One More Song

Chapter Seventeen

Hot water wasn't the cure for all ills, but it felt damn good when it rushed over her head.

Mariel could vaguely remember hearing about the remodeling that Slate had done on the Rough Riders' subterranian home, located beneath the old Catholic church in the Downtown District. Whatever he'd done, he hadn't spared any expense. The shower was tiled in a soothing sandy brown and had the best shower head she'd ever seen.

Why there were handicap-friendly bars in the shower, she didn't know, but they helped her stay upright until the worst of the dizziness had passed.

Neither the bars nor the hot water did a damn thing for her thoughts, however, and by the time she'd rinsed herself off, Mariel felt worse than she had before she'd woken up.

All of the bruises were easy to catalogue, looking into the broad mirror over the double sink. A big bruise on her throat, more of a hickey than anything else--Nathan's mouth. The bruises on either side of her waist and the matching pair lower on her hips--Nathan's hands. The vague discoloration... lower than that, well...

Mariel didn't think about that as she wrapped herself in one of the big, fluffy towels Jack had left hanging off of the sink. She pointedly did not think about the dull ache in her lower belly as she wrapped her hair in another towel and shuffled back into the bedroom. And she was especially careful to not think about anything at all when she saw the white takeout bag sitting on the dresser.

Whoever had been sent out to grab normal food for the lame-ass human limping around had done a good job. The fries weren't cold and the burger was perfect--thick, dripping with ketchup and with a ton of pickles. Mariel suspected Slate had probably done it himself, but there was no reason to actually give a damn.

It was just easier wondering who had been dispatched for a burger than it was to think about literally anything Jack had said.

Mariel left the chocolate shake to melt a bit--it was way too thick to get through the straw with how her throat currently felt--and shuffled back into the bathroom to yank on what Kitty had left for her. Black leggings were obviously Kitty's concession to Mariel's usual fashion choices, but Mariel groaned at the loose tank top. Pale pink with a pattern of tiny silver unicorns all over it and cut so low at the neck and arms that it showed basically everything but nipple.

"...Christ, Kitty..." She had to sit down to pull it over her head--trying to raise her arms had made her nearly pitch right over--and tried to look at anything but the cheerfully girly fabric that fell past her hips. Ugh.

A pack of Marlboro Smooths had been left with the burger. Mariel curled up in the overstuffed brown armchair rather than invade Jack's bed again, lit a cigarette and fought with the milkshake until she was able to sluck a few mouthfuls down. Fed, bathed and comfortable, there was nothing to keep her mind from pointedly marching back to the exchange she'd been trying to avoid thinking about.

"You're one of those special things that actually gets one of us to feel more than vague disinterest in literally anything."

Her first instinct was to snort in disbelief. Humans were not, she knew, 'special' by any stretch of the imagination. Hadn't Tyler been very clear on that fact? Something about one out of billions; she couldn't remember the exact words. Too much had... happened.

Mariel sighed, prying the top off of her milkshake and using it as a makeshift ashtray. Pausing, she glanced around the room quickly and bit back a curse. Of course a vampire wouldn't have a fucking clock in his room. All of this and she still didn't know what time it was. Or where her cell phone was. Or if her backpack had survived.