Chapter Twenty-Eight
Tucked against Forge’s side, Hope stepped off the elevator. The movement jarred her. Her senses jangled, making her temples throb and her whole body hurt. Clenching her teeth, she took a deep breath and looked around, trying to get her bearings, allowing Forge to lead, struggling to stop the blinding whirl inside her head. But nothing she tried worked. The tumbling force inside her tightened its grip. One mental revolution spun into another. Now her mind burned and the awful buzz spread, infecting muscles and bone, bringing tears to her eyes.
Hope blinked each away, but . . . God. She couldn’t stop the mental blur. The whiplash slashed her. No relief in sight. No safe port in the storm. Just the roar in her veins and the splinter of once-organized thoughts.
“F-forge?”
“Shh, jalâyla. We’re almost there.”
Almost where? She wanted to ask him, but as her vision blurred, the hardwood floor beneath her feet warped. Her knees dipped. She stumbled. Forge cursed and, without breaking stride, picked her up and kept walking. Her whole body sighed in relief. Thank God. She needed the contact—skin-to-skin would be best, but any part of him touching any part of her would do. His grip grounded her. His voice soothed the chaos inside her head. Although, the pace didn’t help. Each of his footfalls knocked through her, making her cling to him harder.
Tucking her head beneath his chin, Hope stifled a shiver. “How much longer?”
“Soon.”
Strong arms cradling her, long legs carrying her down the deserted corridor, Forge dipped his head. His mouth brushed her temple, making her crave more contact. She whispered his name. Murmuring in return, he adjusted his grip and kept going, putting distance between her and the others. A good plan. She needed the space. Needed to get away from the gym and chaos still ruling inside it.
The second he’d gotten his feet under him, Forge recognized the problem. She was in overload: overwhelmed, awash with sensation, unable to close the connection and stem the raging flow of the Meridian. Now she bled energy, body being buffeted by the powerful stream and the driving bite of the other women’s bio-energy. Removing her from their presence seemed like the smart move. Hope knew it. So did Forge. She could practically see his thoughts inside her own head. Was tapped in somehow, reading his worry as he hurried past her bedroom door, taking her God only knew where.
Not that she cared, just as long as he stayed with her.
Teeth chattering, Hope tightened her grip on him.
Hugging her closer, he set his mouth to her temple. Her senses expanded. Her mind contracted. The nasty burn moved from mind-torquing awful to somewhat manageable. Awareness came back online. Opening her eyes, Hope stared at the wall as Forge strode past. White paint. Expensive artwork. A chunky chair rail. Okay. Good. She had her bearings. Glancing down, she stared at her bare feet. The hem of her ceremonial robe fluttered against her ankles. Cold air washed over her toes. Forge growled against her cheek.
A soothing wave of heat washed through her.
Hope sighed as the intense vibration lessened, dragging her from the edge of mental meltdown. She inhaled again, filling her lungs, forcing her body to calm. Good. Better. Almost there. She could do it. Accept what he offered: absorb and release, take it in, let it go, and . . . breathe.
“That’s it, jalâyla,” he said, the rumble of his voice against her skin reassuring her, allowing her to listen. “Easy now. You’re all right.”
His voice washed the last of her tension away. Her vision cleared. Her brain came back online. Exhaling another shaky breath, she shuddered in his arms.
Lifting his head, he peered down at her. His eyes roamed her face. “Better?”
“Yes,” she whispered, sounding surprised. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“The energy thing. You just fed me, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“Wow,” she said, awe making her stare at him in wonder. Crazy, she knew. The idea of an energy exchange—of him feeding her and her doing the same for him—should’ve freaked her out. At least, a little. But after the energy circle and the intensity of her reaction, allowing Forge to soothe her that way didn’t seem strange anymore. It felt right. He felt right. “Does it always feel like that?”
He shrugged. “No clue. I’ve never fed a female before.”
Hope blinked. “Not once?”
“Nay.”
“I don’t know what it says about me, but . . . good,” she said, feeling small minded, but . . . God. She couldn’t help her reaction. The idea of him with another woman did strange things to her. Provoked all kinds of nasty thoughts—mostly having to do with murdering any woman who dared touch him. “I’m glad I’m the only one.”
