The Becoming: Revelations by Jessica Meigs Page B

eyes with a soft groan.
    Cade hoped this would be the last time she’d be woken up by Brandt being ill. She was worried about him, sure. But she was also tired of being woken so early. She still hadn’t caught up on the rest she so desperately needed. She felt near tears with the urgent need and total inability to go back to sleep.
    Cade looked to the closed bathroom door and debated checking on him this time. That involved getting out of bed—which was still painful no matter how she did it—and slogging her way to the door. It wasn’t an appealing thought. She heaved a tired sigh and sat up, grabbed the nearest thing resembling a blanket—Brandt’s jacket, draped over the arm of the chair by the bed—and slung it over her shoulders before working her way out of bed with the ease and grace of an old woman.
    It’d been slightly over a month since their flight from Atlanta, and the event was still hazy. All Cade remembered were chaotic images and noises flashing through her mind: a flicker of Brandt’s tired, strained face; the sound of squealing tires; gunshots ringing out above her head; and Brandt’s voice, saying over and over, nearly chanting, “Stay with me, Cade. For the love of God, stay with me.” And the pain, unceasing and pulsing in her side, the sticky feeling of blood trickling down to stain the waistband of her jeans. She remembered the wind in her hair, the sound of Remy sobbing, and the scent of the ocean as they reached their destination: a house near the coastline just inside South Carolina. And now, a month after their arrival, Cade was on the mend and conscious enough to worry about Brandt.
    Cade was halfway across the bedroom, her toes freezing on the cold floorboards, when she heard a couple of thuds in the bathroom. The sound was accompanied by Brandt spitting toothpaste out before the bathroom door eased open. His face was wet and flushed, his eyes bloodshot, and his hair damp. But he looked far better than he had when he’d first woken her by flinging himself out of bed.
    Cade took a few steps toward him, wrapping the jacket tighter around her shoulders. “You okay?” she asked.
    “Shit, Cade, what are you doing out of bed?” he asked, avoiding her question. He took her elbow and led her back to the large bed. “You shouldn’t be up and around like this. Your side—”
    “Is just fine,” she interrupted. “I’ll survive. I promise. Are you okay?”
    Brandt sighed and let go of her elbow, flipping the bedsheets back and motioning for her to climb in. He waited until she was in the bed again before he slid underneath the sheets himself. Cade could see his muscles shift under his skin, even through the thin t-shirt he wore. He ran his hand through his dark hair and flopped back against his pillows before answering her. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just had a bad dream is all.”
    “And that made you puke?” Cade asked doubtfully.
    Brandt shrugged. “I don’t know. It could happen, I suppose.” He rolled onto his side, his dark eyes searching her face in the early-morning haze as she wiggled out of his jacket and tossed it back onto the chair. “Sorry I woke you up again. How’s your side?”
    Cade shrugged halfheartedly and prodded gently at the wound, working her fingers over the skin around the bandage before she huffed out a breath. “It’s sore, but it’s not like it was when we first got here. It’ll probably be another two weeks or so before it gets anywhere close to healed enough for anything strenuous.”
    Brandt tugged at the white tank top she wore. “Let me see,” he requested, his voice demanding. Cade raised an eyebrow and smirked.
    “Is this just a ploy to get me naked, Mr. Evans?” Cade joked with a laugh. She wiggled out of the tank top, easing it slowly over her head so she wouldn’t hurt herself further.
    “Cade, I guarantee you, sex is the last thing on my mind right now,” Brandt said. He set her shirt aside and began picking at the tape holding the