Free Eban by Allison Merritt Page B

wished whoever was moaning in her ear would stop. It made her splitting headache worse. She snuggled beneath the covers, curling against the solid source of warmth next to her. For a moment, the noise stopped, but her stomach lurched and it started all over again.
    Someone whispered her name. A hot hand caressed her forehead. She couldn’t open her eyes for fear of seeing the room twirl around her like an out-of-control wheel.
    â€œI’ll be right back.”
    The warmth left and she clung to the feather mattress beneath her, praying the world would right itself, the headache would vanish and her stomach would stop flopping like a fish.
    â€œHere. Sit up a little and lean to your left. It’ll help settle your stomach.” A pair of hands lifted her into a sitting position. “Hold this.”
    A cold metal basin plopped onto her lap.
    â€œYou’ll be all right in a while.”
    â€œEban?” She dared crack an eye, peering at him through her lashes. Light coming through the window drove a spike into her brain. She moaned, clutching the basin. “What’s happening?”
    â€œI’d say you drank too much.”
    â€œI don’t drink. Not even when the customers are buying. You can’t get drunk on tea.” Her eyes felt dry as the land surrounding Berner. They snapped open as she realized what she’d said. A million more spikes exploded in her head. It was too much and she held the basin close as her stomach emptied.
    He’d hate her now. She reeked of alcohol and sickness, had admitted to entertaining men, and for some reason she couldn’t recall, had apparently imbibed—a lot.
    Although her ribs felt as though they’d burst through her skin, she thought she’d survive long enough to suffer Eban’s disappointment. She sank against the pillows propping her up and narrowed her eyes so she could only see his face.
    His expression registered sympathy. He took the basin, settled it on the floor, then drew the sheet up to her neck.
    â€œI’ll get you some water and a wet rag. There’s not much we can do except let you ride it out. Sorry about that.” He disappeared again, leaving her in a puddle of misery scented like a saloon after a long night of debauchery.
    Beryl wiped her hand across her mouth. Her palm came around smeared with blood and she stared at the bright crimson stain. Her stomach turned again.
    Eban came through the doorway, his hands full. She lifted her shaky hand.
    â€œAm I dying?”
    He stared at her pale fingers for a second, but didn’t meet her eyes. “No. I think it’s…”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œAn ingredient in whatever you were drinking. Trust me, you don’t want to know.” He settled on the edge of the bed and dabbed her face with the wet cloth. “Better not to ask.”
    The cool swipes against her heated flesh were reviving. She watched him through her eyelashes again. He smiled, though it was full of pity. When he laid the cloth aside, he stroked her hair back. He lowered his face to hers and brushed a kiss across her forehead.
    â€œYou’ll be all right in a few hours.”
    She wanted to curl close to him and sleep in the comfort of his arms as she’d clearly done last night. The thought jarred her. The room was starting to settle and she realized it wasn’t hers. Eban’s bedroom was papered with striped wallpaper in dark blues. Her walls were brown and cream. She tried not to worry about what she was doing here. He’d offered her comfort when he knew she wasn’t herself. Finding out what had happened was more important.
    â€œWhy was I drinking?”
    â€œI’m not sure. I wasn’t there,” he murmured. “Drink some water. You’re dehydrated.”
    She took the cup, almost sloshing water over the side. Her stomach warned it was a bad idea, but she drank anyway. It didn’t ease the furry feeling in her mouth, but it