The Black Dagger Brotherhood_ An Insider's Guide - J. R. Ward [181]
It was the detritus of normal life, none of which seemed significant in the slightest until you thought about all those folks on the planet who couldn’t keep jobs or enjoy an independent existence or have the mental energy to spare on little distractions. Looking at it all, she was reminded yet again that going out into the real world was a privilege, not a right, and it bothered her to think of her father holed up in that shitty little house, wrestling with demons that existed only in his mind. He’d once had a life, a big life. Now he had delusions that tortured him, and though they were only perception, never reality, the voices were completely terrifying nonetheless.
As Ehlena rinsed out her mug, she couldn’t help thinking of the unfairness of it all.
Before she left the locker room, she did a quick check in the full-length mirror next to the door. Her white uniform was perfectly pressed and clean as sterile gauze. Her stockings were without runs. Her crepe-soled shoes were smudge- and scuff-free.
Her hair was as frazzled as she felt.
She did a quick pull-free, retwist, and scrunchie-again, then headed out for exam room three.
The patient’s chart was in the clear plastic holder mounted on the wall by the door, and she took a deep breath as she picked it out of its nest. The thing was curiously thin, considering how often they saw the male. His last visit had been . . . only two weeks ago.
After she knocked, she walked into the room with confidence she didn’t feel, her head up, her spine straight, her unease camo’d by a combo of posture and purpose.
“How are you this evening?” she said as she forced herself to look the patient in the eye.
The instant his amethyst stare met hers, she had no idea what had come out of her mouth.
Rehvenge son of Dragor sucked the thought right out of her head until nothing mattered except for those flashing purple eyes of his.
He was a cobra, this male, mesmerizing because he was deadly and because he was beautiful. With his cropped dark mohawk and his hard, smart face and his huge body, he was sex and power and unpredictability all wrapped up in . . . well, a black pinstriped suit that clearly had been made for him.
“I’m tight, thank you,” he said, his voice much deeper than the average male’s. Much deeper than most oceans, it seemed. “And you?”
He smiled a little, because he was fully aware that none of the nurses liked being in the same enclosed space with him, and evidently he enjoyed the fact that he made them all uncomfortable.
At least that was how she read his expression.
She put his chart down on the desk and took her stethoscope out of her pocket. “I’m very well.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.” She turned toward him. “I’m going to take your blood pressure and your heart rate.”
“My temperature, too.”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to open my mouth now?”
Ehlena’s skin flushed, and she told herself it was not because that drawl of his made the question sexual. “Er—No.”
“Pity.”
Rehvenge’s shoulders rolled as he removed his suit jacket, and, with a lazy flick of the hand, he tossed the thing onto the sable coat that was carefully draped over a chair. He always had a coat like that with him no matter the season. Usually he wore them, but not always.
They were worth more than the house Ehlena rented. Apiece.
His long fingers went to the diamond cufflink on his right wrist.
“Could you please do that on the other side?” She nodded toward the wall she would have to squeeze against. “More space for me on your left.”
He hesitated, then went to work on his opposite sleeve. Rolling the black silk up past his elbow and onto his thick bicep, he kept his arm turned