Page 38 of Hungry Like the Wolf

“Are you—” He couldn’t even say it.

“Technically, we all are, right? Entropy and all that,” she said weakly.

“What do you need?”

“Sleep.”

“You’ve been sleeping. That’s all you’ve been doing. And it’s clearly not working. You need a doctor. You need a hospital,” he said, jumping to his feet and pacing.

“Robbie,” she said, and he stopped on a dime. “Robbie, this happens to me sometimes. Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” he said, without thinking, his trust somehow a more potent feeling than his fear.

“I don’t need a hospital. They can’t help me.”

“Tylenol!” he blurted.

She smiled weakly.

“Okay, Robbie. You could bring me some Tylenol.”

CHAPTER 17

Robbie was out the door almost before she’d finished saying the word “Tylenol.” He was shirtless, the damp tee he’d struggled out of forgotten by the front door where he’d dropped it. He’d look so good standing there, so strong. She’d had the strangest urge to lick the sweat from his chest, to bury her nose in his throat and inhale deeply the scent of grease and the woods and his deodorant and him.

The Tylenol wouldn’t do shit for her, not when she was starving to death like this, but it would give Robbie a job and make him feel useful.

He was back within five minutes and herded her into the bedroom with all the tenacity of a cattle dog. He offered her two pills in a cupped palm, and she dutifully swallowed them. They wouldn’t help, but they wouldn’t hurt either.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, tucking her into bed and racing out of the room.

He’d propped her up against the headboard, supported by every pillow in the cabin, and she rested there, her eyes closed, her body weak and feverish. He was so close. He looked so good. He was so good, which just made it worse. Because if she told him, if she explained what she was and what was happening and what she needed, she imagined he would be so eager to help that he’d be under her before she could blink.

They had chemistry. She could feel it, and she knew he could, too. It would be electric. It would be no hardship at all to feed from Robbie Cain. It was much harder not to feed from him. She’d caught small whiffs of desire in the air, most often coming from the shower, and had all but plugged her nose to keep from drawing them deep into her lungs.

She’d be saved, she’d be satisfied, her reserves filled to the brim for the first time since… since… ever, maybe? JJ had done so much to help her, but they hadn’t had chemistry like she had with Robbie. She and JJ had run like steady electricity. Robbie would cause a power surge. What would she even become after a feed like that?

But that didn’t feel remotely right or fair or, hell, ethical.

He’d do anything she needed because that was just the type of person he was. But chemistry be damned, she wouldn’t take advantage of his kindness like that.

She panted, the weakness all-consuming now.

“Okay, I’m here,” he said, announcing his reentry into the bedroom. The announcement was wholly unnecessary, however, as he moved with all the subtlety of a rhinoceros.

She smiled as much as she was able. He was adorable.

“I’ve got hot tea, and I found a book. My grandma used to read to me when I felt sick. It’s not medicine, but it’s comforting.”

She pictured Robbie as a child, gangly limbs and freckles, a blanket pulled up to his chin.

“What did she read to you?”

“When my grandpa was awake, she read the Bible to me. But when he was asleep, she read The Hobbit.”

“Do we have The Hobbit here?” she asked, hoping that he was not about to try to soothe her with Leviticus.

“Nah,” he said. “It’s an old mass-market paperback romance. Doesn’t even have a cover anymore. But it’s a story, right? Is that okay with you?”