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“She's just out cold, Jasper. She was sitting here drinking when I found her. Talking too. Seemed lucid enough, just pissed. I told her we were taking her home and she screamed, threw the bottle, then executed what I think was supposed to be an escape attempt.” He waved his hand over her body. “She passed out mid-execution. By my guess, she's had a bottle and a half of whisky, depending on what she's spilled. She gave bourbon a try, but that bottle's still full.”
“Christ, she is going to be sick tomorrow,” Jasper murmured, stroking his hand over her hair. “Pulse is strong, I can't see any major traumas. No head wounds. Just the bloodied hands and knees.”
They looked at each other and asked, as one unit, “Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”
Thane rubbed his jaw. Connie wasn't a small woman. She was tall, curvy, and he knew damn well he couldn't carry her safely back along the path with his bum leg. One slip and he'd bring disaster down on both of them. Jasper looked strong, maybe he could get her back to the road without an accident. Or maybe…
“Atticus,” they said in unison.
***
Chapter Six
Jesus, Lord, and all the saints in heaven, what did I do?
Nausea twisted her stomach like laundry in a washing machine on a spin cycle. Saliva slicked her mouth, pooled around her teeth and under her tongue, until it tried to overflow from the part of her lips. Someone was trying to drill a hole in the center of her forehead, radiating pain over her skull, into her neck and jaw, and making her eyeballs pulse.
“Here, sugar. There's no stopping it, I'm afraid.” Fingertips grazed the back of her neck as she rolled onto her side, her stomach heaving. They gathered her hair away from her face, then cupped her skull gently, guiding her toward the bowl floating beside the bed. “You drank some shit last night. No wonder it's coming back up.”
Please shut up, she begged silently. I think my brain is leaking out of my ears.
Expelling the crap in her belly was like vomiting acid. Her stomach lining felt raw, her throat was burned, and her tongue was positive she'd scrubbed it with vinegar. Every time she retched, there was a split second of relief from the pain in her head before the next beat of her heart brought it back with a vengeance.
Groaning, sure she'd fallen into the pits of hell, Connie flopped onto her back and didn't move. Did it hurt to breathe? Yes, that wasn't advisable. Neither was thinking, blinking, or swallowing. What the hell had she done to herself? Because it felt suspiciously as though there'd been a bus involved with her downfall.
“A little bird told me you don't drink heavily. What the hell possessed you to drown yourself in Canadian whisky?”
Oh God, the voice was still there. Why wouldn't it go away? She just wanted to die in peace. “Gah.”
“Okay, okay, I'll save the lecture for later. I doubt you're taking in much of what I'm saying anyway.” A warm palm brushed over her forehead, then she was eased upright. Was she supposed to throw up again or pass out? She gagged as a couple of pills were pushed onto her tongue, then a gush of water washed them down her throat as she swallowed in reflex. “Keep them down, sugar. They'll help with that headache.”
Not headache, she wanted to argue, migraine. But she couldn't form the word, and if she opened her mouth, more than just her voice would spill out. Her body was in full revolt, resisting all form of touch. The pillow beneath her head was flipped so that when her head was lowered back on to it, cool fabric pressed against her neck and skull.
She moaned in relief, then again when a cold, wet cloth was draped over her forehead. “Meds. Need meds.”
“You're on medication? Shit, no one told me that.” The voice was taking on a familiar quality now, not just buzzing in her head. “Okay, Connie, I'll get you what you need. Can you tell me what you take and where you keep them?”
She tried to mouth the name, couldn't get her face to work properly. She kept stashes all over her house, her office, her car—and couldn’t tell him. Instead, she just moaned quietly and prepared to spend the rest of eternity trapped in hell.
“Atticus, it's Thane. No, she's awake, but in a lot of pain. No, I don't think it's a hangover, or not completely. Does she suffer from migraines? You don't know. Fabulous.” Oh, the voice was displeased. “She's asked for meds. I don't know what they are, or where she keeps them. Would any of the subs know? Any of the other Masters? Yeah, I'll hold. Fuck's sake.”
The silence that followed was irritating. It gave her too much time to focus on the swelling of her brain matter in the confined space of her head. She wanted her audio book, the one she listened to whenever she had a migraine severe enough to force her into bed. Concentrating on the words being spoken, words she knew by heart after a hundred times, distracted her from the pain.
“Yeah, I'm still here. She's on what? Christ, I've never heard of that. Oh, that. Okay. Shit, that's a prescription drug, isn'tit? No, I can't leave her. No, not even to go check the car, Atticus. She's throwing up and I can't risk leaving her in case she chokes. No, if she's asking for it, she knows she needs it. Yeah. Yeah. Okay, I can do that.”
Suddenly, the lightness outside her eyelids went completely black. She breathed a sigh of relief and her body relaxed a fraction. She turned her head to the side, easing the pressure on the left side of her neck where the pain there throbbed. It wouldn't work for long, but even a few seconds would be welcome.
“Sugar, I need you to roll onto your side, okay? I have to run downstairs to your car and see if your meds are in there, and I don't want you to choke if you vomit again.” Firm hands insisted on punishing her for whatever infractions she'd made last night, asking her body to change positions. “Is there anything else you need from the car?”
“Ph-phone,” she managed to choke out.
“Sorry, Connie. Coyotes got your phone.”
Was that some new band she hadn't heard of, like Dingoes Ate My Baby? she wondered. She remembered them, vaguely, as a band from a popular supernatural TV show she'd been obsessed with as a teenager. Coyotes Got Your Phonewasn't quite as catchy. “Need my book. Meds. Sleep.”
“Okay. I'll be back.” A hand skimmed over her bare shoulder, then she was alone.
Drifting in the dark with only pain for company, she tried to piece together the puzzle of what she'd done, where she'd ended up, and why she was wherever she was. Alcohol and stress had to be involved, she knew that much. Migraines of this caliber rarely hit her unless she imbibed over her capacity, which she never did, for this reason. Add in a heavy dose of stress and it was a perfect storm.
