She watched with amusement as her team backed up. Marlene chuckled and shook her head.
"I can rustle up some breakfast. You look about a few pints low."
"Yeah. Oh, Marlene, try a half gallon."
"She's gonna turn, ain't she?" A sob caught in Big Mike's throat.
Shabazz looked away. Rider inhaled sharply and faced the window to hide his emotions. Dan hung his head and Jose slung an arm over his shoulder like he was holding them both up. JL covered his face with his hands and breathed in deeply.
Marlene winked at Damali. "Go get a shower, and let me break it to the fellas gently, hon. I know you're a vegetarian... but this morning, you need some steak and eggs."
It felt like the worst hangover he'd ever experienced. Carlos sat up slowly, feeling as if he'd taken several body blows, then smiled. Oh, yeah...
He ran his palm over his jaw, noting the prickly stubble. He didn't even have the energy to shave. With effort he stood, groaning from the exertion, found his pants, and tried to sense time... Eleven o'clock at night? Man.
His legs felt like jelly, even the muscles in his ass were sore, but hunger pulled him through the lair door, up the steps, holding onto the wall for support. Four pairs of worried eyes greeted him as he entered the main section of the cabin safe house on the way to the refrigerator.
"Yo, que pasa?" he muttered on a yawn.
For a moment, none of the clerics replied. Whatever.
"Are you all right?" Father Patrick asked.
"Just need a few pints. I'll be cool." Carlos stumbled toward the refrigerator, and grabbed two bags, slit them, and downed the cold liquid they contained and grimaced. Cold. Shit. He hated leftovers. He let out his breath and took out two more. The blood was slow to hit his system, and definitely didn't have the same kick as hers. He glanced up at the nervous clerics and shrugged off the temptation they presented. "I'm cool, y'all," he murmured when their faces blanched.
Father Patrick stood and approached him with caution. "We need to have a conversation... about the, uh, events of last night."
Carlos closed his eyes and leaned against the counter. He was in no mood for this bull right now. His body hurt, he was still tired. Needed a shot of adrenaline... needed a shot of Damali. He let his breath out slowly. "Talk to me."
"There are a number of issues," Father Patrick said, his tone firm as he tried to find a delicate way to begin. He glanced at his team who remained mute. "We were all concerned."
"I didn't hurt her," Carlos grumbled, too embarrassed for words.
"True, but, uh..."
"Look, I need to get out of here for a couple of hours."
Father Patrick glanced at his team for support. "That's not a good idea."
"Why not?" They were pissing him off, and he could feel Damali waking up. Her pull was distracting. The monks needed to talk fast.
"You're in a compromised state."
Carlos stared at the cleric, then chuckled. "You're telling me."
"No, I'm serious, Carlos. You need to regenerate more, first."
"Pulleease, spare me."
"That's what I'm trying to do."
Carlos shook his head. These old boys had no idea. If he had to die like this, then so be it.
"You have to stay away from her... uh... No more talks, that is."
His gaze narrowed on the old seer. "Then you might as well drive a stake through my heart right now. What do mean, stay away from her?"
Carlos brushed past them, heading for the door.