“You are at that, lass . . . you are at that.” Pleasure in his eyes, he levered her in his arms and set her down on something. Her butt connected with smooth stone. Hope jolted and stared down at the expanse of white marble. She frowned at it a second before she realized where she sat—inside the kitchen, as far away from the gym as the house allowed. Smiling at her, he leaned in for a kiss. His mouth brushed hers—a soft touch, teasing pressure—before he retreated to glance over his shoulder. “Can you dish up some soup, Daimler?”
“Of course, Master Forge,” a guy said, British accent ringing crisp and clear from somewhere inside the kitchen. “Two bowls or one.”
“One for now.” Big hand on her nape, he played with the hair, twirling it around his fingertips, keeping her steady with his touch. “She may want a second later.”
Her stomach balked at the suggestion. She might feel better now, but eat something? Hope wrinkled her nose in protest. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”
Forge gave her a stern look. “You need tae eat.”
“But—”
“You expended a lot of energy in the circle, lass.” Purple gaze full of worry, he scanned her face. “You need tae replenish your reserves. Food will help do that.”
She’d rather have him, but instead of arguing, she caved. Gave up and gave in without a fight. His concern did her in, crushing her ability to deny him. No way she could say no. Not now. Not in the face of his need to take care of her. Not if it meant causing him undue stress.
“Soup sounds good,” she said, throat so tight she could hardly get the words out.
Cupping her cheek, Forge stroked her once and nodded in approval. A second later, she went airborne in his arms as he picked her up. A quick swivel. A faster sideways step, and he set her down on a stool next to the island. The clang of metal on glass echoed. Footfalls sounded. A moment later, a bowl full of chicken noodle soup landed in front of her. The elegant hand retreated. Hope glanced up and met Daimler’s gaze. She whispered, “Thank you.” Pointed ears peeking out from a crop of dark hair, the corner of his eyes crinkled, showing approval, as steam curled from the bowl and . . .
Her attention snapped back to the soup. Holy God. It smelled delicious. Her mouth started to water. A second later, her stomach growled, surprising her.
A knowing twinkle in his eyes, Daimler tucked a spoon beside her bowl. And Hope dug in. The first bite closed her eyes. The second made her hum in bliss. The hot broth spread warmth through her body, the noodles filled her empty stomach, banishing the ache and . . . hmm. Comfort food shouldn’t taste this good. The elf was more than just the Nightfury go-to guy. He was a culinary wizard, one who took chicken noodle soup and elevated it to an art form.
Hope hummed her gratitude around a spoonful.
Daimler chuckled.
She took another bite.
Seated beside her, watching like a hawk, Forge encouraged her to eat more. As she neared the bottom of her bowl, he reached out and caressed the underside of her chin. She turned to look at him. Intense purple eyes met hers. “Have another bowl after you’re done.”
Her instincts twanged. Hope’s focus on him sharpened. “Where are you going?”
“I need tae check on Mac and Tania,” he said as Daimler set a plate of homemade bread in front of her. “I won’t be gone long. Half an hour at most.”
Angling her spoon, Hope set it inside the bowl. “I could go with you.”
Forge shook his head. “Exshaw is shaken . . . still hostile after a difficult birth. Until Mac has the wren completely under control, you aren’t tae go anywhere near him—all right?”
“Okay.” No sense arguing. Endangering her life wasn’t something she wanted to do with Forge around. He took protecting her to a whole new level, and something told her he wasn’t above bending her over his knee. She cringed and . . . yeah. Not going to happen. Getting her butt warmed—so not on her list of things to do anytime soon. Or ever. “You’re sure Mac’s all right?”
“Aye.”
“Tania too?”
“Donnae worry, lass. Both are already on the road tae recovery.” Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, he traced her bottom lip with his fingertips. Need zipped through her. His eyes heated an instant before he turned and looked at the elf trying not to eavesdrop across the kitchen. “Will you be all right on your own for a few minutes?”
She wanted to say no. Independent spirit refused to let her. She was a big girl. Rock solid. No need to go weepy over a few minutes without him. “Go, Forge. I’ll be fine.”
He studied her a moment, making sure, then turned to Daimler. “May I leave her with you?”
Gold front tooth flashing, dimples out, Daimler smiled, charming her without even trying. “It would be my pleasure to keep her company until you return, Master Forge.”
“Stay here, jalâyla.” Giving the end of her nose a playful tap, he pressed a hard kiss to her mouth and got up to go. “I won’t be long.”
