Page 101 of Moonlight & Mayhem

“Moonlight,” he breathed.

Mayhem shifted on the table, and she turned to look at him. “Don't move.”

“I moved my ass two inches,” he griped.

“And I'm running tests, and you need to stay still,” she ordered.

“You’re running tests on blood that's already outside my body,” he reminded. “So, I’m not sure what me staying still has to do with anything.”

“Mayhem,” she warned.

He sighed. “Yes, Doc.” Moon went back to the microscope, and Mayhem watched her. They'd been home for six hours. Six long, strange hours, and all he wanted to do was complete their bonding, but Moon seemed to have other ideas.

Black Hollow had been secured, and the surviving elders had been detained by the wolves they'd once controlled, which Mayhem found fucking poetic. The captive Silverfang brothers had been freed. Howler had stayed behind with Tempest long enough to make sure no one decided freedom meant starting another war.

Christmas had come back to Baltimore with Chrome—and Mayhem wasn't touching that one, yet. Dark Chaos had returned to the clubhouse just before sunrise, and Moon had dragged Mayhem straight into the clinic for blood tests and vitals—followed by more blood tests. She'd checked every inch of his body, twice, and it wasn’t nearly as much fun as that sentence made it sound.

Now morning sunlight streamed through the blinds while Moon continued refusing to tell him whether he was cured. Mayhem was beginning to lose patience. “Moon.”

She looked up. “What?”

“Am I dying or not?” he asked. Her expression immediately changed. Well, shit. That seemed to be the wrong question to ask. Mayhem slid off the table. “Hey.”

“I told you not to move,” she reminded.

“Come here,” he ordered.

“No,” she whispered.

“Moonlight,” he warned.

“I'm busy,” she insisted.

“Bullshit.” Her shoulders tightened, and Mayhem crossed the room. She backed up, and he stopped because that bothered him. It wasn’t because she didn't want him close. He knew better now. Moon was scared. “Talk to me.”

“I am talking to you,” she said.

“No. You're ordering me around and hiding behind a microscope,” he assessed.

“I'm not hiding,” she lied.

“You've been staring at the same blood sample for seven minutes,” he said, proving his point.

Her eyes narrowed. “You counted?”

“Had nothing else to do,” he said. Moon looked away, and Mayhem softened his voice. “Is it still there?” She didn't answer, and his stomach dropped. “Moon.”

“No,” she whispered.

He froze. “No what?” he asked.

“The night root—” She looked at him, and he noticed that her winter-colored eyes were wet. “It's gone.”

Mayhem stared at her. “Gone?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Completely?” he asked.