Guilty Pleasures   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

“I think she is being sarcastic,” Jean-Claude said. He sounded relieved. “She can't be hurt too badly if she is making jokes.”

I wasn't sure about the hurt too badly part. Nausea flowed in waves, from head to stomach, instead of the other way around. I was betting I had a concussion. The question was, how bad?

“Can you move, Anita?”

“No,” I whispered.

“Let me rephrase. If I help you, can you sit up?”

I swallowed, trying to breathe through the pain and nausea. “Maybe.”

Hands curved under my shoulders. The bones in my head started sliding forward as he lifted. I gasped and swallowed. “I'm going to be sick.”

I rolled over on all fours. The movement was too rapid. The pan was a whirl of light and darkness. My stomach heaved. Vomit burned up my throat. My head was exploding.

Jean-Claude held me around the waist, one cool hand on my forehead, holding the bones of my head in place. His voice held me, a soothing sheet against my skin. He was speaking French, very softly. I didn't understand a word of it, and didn't need to. His voice held me, rocked me, took some of the pain.

He cradled me against his chest, and I was too weak to protest. The pain had been screaming through my head; now it was distant, a throbbing ache. It still felt obscene to turn my head, as if my head were sliding apart, but the pain was different, bearable.

He wiped my face and mouth with a damp cloth. “Do you feel better now?” he asked.

“Yes.” I didn't understand where the pain had gone.

Theresa said, “Jean-Claude, what have you done?”

“Nikolaos wishes her to be aware and well for this visit. You saw her. She needs a hospital, not more tormenting.”

“So you helped her.” The vampire's voice sounded amused. “Nikolaos will not be pleased.”

I felt him shrug. “I did what was necessary.”

I could open my eyes without squinting or increasing the pain. We were in a dungeon; there was no other word for it. Thick stone walls enclosed a square room, perhaps twenty by twenty feet. Steps led up to a barred, wooden door. There were even chains set in the walls. Torches guttered along the walls. The only thing missing was a rack and a black-hooded torturer, one with big, beefy arms, and a tattoo that said “I love Mom.” Yeah, that would have made it perfect.

I was feeling better, much better. I shouldn't have been recovering this quickly. I had been hurt before, badly. It didn't just fade, not like this.

“Can you sit unaided?” Jean-Claude asked.

Surprisingly, the answer was yes.