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“Not this part. But yeah, I thought that’s where they’d taken me. Ehlena was really good to me, by the way. In there.” She nodded in the direction of the OR. “And before you ask, I’m going to be fine. Doc Jane said so.”

“Good.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ll go get John.”

“Thanks.”

At the door, Rehv paused and then shot narrowed amethyst eyes over his shoulder. “Listen up.” The asshole went unsaid. “You matter. Not just to me, but to a lot of people. So you do what you have to and get your head right. But don’t think I’m clueless about what you’re planning for afterward.”

She glared right back at him. “Fucking sin-eater.”

“You know it.” Rehv cocked an eyebrow. “And I know you too well. Don’t be a fucker, Xhex. You’ve got all of us on your side and you can get through this.”

As he ducked out, she found his faith in her resilience admirable. But she wasn’t buying it.

In fact, just the thought of any future beyond Lash’s funeral sent a wave of exhaustion blowing through her bloodstream. With a groan, she closed her eyes and prayed that for the love of all that was holy, Rehvenge would stay out of her biz . . .

Xhex woke up with a gasp. She had no idea how long she’d been out. Or where John—

Well, that one was answered: John was on the floor across from her bed, lying on his side, his head resting on the inside of the arm he’d curled up into a pillow. He looked tired even as he slept, his brows tight, his mouth in a weary grimace.

The comfort she took in seeing him was a stunner, but she didn’t fight it. Not enough energy—and besides, no witnesses.

“John?”

The instant she said his name, he was up off the linoleum, in a fighting stance, with his warrior’s body between her and the door to the hall. Pretty clear he was prepared to shred anything that threatened her.

Which was . . . really sweet.

And better than a bedside bouquet that would have left her sneezing.

“John . . . come here.”

He waited a moment, cocking his head as if listening for sounds. Then he dropped his fists and walked over. The instant his eyes swung toward her, his brutal glare and his bared fangs faded into a gut-wrenching compassion.

He went right for his pad, wrote something, and flashed it.

“No, thanks. I’m not hungry yet.” Which had always been true for her. After a feeding, she didn’t eat for hours, sometimes a full day. “What I would love . . .”

Her eyes shifted to the bathroom in the corner.

Shower, he wrote, and showed her.

“Yeah. Jesus . . . I would love some hot water.”

He was all about the nursey-nursey, going in to start the spray, setting out towels and soap and a toothbrush on the counter.

Feeling like a piker, she went to sit up . . . and it became clear someone had tied a house around her chest; it literally felt like she was lifting a two-story colonial up with her shoulders. What got her legs swinging off the side of the mattress was a lot of effort—and the conviction that if she couldn’t at least get partially vertical on her own, he was going to call the doc and she was going to lose her shower.

John came in just as her bare soles hit the floor and he was Johnny-on-the-spot with the steadying arm as she stood up. When the sheets fell away from her, they both had a moment of . . . Holy shit—naked. But this was hardly a time for modesty.

“What should I do about the dressing?” she murmured, looking down at the white bandage that stretched across her pelvis.

When John glanced over at his pad, as if he were trying to decide whether he could reach it while still holding her up, she said, “No, I don’t want Doc Jane. I’m just going to take it off.”

She picked a corner free and as she weaved on her feet, she figured it probably would have been better to do this lying down—and under medical supervision. But fuck it.

“Oh . . .” she breathed as she slowly revealed the line of black stitches. “Damn . . . V’s female is good with a needle and thread, huh.”

John took the bloodstained gauze pack and nothing-but-netted it into the trash can in the corner. And then he just waited, as if he was very aware she was thinking