And there, the pain was fierce and full, a monster with jagged teeth and stiletto claws. They bit, and mauled. They tore. For an instant he shied from it, started to struggle back. But she nudged him on.

A hand gripped his sweaty fist, and he knew it was Gage.

So he opened to himself, to them, rode on the pain, on the hot, bucking back of it, as he knew he must. When it ebbed enough for him to speak again, perspiration soaked him.

“Ease back now,” he said to Layla. “Ease back. It’s a little too much, a little too fast.”

He kept riding the pain. Bones, muscles, organs. And clung unashamed to Gage’s hand, to Cal’s. When the worst had passed, and he could take his first easy breath, he stopped. His own nature would do the rest.

“Okay. It’s okay.”

“You don’t look okay.”

He looked at Cybil, saw there were tears running down her cheeks. “The rest is just surface. It’ll take care of itself.”

When she nodded, turned away, he looked down at Layla. Her eyes were swimming, but to his relief, no tears fell. “Thanks.”

“Who did this to you?”

“That’s the question.” His voice raw, Gage straightened, then walked to the stove for coffee. “The second being, and when are we going to go kick the shit out of him?”

“I’d like to help with that.” Cybil got a mug for Gage herself, then laid a hand over his, squeezed hard.

“It was Block,” Fox told them as Quinn brought fresh water to clean the healing cuts and scrapes on his face.

“Block Kholer?” Gage tore his gaze from his hand, still warm from Cybil’s though she now stood two feet away. “What the hell for?”

“Napper convinced him I’d screwed his wife.”

Cal shook his head. “Block might be stupid enough to believe that asshole, which makes him monumentally stupid. And if he did, I could see him looking for some pushy-shovey, maybe even taking a swing at you. But, bro, he damn near killed you. That’s just not…”

Fox managed a small, slow sip of the Coke when he saw Cal understood. “It was there. The little fucker. Across the street. I had my attention on Block, since I sensed he wanted to pound me to pulp, so I missed it. I saw it in Block’s face though, in his eyes. The infection. If Wayne Hawbaker hadn’t come by, he wouldn’t have damn near killed me. I’d be dead.”

“It’s stronger.” Quinn gripped Cal’s shoulder. “It’s gotten stronger.”

“We had to figure it would. Everything’s accelerated this time. You said Wayne came by. What did he do?”

“I was out of it at first. When I got it together, he had Block cuffed, locked in the car. He said he had to just about knock him cold to get him there. He was fine-Wayne-he was fine. Himself. Concerned, a little pissed, a lot confused. It didn’t affect him.”

“Maybe it couldn’t.” Layla pushed to her feet. She took the bloodied water to dump because if her hands were in the sink, no one could see them shake. “I think if it could have, it would have. You said Block meant to kill you. It wouldn’t want the police, wouldn’t want anyone to stop that from happening.”

“One at a time.” Composed again, Cybil pursed her lips. “Not good news, but not all bad.” She brushed at Fox’s wet, tangled hair. “Your eye’s healing. You’re almost back to full handsome again.”

“What are you going to do about Block?” Quinn asked.

“I’ll go over and talk to him, and Wayne later. Right now, I could really use a shower, if you ladies don’t mind.”

“I’ll take you up.” Layla held out a hand.

“You need to sleep,” Cal said.

“A shower’s probably enough.”

“That kind of healing empties you out. You know that.”

“I’ll start with the shower.” He walked out with Layla. The pain still nipped, but its teeth were dull, its claws stunted.

“I’ll wash your clothes while you’re in there,” she told him. “There are a few things of Cal’s around here you can use. Those jeans are toast now anyway.”

He glanced down at his torn, ripped, and bloody Levi’s. “Toast? They’re just broken in.”

She tried for a smile as they climbed the stairs, but couldn’t quite pull it off. “Does it still hurt?”

“Mostly just sore now.”

“Then…” She turned at the top of the stairs, put her arms around him and held close.

“It’s all right now.”

“Of course it’s not all right now. None of it’s all right. So I’m just going to hold on to you until I can handle it again.”

“You handled it just fine.” He lifted a hand, stroked it down her hair. “Right down the line.”

Needing to be steady for him, Layla eased back to take his face carefully in her hands. His left eye looked red and painful, but the swelling was nearly gone. She kissed it, then his cheeks, his temples. “I was scared to death.”

“I know. That’s what heroism is, isn’t it? Doing what has to be done when you’re scared to death.”

“Fox.” She kissed his lips now, gently. “Take off your clothes.”

“I’ve been waiting to hear you say that for weeks.”

Now she was able to smile. “And get in the shower.”

“Better and better.”

“If you need someone to wash your back… I’ll send Cal.”

“And my dreams are crushed.”

In the end, she untied his shoes while he sat on the side of the tub. She helped him out of his shirt and jeans with a depressingly sisterly affection. When he stood in his boxers, and she said, “Oh, Fox,” he knew by the tone it wasn’t due to delight in his manly physique, but to the bruises that covered it.

“When so much is internal, it just takes longer for the outside to heal.”

She only nodded, and carrying his clothes, left him to shower.

It felt like glory-the hot water, the soft spray. It felt like glory to be alive. He stayed under the water, his hands braced on the shower wall, until it ran cool, until the pain circled the drain and slid away like the water. Jeans and a sweatshirt sat neatly folded on the counter when he stepped out. He managed to get them on, forced to pause several times to rest, to wait until nasty little bouts of dizziness passed. Once he’d wiped the steam from the mirror over the sink and taken stock of his face, the still-fading bruises, the raw look of his eye, the cuts not quite healed, he had to admit Cal was right, as usual.

He needed to sleep.

So he walked-felt like floating-into Layla’s room. He crawled onto her bed and fell asleep with the comforting scent of her all around him.

When he woke, there was a throw tucked around him, the shades were drawn and the door shut. He sat up carefully to take fresh stock. No pain, he thought, no aches. Not even when he poked his fingers around his left eye. The dragging fatigue no longer weighed on him. And he was starving. All good signs.

He stepped out, found Layla in the office with Quinn. “I dropped out awhile.”

“Five hours.” Layla moved to him immediately, searched his face. “You look perfect. The sleep did you good.”

“Five hours?”

“And change,” Quinn added. “It’s good to have you back.”

“Somebody should’ve shoved me out of bed. We were supposed to go through the rest of the first journal, at least.”

“We did. And we’re putting the notes together.” Layla gestured to Quinn’s laptop. “We’ll have the CliffsNotes version for you later. It’s enough for now, Fox.”

“I guess it has to be.”

“Give yourself a break. Isn’t that what you tell me? Cybil made some amazing leek and potato soup.”

“Please tell me there’s some left.”

“Plenty, even for you. Come on, I’ll fix you a bowl.”

Downstairs, Gage stood at the living room window. He glanced over. “Rain stopped. I see you’re back to your ugly self.”

“Still prettier than you. Where’s Cal?”

“He headed over to the bowling alley a few minutes ago. He wants us to let him know when you decide to join the living again.”

“I’ll get the soup.”

Gage waited until he was alone with Fox. “Fuel up, then we’ll call Cal. He’ll meet us at the police station. Quinn’s putting the main points of today’s reading session down for you.”