"Crumbs on the sheets," muttered Adam, watching the sandwiches intently as I pushed him down on the bed.
"Bet there are clean sheets in this mausoleum somewhere," I told him.
"We can find them tonight and remake the bed.
Presto, no more crumbs." I took half a sandwich and held it up to his face.
"Eat." He smiled and bit my finger with a playfulness I'd have thought beyond him, as beat as he was.
"Eat," I said sternly.
"Food, then sleep.
Rescue--" I bit my lip.
Adam was a wolf.
I couldn't talk to him about Gabriel, no matter how wrong that felt.
"Food, then sleep.
Everything else can wait." But it was too late.
He'd never let that word go by without a challenge.
He accepted the sandwich from me, took a bite, and swallowed it.
"Rescue?" "I can't talk about it.
Talk to Jesse or Darryl." Mercy? His voice wrapped around my head like a bracing winter wind, fresh and sweet to my taste.
Here was a way I could communicate without speech--if I could just figure out how.
I stared at him intently.
Finally, he smiled.
"You can't talk about it.
You promised .
.
.
someone.
I got that much.
I keep a notebook in my briefcase in the closet.
Why don't you get that and spend some time writing a letter to me about whatever it is you can't say." I kissed his nose.
"You've been hanging out with the fae again, haven't you? Wolves are usually a little better about keeping the spirit as well as the letter of the law." "Good thing you aren't a werewolf, then." His voice was gravelly with fatigue and smoke damage.
"You really think so?" I asked.
When I was growing up, I'd wanted to be a werewolf so I could really belong to the Marrok's pack.