how long now? Shit . . .
He wondered briefly what it would be like to have someone he cared about but he shelved that fantasy pretty damn quick. The only way he could have sex was if he was off his meds—so the only person he could be with was a symphath , and there was no way in hell he was going to warm up to one of those females. Sure, he and Xhex had tried it out, but that had been a disaster on a lot of levels.
A coffee mug was shoved under his nose. “Drink this.”
Reaching for the thing, he said, “Thanks—”
“Oh, shit, check you out.”
Rehv quickly switched hands, tucking his bad forearm back under the blankets. “Like I said, thank you.”
“So that’s why Xhex made you go to the clinic, huh.” Trez parked it in an oxblood club chair. “And, no, I won’t be holding my breath for a confirm on that. I’ll just take it as self-evident.”
As Trez crossed his legs, he looked like a perfect gentleman, a real example of royalty: In spite of the fact that he was wearing black cargo pants, combat boots, and a muscle shirt—and was fully capable of tearing a male’s head off and using it as a soccer ball—you’d have sworn he was just one visit to the closet away from ermine robes and a crown.
Which, actually, just happened to be true.
“Good coffee,” Rehv murmured.
“Just don’t ask me to bake. How’s the antivenom doing?”
“Jim-dandy.”
“So your stomach’s still off.”
“You should be a symphath.”
“I work with two of them. That’s close enough, fuck you very much.”
Rehv smiled and took another monster drag from the mug’s lip. The lining of his mouth was probably getting burned given how much steam was rising from what was inside, but he didn’t feel a thing.
On the other hand, he was all too conscious of Trez’s unwavering black stare. Which meant the Moor was about to say something Rehv wasn’t going to like. As opposed to most people, when the guy told you what you didn’t want to hear, he looked right into you.
Rehv rolled his eyes. “Just get it over with, why don’t you.”
“You’re worse each time you’re with her.”
True. Back when it started, he could be with the Princess and go back to work right away. After a couple years had passed, he’d needed a quick lie-down. Then a nap for a couple of hours. Now he was on his ass for a good twenty-four hours. Thing was, he was developing an allergic reaction to the venom. Sure, the antivenom serum Trez pumped into him afterward kept him from going into shock, but he wasn’t recovering well anymore.
Maybe one day he wouldn’t recover at all.
As he considered the number of medications he needed to have regularly, he thought, Shit, better living through chemistry. Kind of.
Trez was still looking at him, so he took another drink and said, “Quitting with her is not an option.”
“You could blow out of Caldwell, though. Find another place to live. If she doesn’t know how to find you, she can’t turn you in.”
“If I leave town, she’d just go after my mother. Who won’t relocate because of Bella and the young.”
“This is going to kill you.”
“She’s too addicted to risk that, though.”
“Then you need to tell her to cut the shit with that scorpion rubdown she