Chapter 52

Blake limped to his room, every muscle, fiber, and tendon in his body aching like nothing he’d ever felt before. He doubted he would be able to get out of bed in the morning.

As he opened the door, Megan’s hair gleamed in the bathroom light. Curled up on his bed, her thumb in her mouth, her pale cheeks held just a tint of rose color. She looked so sweet and so innocent, she reminded him of those paintings of cherub angels from the Renaissance period. If she sprouted wings and flew around the room, it wouldn’t surprise him.

Looking at the beside clock, he realized that in a two hours Sophia should be turning on her phone, unless she couldn’t do it by the stroke of midnight, or the damn thing was dead.

Blake hadn’t given much thought to what would happen if the phone was dead, or, God help him, Sophia was. If that phone didn’t start transmitting a signal, Blake didn’t know what he’d do, or how he would explain it all to Megan. Somehow, he’d hung the worth of his future on getting Sophia back. It was all that mattered to him. How would he explain to Megan that he had no idea what her father had done with her mother? She had said she didn’t like Micah and he made her mother cry, so maybe it wouldn’t be that big of a surprise to her. A surprise or not, he didn’t want to have to deliver the news.

It wasn’t because he loathed her reaction to it, which would most likely be tears and some drama, but because he cared about her and didn’t want to be the cause of the sadness.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Blake suppressed a moan as he stood.

When he pulled open the door, surprised rolled through him. It was Cohen. Blake waited a moment, expecting a fist to the jaw or a kick to the gut.

“Hey,” Cohen said, his voice low.

“Hi, Cohen. Listen, this isn’t a good time. Megan’s asleep and—”

Cohen held up his hand. “I’m not here to fight, argue, or pick bones. I’m here to help.”

“Help how, exactly?” Blake asked, suspicious.

“So, just listen to me for a minute,” Cohen said, “I know you’re in really bad shape right now. After your gym session with Jovan, he told me you’re very weak. I don’t know the effects of heroin on an SR44 system, but if you want, I can go in and take a look around, see if anything needs to be repaired, or if I can maybe put some scaffolding around internal organs and systems, try to prop them up a bit so they can heal.”

Blake looked at him, not believing Cohen’s offer and questioning his motives. Perhaps Cohen wanted Blake dead—what better way to do it than to get his energy into Blake and stop his heart or some shit like that? “But I’m part human,” he said.

Cohen shrugged. “You’re a half-breed, Blake. Everything should be fine. If things start going hokey, I get out. For all intents and purposes, Beverly’s a half-breed as well, and I never had any trouble healing her. Same with Abby.”

Blake still didn’t trust him.

“Look,” Cohen said, resting his hand on Blake’s shoulder. “You were a complete and utter fucker for the way you treated Annis and me, and then that stunt you pulled in the War Room before Noah kicked you out . . . I wanted to kill you. However, I also understand that a female can drive a male to do things he wouldn’t necessarily do in normal circumstances. You love Annis. She chose me. You are part SR44ian, Blake. We take the women we love pretty seriously. If the situation had been reversed . . . well, I don’t know what I would have done. I get it, Blake. I get the pain, okay?”

Blake stared into the violet eyes, listened to Cohen’s words, and heard the honesty there. Maybe a future of friendship with Cohen lay ahead, if they allowed him to stay.

“So, are you going to let me work on you?”

A thread of doubt still lingered, and Cohen must have sensed it.

“I promise not to make your heart explode, or tear out your colon, or shrink your brain. I’m a healer, Blake. Just the thought of those things violates every instinct I have. I couldn’t hurt you even if I tried, no matter how badly I might have wanted to in the past.”

Blake nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”