changed his mind and stuffed it under the remaining pillows. Then he moved the covers aside and leaped buck-ass naked out of bed. His body did not appreciate the chill, but that was not the reason he hightailed it into his closet. He felt like he was streaking in front of the female, his hey-nannies out on display, his cheeks flashing, everything he’d come into this world with on parade.
In his closet, he flipped on the overhead lights—and looked at his collection of tailor-made suits with serious consideration. But come on, they weren’t on a date. It was a damn phone call, for godsakes. Not even FaceTime.
He pivoted to the casual section and snagged out of a built-in set of drawers a pair of nylon warm-up pants and the Syracuse sweatshirt Craeg had lent to him a month ago. Back in the bedroom, he jumped into bed and shoved his hand under the pillows. After some hunt and peck with his palm, he grabbed that cell like it was going to self-destruct if he didn’t get a hold of the thing.
“Helania? Hello?”
“Hi. I’m still here.”
Boone felt a blush hit his face and was so glad she couldn’t see him. And then he went to get back under the sheets—only to decide that that was inappropriate. Jumping out of bed again, he landed on the fallen soldier pillow, lost his balance, threw out an arm—and caught himself on the wall while he banged the side of his foot into that side table.
“Boone? Are you okay?”
“Fine—yup, fine, just great.” FUCK. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. “Just stubbed my . . .” Right side of my entire body, goddamn it. “Toe.”
Screw making hospital corners on the fucking bedsheets, he decided. At this rate, if he didn’t sit his ass down, he was going to end up on life support with a concussion and a broken hip.
“I didn’t mean to get too personal,” she said.
“No, it’s fine.”
Stretching out on top of the duvet, he brought his foot up and inspected the damage. Nice work. A crowbar couldn’t have done it better.
Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m just not used to talking about my sire’s death, you know? The whole thing seems surreal. I came home tonight and sat at his desk for the first time in my whole life. I keep expecting to wake up and find him here.”
“You must miss him terribly.”
Opening his mouth to answer that truthfully, he decided to leave that one where it was. Somehow, he didn’t think Hell, no, I’m glad he’s pushing up daisies—oops, filling out an urn, I mean was going to help him make a good first impression.
Second impression, that was. His first being chasing after her into the dark like a stalker.
He really needed to ask the guys in the training program for some help with this dating stuff.
Boone refocused. “I was told it happened quickly. He didn’t suffer. And that is a consolation.”
“So you weren’t . . . there.”
“Not when he passed, no.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Do you feel responsible? Because you weren’t with him, I mean? Even if . . . there was maybe nothing you could have done?”
Boone rubbed the center of his chest as a dull ache abruptly flared into something he was becoming familiar with—and probably needed to get used to. Guilt, it turned out, had a half-life like something that was radioactive.
And a sting that was just the same as being stabbed.
“I am completely responsible,” he said roughly.
“I know what that feels like.”
“Who did you lose?”
When she didn’t immediately reply, he had a thought that he would wait forever for her answer. And the moment that realization hit him, he reminded himself of Butch’s warning: The truth was, he did not know this female at all and they had met under unusual and traumatic circumstances. A combination of male lust and high drama was probably making him feel a connection that was deeper than it actually was.
Take out the “probably.”
After a very long time, she whispered, “My sister.”
Boone sat forward, the math adding up. “Tell me.”
Even though he knew. He knew—and it was a relief, in a tragic way. It would explain why she was in that club, watching after other females so closely.
“She was killed eight months ago,” Helania whispered.
“At Pyre,” he insisted, even as he resolved to let her go at her own pace. “She was killed at the club, too, wasn’t she.”
There was another long silence. “Yes.”
Boone closed his eyes and gripped his cell phone hard.