Chapter 7 #2
I’m only half joking. The last time I drank broth that good was when my mom or grandmother made herbal broth infused with magic of some sort.
The nurse laughs, a pleasant sound that is full of sincerity. “Oh no, that’s just Bonnie. I used to wonder, too, when she first started. She’s unbelievable when you get her in a kitchen.”
With a final smile, she leaves me to myself. I lick my lips, trying to get any last taste of the broth. Bonnie might not be intentionally using magic in her cooking, but I’d bet she’s like my grandmother and able to magically enhance the food she cooks naturally.
It’s dark out now, the city lights bathing the far wall in a mix of amber, blue, and white. Surprisingly, my eyelids are heavy and each time I blink, it takes me longer to open my eyes. It doesn’t take long for the shadows of sleep to drag me under.
***
I’m discharged the next day. Oliver picks me up, his expression stormy as he zeros in on the bruises still encircling my throat. It still hurts a bit, but nothing that maximum strength Tylenol can’t cure. Especially since I don’t have the money to pay for the services of a healer.
“It looks worse than it is.” His eyes narrow even further. Yeah, I’d believe me more if Ididn’t sound like a rusty trombone being played by a walrus with a head cold.
“Mattie or I will stay with you for a bit. At least until the asshole gets caught.” The traffic is light as he pulls onto the road and makes his way to my apartment. He’s been to my place enough times, so I don’t have to direct him where to go.
“I don’t think that’s necessary. I’m ok, and I doubt the guy is going to come back.”
Oliver shoots me a skeptical look. “What makes you say that?”
I swallow, hiding the wince the movement causes. “Because the guy was off his rocker. He wasn’t even making sense.”
“Well, I’m glad your savior showed up when they did. Too bad they didn’t stick around.”
“Yeah, would have been nice,” I agree. Mostly because I have a ton of questions that I really want answers to.
“I can still stay with you, if you want,” Oliver offers.
I give him a small smile and reach out to give his bicep a quick squeeze. “Thanks, but I’ll be okay. Really. I plan to eat ice cream, watch the latest episode of Skinwalker Ranch, and pass out on the couch.”
Oliver chuckles as he pulls up to the curb in front of my apartment building. I gaze out the window at it, taking in the red brick with the cement steps leading up to the door. It doesn’t look like much, and it blends in with the rest of the apartment building on this street, but it’s my home.
One of the few places I feel safe.
And with the wards in place, I don’t have to worry about someone kicking down my door. Anyone who tries to enter by force, even if I open the door to them, will be in for one hell of a surprise.
It’s one of the only reasons I’m not afraid of being home alone.
“Alright, but if you need anything, you call me,” Oliver finally says, giving me a pointed look. “I mean it. Any reason, you call and I’ll be right over.”
“I know. And thank you.” I get out of the car and quickly make my way to the front door. I turn and wave to him before heading inside.
There’s no one in the small lobby, which I’m thankful for. While most of my neighbors keep to themselves, there are a few who are nosy. My feet are dragging from exhaustion by the time I make it to my apartment, letting myself in with a groan.
While my mind is still racing with questions, they are all fuzzy and half-formed. Even after the night in the hospital, I’m exhausted. I might be an insomniac, but it would have been nice to have gotten at least a little bit of sleep last night.
I’m home now, though. Wards are in place, my door is locked, and the silence is soothing after all the commotion in the hospital. I eye my couch. I could do what I said I’d do and eat some ice cream while watching TV, but I really don’t feel up to it.
I just want to sleep.
Padding to my bedroom, I strip out of my clothes and leave them in a pile at the foot of the bed. Grabbing my medication from the nightstand, I swallow half a pill, grimacing at the bitter taste. Why can’t adult meds be flavored like medication for kids?
Doesn’t matter, I suppose, as I flop down on my bed and stare at the ceiling. Even though my entire body feels like I’m moving through mud, my mind is still ping-ponging every which way.
Why is Mr. Silver Fox stalking me? Is he even actually stalking me? But the most important question is, what is he? My mind is reeling with all the possibilities. And there is an extensive list of possibilities.
I yawn wide enough for my jaw to ache, and I blink up at the ceiling blearily. Doesn’t matter how many questions I have circling in my head, the only thing I’m going to be doing for the foreseeable future is pass out.
The last thing that floats through my head before sleep claims me is the amber eyes of my stalker. For some reason, the only thing I felt as I stared into them was the overwhelming feeling that I was home.