Page 69 of Clash of Sin and Secret

A lump forms in my throat at the thought of leaving him here alone like this—the thought of him waking up and being ravenous sends chills down my spine.

“Go, Scots. Tucker, get her out of here.” Zane meets my gaze. His tone is gentle but still carries the authoritative edge of someone used to being obeyed. “I’ll stay with him, and we’ll revisit the idea tomorrow.”

I study Huntley, and though I hate the idea of leaving with everything in me, I concede. I press a balled fist over the ache in my chest as I step away from Huntley’s side. “Hang in there, Viking. Don’t you dare leave me to guard Z without backup. We need you. I need you.”

I squeeze Huntley’s long, still fingers and then let Tucker lead me away.

He’ll be fine.

He has to be.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Huntley

Iwake, bathed in the soft golden glow of candlelight flickering around the edge of a massive room—Zane’s room. Groggy and drained, I squint against the light, my mind spinning its wheels. Why am I here?

Fuck. My body feels like it’s been hit by a truck.

The familiar scent of something distinctly Zane hangs in the air’s warmth, grounding me in this room. It’s been a sanctuary I’ve known since I was a teenager.

I’m sprawled out in Zane’s bed, completely naked and achy. “Are you here?”

No sound comes back to me, so I close my eyes again and give myself another minute to wake up. The last thing I remember is coming back from shredding Kaza’s turned army and stopping in the hub for a victory lap.

I give it another go and let my gaze wander around the room—the walls adorned with the dark landscapes and abstract portraits that somehow echo Zane’s complexities. As teens, weused to lie around in this room for hours, plotting how to take on the world—or at least dodge our responsibilities.

And while the room is elegant and impressive, he should be sleeping in the King’s Suite now that Francesco’s gone.

It’s still too soon.

I stretch my arms above my head, feeling every sore muscle protest.

“Hey, you’re finally awake.” Zane comes in from the corridor, carrying a food tray and, by the smell, a couple of warm brandies. He’s fresh from the shower and wearing those black silk lounge pants that make him look insanely hot. He catches me ogling him and flashes me a cocky smirk that instantly makes my heart skip.

“Stop ogling me like that when you look like hell.” There’s a softness behind his words, a vulnerability that he rarely allows to leak through.

“That bad, was it?” The smirk dissolves, and I groan, pushing myself up slowly against the mountain of pillows behind me. “What happened?”

“You nearly bled out. You had a few too many holes in you to bounce back from the battle and you face-planted on the marble floor in the hub.”

I grimace at the thought of tanking in front of the entire clan. That’s not emasculating at all. I shift a little under the covers, taking stock. Everything is in working order now, though despite my belly feeling bloated, I’ve got hunger gnawing at my insides like a wild beast caged within.

“You need to take better care of yourself in the future,” he says, pegging me with a cool glare. “Doc Jesse asked when you last had a proper feeding, and I couldn’t even give her an answer.”

Is that what this is about? Has it been that long? I search my memory for the last time I had a full feeding and come up empty. Shit. How long has it been?

I shrug, not willing to look too closely at that. “We’ve had more than a little going on lately.”

Zane sets the tray on the top of his dresser and stares me down. “I’m well aware of that. Still, if you don’t take the time to keep yourself good to go, shit like this could happen again.”

It takes way more energy than it should to flip back the covers and swing my legs over the side of the bed. The cold air hits my skin like a slap, and I think about falling back and burying myself in the sheets again.

But I can’t. Zane is genuinely worked up and needs to see that I’m all right. “How about you help me into the shower? I’ve still got the scent of tainted blood on my skin and the taste of those fuckers in my mouth.”

Zane walks over and helps me stand, his arm sliding around my waist. It hurts my ego to admit it—even to myself—but his hold is the only thing preventing me from crashing to the side or crumpling to the floor.

Together, we shuffle to his bathroom and he flicks the light on to illuminate the marble countertops and the large soaker tub in the corner. The massive rain showerhead is still dripping from him getting cleaned up while I was out.

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