Page 117 of Bria and the Tiger

“When did you text him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look!”

He grabbed his phone. “Uh, Tuesday afternoon.”

“Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Lincoln sniffed the air. “Why are you panicking over Jace having the flu?”

“I don’t think he has the flu. Since when does a shifter have the flu for four days, Lincoln?” The shrillness was growing right along with her fear.

“What are you talking about?” He came around the desk and touched her shoulder. “You’re shaking like a leaf. Sit down and tell me what the hell is going on.”

Fifteen minutes later, she was following Lincoln to Rosalie’s desk.

“Rosalie?” Lincoln’s voice held no trace of its usual flirtiness.

“Lincoln? What’s wrong?” She stood up immediately and gave him an anxious look.

“Can you watch the front desk? Bria and I need to run an errand.”

“Um, sure. Is everything okay?” Rosalie studied Bria’s pale face.

“Yes, we won’t be long. Thanks, Rosalie,” Lincoln said. “Bria, let’s go.”

She followed him to his car and buckled her seat belt as Lincoln drove out of the parking lot.

“He’s probably fine,” Lincoln said.

“Yes.”

“I mean, we’re probably just overreacting. He knows when things are getting bad and he needs help. He wouldn’t do anything stupid.”

“He missed his appointment with Dr. Martin,” she reminded him.

“He’s fine,” Lincoln repeated as he sped up. “We’ll go to his house and he’ll be just fine.”

He almost sounded like he believed it.

* * *

Jace sneezed repeatedly before rubbing his aching temples. He was weak and shaky, but he actually thought he might be feeling a little better. He pushed the button on the electric tea kettle and dropped a teabag into the mug.

After leaving Bria’s place, he’d gone home, poured himself a drink and sat in the dark kitchen until amost two in the morning. The look on Bria’s face, the look on his mother’s face, huanted him. The depression was closing in on him, threatening to fill him up until he couldn’t breathe or think. The urge to let it was overwhelmingly strong, but he’d fought it back.

As miserable as he was right now, he didn’t want to go back to how he was after Tabitha left him. But, holy shit, this was so much worse. He loved Bria and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Knowing he couldn’t, made him want to let the darkness swallow him whole.

He’d finally gone to bed, but tossed and turned until the early morning light crept into his bedroom. He didn’t want to get out of bed. He got out anyway.

He chalked up his growing headache and the ache in his bones to his sleepless night, and met his clients at the showing. By the time he was finished, he was pale and sweaty and had a fever.

He’d returned home, texted Rosalie, and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening alternating between vomiting in the bathroom, and shaking and shivering in his bed. His natural healing ability was working overtime, but the flu was a bad one. He’d woken up Thursday morning with the ache and fever gone, but with a cold to take its place.

He sneezed again and eyed the cupboard. He hadn’t eaten anything since Monday. Maybe it was time to try some toast. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure what day it was. He reached for his phone and frowned. What the hell had he done with it? He knew he’d texted with Rosalie at some point, but when was that?

He shut the teakettle off and poured water into the mug, before heading back to his bedroom. His phone wasn’t on either nightstand or on the floor beside the bed. He picked up his pillow and pulled back the covers before reaching for Bria’s pillow.

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