was cranky. Promise’s eyes watered, and she finally winced, shutting her eyelids. Her brain felt like it swelled.
“Go away,” Faith said urgently.
The pain receded again. Promise opened her eyes.
Concern filled Faith’s. “That was pretty conclusive.”
“Res ipsa loquitur,” Promise agreed.
“The thing speaks for itself?” Ivar asked from the doorway.
Promise jumped and swiveled toward him. “You speak Latin?”
His eyebrows rose. “I’m not your ordinary boy toy, sweetheart.”
Fire lit her face, because she had been thinking of him as such. He was brave and strong and impossibly muscled. She hadn’t looked for intelligence. Her body had wanted him before, and now her mind slid right into being intrigued. This might be detrimental to her well-being. “Does Adare wear a cologne?”
“This is way beyond scent,” Faith said. “Are you willing to try again?”
Promise swallowed. Anything to solve this puzzle. “Yes.” Her hands trembled.
“Somebody find Mercy,” Faith yelled.
Promise winced. Enough with the loud noises. “What did you observe?”
Faith peered closer into Promise’s eyes. “When Adare approached, you experienced an elevated heart rate, and your pupils expanded and then severely contracted, more noticeably in your left eye,” she said. “Is the pain worse on the left?”
“Slightly.” Promise rubbed the back of her neck, where it still ached a little.
Ivar cocked his head. “So, the sympathetic pupillary deficit is greater on the stronger affected side.”
Okay. Now the man sounded like he’d studied medicine. Promise stared at him, and then her breath stopped. He’d showered, and his wet hair appeared darker than normal. An intriguing scruff covered his jaw, and his blue eyes were clear and direct. Those masculine features were all Viking. Then she blinked. What the heck? “Your head. The wound has healed.” Not even a scar was visible. She jerked away from Faith. “I don’t understand this. I’m missing elements here. Facts.” What was going on? It didn’t make sense. None of this, not one bit, made a darn lick of sense. Even the badass Ivar talking like he had a two hundred IQ was throwing her.
“Did you guys call me?” Mercy tossed open the door and all but bounced inside, reaching the bed in a couple of strides.
An ice pick of sharp pain slashed into Promise’s head so quickly she gasped, her heart all but stopping. She coughed, and her body seized.
“Lie down.” Faith pushed her to a prone position as the convulsions grew stronger. “Mercy? Get out. Run away. Now.”
Promise shut her eyes as mini-explosions ripped through her entire head. Her brain pounded against her skull, and blood dripped from her nose and ears. She whimpered, no longer seeing anything but a red haze. Tremors shook her eyes, and they rolled back into her head.
When unconsciousness took her this time, she welcomed the darkness.
Chapter Twelve
The rain pattered outside in the wee hours before dawn, and Ivar held Promise close, running his hand up and down her arm. He lay on top of the covers, while she was safely ensconced beneath them. Her heart rate had returned to normal, and the waves of pain had stopped rolling from her. His touch seemed to calm her, so he caressed her good arm, letting her know she was safe.
What the fuck had he been thinking? He’d noticed what caused her pain, and he’d allowed Faith to experiment with her brain. Promise had asked him to protect her, and he was doing a craptastic job of it. So far he’d held a gun to her side, thrown her off a cliff, made her climb through a storm into a pitching helicopter, and now had almost let her brain explode. When he’d seen the blood dripping from her ear, he’d nearly lost his own mind. She had probably been perfectly safe before he’d entered her life. He should’ve protected her from the Kurjans from afar.
“You’re thinking so hard I can feel it,” she mumbled, opening her eyes.
“Sorry.” He stopped rubbing her arm and gently smoothed the curly hair back from her face. “For everything. I really am sorry.”
“You have to stop apologizing.” She yawned and stretched, blinking sleepily. “What happened?”
He should probably leave her alone in the bed, but his body didn’t want to move. “Mercy came inside, and you seized and passed out.” Again. “You’ve been sleeping for about three hours, no doubt so your brain could heal itself.”
“Brains can’t heal themselves,” she whispered, her pink lips curving in a small smile.
Hers probably could. If the pain was related to an enhancement, which it no doubt was, then she had gifts she didn’t understand.