Page 22 of Unchained

“You’re awake?” With a featherlight touch, Cam brushed his hair away from his forehead. She flattened the back of her hand to his cheek, then his brow, then settled her palm on his shoulder. Relief so great brought tears to his eyes, but not enough to squelch the acidity bubbling in his stomach.

“How are you feeling?”

He ached to look at her. To find her green eyes and lose himself in her care, but turning his head might kill him. “Like death.” Jeez. He hated the whine in his voice.

As she moved closer to his head, he forced his eyelids open. She’d pulled her hair back. Her face was freshly scrubbed, and the scent of minty toothpaste was faint on her breath.

“You’re warm. How about some water?” She swept her hand under his head and lifted it an inch then guided a straw to his lips. The cool liquid touched his tongue, swam in his mouth, before he swallowed over the grittiness in his throat. He groaned in delight and sucked back the rest of the water.

“Not too much,” she said softly.

After lowering his head back to the pillow, she picked up the bucket from the nightstand, disappeared, and returned a few minutes later. The bed dipped slightly as she sat. “I’ve been checking your vitals. Blood pressure is still high, but you seem to be handling it well.”

A cool cloth grazed his shoulders and the back of his neck.

“It’s the drug.” The statement took more effort to make than it should have.

She frowned and dabbed at his hairline. “I know the drug is causing the withdrawal—”

“No.” He coughed, clearing the grogginess from his throat. “My body repairs itself faster than normal. It’s the only perk.”

“Interesting.” She lowered the washcloth then brought her fingers to the bruise by his lip. “This is almost healed. It was swollen the other night.”

“It’ll be gone tomorrow.”

Her knuckles dusted over his beard, her gaze intent on his profile. “Won’t that change now that you’re not taking the drug anymore?”

Bile flopped in his stomach. He bolted upright, a gag lodging in his throat. Cam caught his shoulders, not revealing any fear of getting puked on.

“Easy, easy. What’s wrong?”

“Sick.”

She ran to the bathroom and returned seconds later with an empty wastebasket. “Here.”

He shoved it away. The putrid taste of vomit crawled up his esophagus, but there was no way in hell he’d puke in something she was holding. He gagged again and crushed his knuckles to his lips.

“It’s okay,” Cam said, rubbing his back. “Let it out.”

Jesus, had he no dignity? He struggled to stand. The floor seesawed beneath his feet. Cam propped her shoulder under his armpit.

“You need to sit down. If you fall in the bathroom, I won’t be able to get you up.”

He caught the wall with his hand, pulling out of her grasp and stumbling to the bathroom. “I’m fine.” Trudging his feet across the cold tile, he lowered himself to the toilet. He didn’t even get the chance to shoo Cam out before he emptied his stomach. Her hand ran up and down his back in a slow movement as he retched. He sucked back one breath after another, and the nausea settled. Cam filled a glass with water and handed it to him. He coiled away. His stomach would reject anything he put into it.

“Small sips this time.”

The foul taste in his mouth made him comply. First, he rinsed his mouth, spitting the excess in the toilet, then he swallowed a tiny mouthful. Exhaustion pulled at his muscles and fatigue made the tendons in his neck too limp to hold up his head.

“C’mon, back to bed.”

He rose on shaky legs. This time he didn’t resist her help. He’d be more embarrassed if he woke up on the floor. “How long have we been here? What time is it?” He dropped onto the bed.

She caught his feet and swung them on top of the mattress. “Four hours or so. It’s almost 5:00 a.m.”

He groaned. “You haven’t slept yet?”

She tickled her fingers through his hair. “No. I’m fine.”

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