Flesh And Blood: House of Comarre: Book Two (House of Comarre 2) by Painter, Kristen (best books for 20 year olds .txt) 📕

into memories both lucid and blurred. She knew Creek had stitched her wounds – holy mother, that pain had been unlike any she’d felt since her last visit to the signumist – but she didn’t remember how she’d gotten to his home. Or into his bed.

A few other images flitted in and out of her consciousness. One was crystal clear. The broad expanse of Creek’s naked back. Then the awfulness of realizing the words upon his skin had been branded there. If she closed her eyes, she could still read them.

Omnes honorate. Fraternitatem diligite. Deum timete. Regem honorificate. Honor all men. Love the brotherhood. Fear God. Honor the king.

It was the code of the Kubai Mata. Just having those sacred words upon his body made his blood poison to the creatures he’d been trained to slay.

Those words also meant there was no denying Creek was who he said he was. She exhaled her last ounce of hope that perhaps he’d just been a misguided soul with a desire to bring a fairy tale to life. More than ever, she believed he must be responsible for the deaths of those fringe Doc had stumbled upon. She would ask Creek point-blank. As a KM, chances were good he wouldn’t lie to her.

Hot and sweaty, she flipped the sheet off and groaned softly. For the second time in the last few weeks, she’d woken up in a strange man’s bed wearing nothing but her intimates. A swath of gauze covered the right side of her stomach. Dried blood stained the corresponding side of her underwear, but thankfully, Creek had left them on, because she had no doubt he was the one who’d undressed her.

Pushing to her elbows caused a rush of fire to ignite the skin beneath the gauze. She collapsed back to the mattress with a gasp. Okay, she hadn’t expected it to hurt quite that much.

‘It’s the poison.’

She jumped, lighting a new round of searing heat across her belly. Creek stood at the top of the stairs. She whipped the sheet back over herself. ‘That’s why it hurts so badly, isn’t it? And why I’m burning up? Fever from the Nothos poison.’

He nodded and brought a plate of food and a glass of water to the bedside table. He set them down, then pressed his calloused palm to her forehead. ‘Most of it’s gone now. Fever was a lot worse this morning. Few more hours and the pain should be manageable.’

‘It’s manageable now.’ She needed to get home. To her own bed.

‘Want to get up and walk around, then?’

She ground her teeth together.

‘That’s what I thought.’ His hand reached for the plate again. ‘You need to eat. Keep your strength up.’

‘It’s a little hard to eat lying down.’

He held a fork loaded with scrambled eggs. ‘All you have to do is chew.’

Her stomach growled. Reluctantly, she opened her mouth. Being fed by someone seemed a very intimate act. At least he could look a little less pleased with himself.

But his enjoyment in the act didn’t stop her from cleaning the plate. Or devouring the second course of wheat toast with peanut butter and honey, which she managed to eat by herself without too much honey ending up on her or the bed. Sated, she allowed him to help her sip some water, then felt sleep invade her muscles with its sweet, dreamy pull.

And dream she did. Of a Mohawked warrior and a vampire challenger. Of hellhounds and claws like fiery scythes. Of bodies turned to ash and a mother she’d never see again.

She woke in a panic, but it faded quickly as her surroundings registered. The gold light of afternoon sun gilded the building’s interior where it leaked through the dirty skylights. The faint smell of smoke lingered in the air.

‘Creek?’ Perhaps he’d left. She eased up onto her elbows, the pain bearable now, just as he’d said it would be.

He soundlessly appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Much better.’ And hungry again. But enough was enough. ‘I need to go home.’

‘You need more rest.’

‘Thank you, Doctor.’ Nice way to talk to the man who’d saved her life. ‘Look, I know I need more rest. I just prefer to do it in my own home.’ After a long, hot shower and one of Velimai’s steaks. Maybe two.

He nodded. Was that disappointment on his face? No, just a shadow. He should be pleased to get rid of her. Kubai Mata weren’t meant to be nursemaids. ‘I’ve got a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants you can borrow. Riding back on the motorcycle isn’t going to be fun for you.’

‘I’ll call for my driver.’

‘I don’t have a phone.’

‘Motorcycle it is, then.’ Even though the thought of being tucked against him that way unnerved her. She would have to wrap her arms around him, press herself against that branded back of his. Did he think she’d forgotten? How could she? A thing like that didn’t slip from your mind. It stayed there, layering itself over the image’s owner every time you looked at them so that they and the image became inseparable. Her glimpse of Creek was as branded into her memory as the words on his back.

He pulled some clothes off a shelf and set them on the bed. ‘Take your time. I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready.’

I’ll never be ready, she wanted to tell him. Instead, she dressed sitting on the edge of the bed, moving slowly as she pulled on the clothes he’d given her. His room was sparse. A side table, a set of shelves made from cinder blocks and boards, a few nails in the wall to hang things on. At the far end, a back alley window led to a fire escape. Surely the KM could do better than this? Or was it a cover?

Her supreme lack of energy brought that line of thinking to a quick close. Home. That was the only thing to be concerned with. Her shoes were nowhere to be