Free Alphas - Origins by Ilona Andrews

bench. An array of shampoo bottles and soaps waited her selection. She took the bottle with the picture of a green apple on the side, picked up a bar of soap at random, and stepped into the shower. Jets surrounded her on three sides. She turned the big wheel of the faucet and a wide sheet of water spilled on her from above in a warm, soothing waterfall. She dropped the shampoo and the soap. All around her water sprayed and cascaded, drenching her, washing away the scent of warm copper. She stepped into the deluge, closed her eyes, and swayed.
    *   *   *
    Lucas slid into the hot water. He liked it near scalding. It wasn’t quite hot enough, but it was getting there. The currents pummeled his body. He switched the two nearest jets off. The sharp claws of pain that scraped his ribs dulled to a low ache as he healed. His right arm still throbbed. Daniel was getting stronger.
    One day one of them would get careless and they might finish each other off. Lucas closed his eyes and submerged. There were worse ways to go than being killed by your brother.
    The rage that had driven him these past few days was gone, burned out in an adrenaline rush of violence.
    He came up for air and settled with his head on the ledge, positioned in the dip of the shelf, the only place he could sit with the water lapping at his neck.
    So tired . . .
    The healing was draining his inner resources and he felt thin and weak, as if all of his muscles were a threadbare shirt hanging off his bones. From here he could see the door and the shower stall. She was in there. Naked. Wet. A fruity synthetic scent teased him—she was washing her hair. He pictured her body under the water, her hands sliding over her breasts and down . . .
    A dull thud made him lift his head. In the shower, a dark shadow slumped, pressed against the glass.
    It had hit her finally. He’d waited the whole day for it.
    Lucas climbed out of the hot tub. The shower-stall door was locked. He hit it with his palm and the lock popped open. Karina lay curled in a corner of the shower, a small wet clump. Her legs shivered. Her skin had gained a pale, almost gray tint. He scooped her off the floor.
    â€œNo,” she stuttered. Her lips had turned blue. Not a good sign.
    He bent down. She lashed out. He caught a glint of metal and pulled back, letting the knife blade miss him. Where had she even gotten one? Ah, yes. The kitchen. He plucked the knife out of her fingers and picked her up off the floor.
    â€œNo.” She pushed against his chest.
    â€œShhh,” he told her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
    He carried her out. Her wet skin was ice-cold against his.
    She fought him even as he climbed into the tub and lowered her onto the shelf, sinking her up to her chin in the hot water. “Let me go . . .”
    Afraid to agitate her any further, he put the full width of the tub between them, giving her room. No need to strain her. If she passed out, the chances of her survival would drop to almost nothing.
    It took a full three minutes before her teeth stopped chattering. She looked at him. “Everything hurts.”
    â€œYour body is reacting to the venom,” he said. “Hot water will help. It soothes the muscles. It’s normal.” Technically everything he said was true. He just didn’t go into the rest of the details. Not yet.
    A short bitter laugh slipped from her lips. “Normal? Nothing about this is normal.”
    True. Not for her anyway. For him, it was business as usual. “Thirsty?”
    â€œYes.”
    He waded through the tub, reached for the small fridge beside it, and extracted a bottle of water.
    She took the bottle, clamped the plastic cap in her teeth, twisted it off, and drank, draining nearly a third in a single long draft. That’s it . . . Drink, Karina.
    He recalled Galatea’s first time. She’d known exactly what would happen. She had been raised for precisely this purpose: to