Page 28 of King Among the Dead

Rose sat holding her plate, dumbstruck. She couldn’t decide which was more earth-shattering: seeing him like this, so unlike himself, or hearing him call herRosie.

Both, she decided.

“How is he?” she asked.

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not…” Beck yawned hugely. “Here.” And then promptly fell asleep with his mouth open.

Kay snorted. “Like I said. High off his ass.” She returned with a plate of her own and dropped into the chair beside Rose’s, still in position from last night.

“How is he really, though?”

“Eat and I’ll tell you.”

The toast was a little burned, and Rose was more than a little queasy, but the first bite proved she was starving, too.

“I already changed the bandages,” Kay said, “and there wasn’t any bleeding, which was good – though that’ll change the first time he insists on getting up. I imagine he’ll want to sleep in his own bed tonight, and I don’t blame him. He’s got a slight fever, but it’s not bad yet. I’m pumping him full of antibiotics, so. Fingers crossed.” She took a bite of bacon and exhaled, shoulders slumping. She looked as exhausted as Rose felt, even if her gaze was sharp as ever.

“What time is it?”

“Just after three.”

“In the afternoon?” Rose’s toast turned over in her stomach. “I didn’t mean to sleep so late.”

“You needed it.”

Rose stared at her.

“I may be old and tired, yeah, but you were a bundle of nerves last night. It was a shock, seeing him like that. The adrenaline crash wears you out worse than anything in situations like those.”

Still, Rose felt guilty. “Did you sleep at all?”

“A little.” Tone evasive.

“After we eat, I’ll wash up and sit with him a while so you can take a nap.”

“Oh, you will, will you?” When Rose refused to glance away, face schooled to what she hoped was a firm expression, Kay shrugged and said, “What the hell. Who am I to turn down a nap? Just come get me if starts thrashing around or anything.”

Rose was drying the dishes when she heard the sheets rustle, and Beck let out a croaky, “Rose?”

She felt a brief, sharp flicker of gladness to know that the first one he’d called for when he woke was her. Even if he was drugged and it didn’t count.

Or maybe it counted more. Maybe the drugs had stripped him of all his inhibitions, and she really was the one he thought of first, and wanted first.

She wiped her hands quickly and went to his bedside. “Are you alright? Can I get you something?” Kay had said he would need to be on a strict diet, nothing but liquids and a few soft foods. There was a second fridge in the garage; she’d spotted it the day they’d gone shopping, and Kay had said it was full of sports drinks, among other “essentials.” “There’s some Gatorade…”

But Beck was shaking his head. Slowly, sloppily, hair rustling on the pillows. He swallowed afterward, blinking. Dizzy, she thought, just from that simple movement.

“You need to rehydrate,” she prompted, gently. “You lost a lot of blood.”

He closed his eyes. His throat moved as he swallowed, and it looked painful and dry. But he said, “No.” Said, “I want you.” And opened his eyes again, low-lidded, and golden, and glassy, but trained on her face, and only on her face. They didn’t waver.

It shouldn’t have, given that he was lying down, and high on morphine, and wounded, and pathetic, really, but the force of his gaze hit her like a shove, right against her breastbone. How could he do that? How could he project such weight and meaning, even like this? Just looking at her. Other people didn’t speak with their eyes this way, not like he did. She’d never felt anything remotely like this before.

And he wasn’t pathetic at all, really, was he; even weak and vulnerable and wounded, there was no mistaking the lean, muscled shape of him beneath the blankets; a big cat at rest, a lion in the tall grass, waiting, watchingher, of all people.

She sucked in a breath. “I’m here.”

He made a face she would have laughed at in another moment; a displeased, crumpled-up expression he would never have worn ordinarily. “No. I wantyou.” He lifted an unsteady hand and pointed at her.

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