She nodded, but as he skirted the island and headed for the door, the harsh zip of energy came back. Pressure built inside her head. Her temples started to throb . . . crap. It wasn’t fair. She should be able to keep it together. Had been okay—comfortable and relaxed—with him seated beside her, but the greater the distance between her and Forge grew, the more intense the vibration became. Now she sat on the edge of panic once more, heart thumping, hands flexing, so tense she wanted to scream for him to come back. She squirmed in her seat, set to snap, ready to run, needing to—
“Think of your mate, my lady,” Daimler said, breaking into her thoughts, giving her someone to focus on. “Hold a picture of Forge in the center of your mind.”
“Will it help?”
“Yes.”
With the burn flaring through her, Hope didn’t argue. She did as he asked, refusing to question the advice. An image of Forge formed in her mind’s eye. She clung to it, remembering the sound of his voice and the way she felt when he held her. The vibration ebbed. Her body calmed—not much, but it was enough. Better than losing it and flying headlong into a panic attack. Taking a deep breath, trying to channel the excess energy, she turned wide eyes on Daimler. “I think I may be losing it.”
“You’re in shock, my lady—in energy overload. You need Master Forge close. Only natural after all you’ve been through today,” Daimler said, sounding so reasonable—as though what she suffered happened every day. She didn’t know what to do: ask for a hug or let frustration out of the bag and smack him upside the head. “Most females are brought into the fold more gently, but you’ve been thrown right in and—”
“You’re kidding, right?”
He blinked. “Of course not. I would never tease you in such a manner.”
Hope stared at him as though he’d lost his mind. Daimler must be joking. She frowned. More gently, her foot. Was he insane? Nothing about the Nightfury warriors meeting their mates ever happened gently.
She’d heard about it in the gym, while sitting cross-legged on exercise mats with the other girls before joining the energy circle. Each had recounted how she met her husband (mate . . . whatever!). The only scoop she didn’t have was Mac and Tania’s. At least, not yet. But it would come, just as soon as the pair landed on their feet again.
“Daimler,” she said, trying (and failing) to match his reasonable tone. “You can’t be serious. I mean . . . Bastian airlifted Myst off the road while she drove her car. Angela was kidnapped and held captive before Rikar rescued her. Wick broke J. J. out of prison, and Evie nearly got blown up inside a hospital before Venom got to her.”
He pursed his lips. “Well, it has been exciting.”
“Exciting,” she said, incredulity growing. Well, that was one way of putting it. Insane might be another. The thought stole her air. Without Forge to channel it, a raging claw of excess energy upped the ante, threatening to overwhelm her. Battling sensory overload, Hope shook her head. “I can’t . . . I don’t think I can . . . I need to go. I can’t stay here.”
“My lady—”
“Will you take me home?” she asked without thinking. Leaving was a bad idea. Hope knew it. Felt it. Sensed it deep down the second she opened her mouth, but . . . God. She needed space, a safe place to process and think things through. “Would you do that for me?”
“No,” he said, dashing her hopes with a single soft-spoken word. “I’m sorry, my lady, but I won’t allow you to leave the lair. Not without Forge’s permission.”
“But—”
He held up a finger. The words dried up, refusing to leave the tip of her tongue. She watched him pivot toward the fridge, mind spinning, mouth silent as regret made a home inside her heart. Goddamn it. Daimler was disappointed. She could see it written all over his face, and as he pulled the freezer open, Hope wanted to apologize. For so many things. For being afraid. For not being able to handle the energy overload. For making him believe she didn’t want to stay with Forge.
“Daimler?”
“You will not apologize to me, Hope,” he said, tone uncompromising. “You will save that for your mate when you tell him what you asked me to do. In the meantime . . .” Returning to the counter, he set a glass dish full of chocolate mousse along with a clean spoon in front of her. “Off you go.”
Hope stared at the dessert, not understanding. “Where am I going?”
“To your room,” he said, his stern expression making her feel like a wayward child in heaps of trouble. “You’ve some thinking to do, and you need to do it alone.”
Chastened by an elf. Hope swallowed. It was surprisingly effective.
Cheeks burning, she picked up the dish and slid off the stool. As her feet touched down, she turned toward Daimler and opened her mouth, trying a second time to apologize. He wagged his finger at her. Hope closed it again and, feeling like a four-year-old reprimanded by her father, did as she was told. She rounded the island, left the kitchen, and scurried down the hall toward her bedroom, heart in her throat, a bowl full of chocolate mousse in her hands, the words when you tell him what you asked echoing like a warning inside her head.