Page 10 of The Nephilim's Touch
“You were out for a day and a half.”
“That long?” I swallow. That’s not good.
“Yes. And you kept bleeding for a while.”
It’s now I notice towels bunched at my sides to catch said blood from the countdown device. “Sorry. I’ll be fine, no doubt. But it occurs to me I don’t have more clothes with me.” I push to sit, but he presses a hand to my shoulder to keep me down.
“Stay put. You’re still wounded.”
I frown, even though I like his commanding energy. “I think you’ve nursed me pretty well. I should be good to take a shower and put on fresh clothes, but this is all I have to wear.”
He nibbles his bottom lip and dabs at my chest with a damp cloth. “Okay. I’ll let you go, but the instant you feel bad, you’re laying down again.”
“Thank you.” I push to the edge of the bed, thankful that this time my head doesn’t swim.
Gabe watches me before he rushes to the small dresser across from the bed. “I have some clothes that should fit you until we get you more. Wren said he’d stop by your place in the demon realm and bring some over in the next few days.”
“Wren? I didn’t know you knew Lark’s brother so well.” I eye Gabe up and down. “And there’s no way anything of yours is going to fit me.”
“Wren and I are friends. He pops into Flutter and Fangs every few weeks. And the clothes aren’t mine. They were my dad’s. I couldn’t bear to get rid of them.” A shadow of sadness crosses over his face as he pulls a pair of navy blue sweatpants from the drawer.
“He must have been a lumberjack,” I say as I take the soft pants he hands me. My heart aches for his loss.
“Military. If you’re really ready, you can go shower, then we’ll discuss plans and rules and all that fun stuff. But only if you’re up to it. I don’t want to exhaust you.”
“Yes, sir.” I salute just to be silly and hopefully lift his spirits.
“Oh, I like that.” He gives me another wink and leaves me to stare at his retreating form. I have a feeling Gabe has lots of lovely little surprises to uncover.
Gabe
While Van’s in the shower, I water the rest of my plants. I’m half afraid I’ll forget in the morning, so I opt for now.
“Alright, little guys, do your thing.” I lift my watering can to the violets in the white plastic gazebo I inherited from mygrandmother. She’s the reason I love plants so much. They make me feel like I matter, like I have something to take care of.
“Do you always talk to your plants?” The waistband of the sweatpants ride low on Van’s sculpted hips, and it takes everything in me not to drool. Holy hell. He waves a hand in front of my face and I blink up at him.
“Sorry. Should have grabbed you a shirt, too.” I shake my head and rush to my bedroom to grab one of dad’s old t-shirts. Van’s smirking at me when I hand it over without making eye contact. “There’s been studies that plants thrive when you speak to them nicely. I’m always nice to my babies. They deserve the best soil, water, and whatever I can give them.”
“I bet they all have names, too.” Van side-eyes my hoya hanging in the corner by the window right before sliding the t-shirt on.
“Absolutely! And they all have personalities and?—”
Van cocks a brow as he takes another step towards the kitchen table. “Plants do not have personalities.”
“They do. Betty—” I wave to the hoya.
“Betty?!” Van snorts as he rubs a finger across Betty’s waxy leaves. “Betty?”
“Yes. Betty. She loves the sun and gets all sad when she doesn’t have as much as possible. When it’s outcast outside, she’sdroopydroopy.”
“Isn’t that how plants work?”
“I mean… yes, but take Trevor, for example?—”
“Trevor? Are they all human names?” Van laughs as he continues to rub Betty’s leaves.
“Yes,” I mumble. “Maybe youarean asshole.” I cross my arms, not exactly meaning it. This is the usual reaction I get to my plant babies when I start talking about them.
