The others divvied up his household chores, and though he knew he’d have done the same for any of them, it wasn’t any of them.

He’d lived a largely healthy life, had never dealt with serious illness. In fact, he couldn’t remember even being under the weather for more than a day in his life—though he’d faked it a few times to cop another day off school.

His current weakness, and the fatigue that dropped down on him like a lead blanket after the most ordinary exercise, frustrated the hell out of him.

While he dangled his legs in the pool and sulked, Riley strolled over, pulled off her Chucks, and dropped down beside him.

“I’d probably sink and drown if I tried swimming from one end to the other.”

“Boo hoo. You should be dead,” she said flatly, and shoved a glass of sparkling pale orange at him. “I mean that, pal. I couldn’t stop the bleeding in your side, and you’d already left a wading pool of it on the ground. The shoulder was worse—I know because I’ve seen gunshot wounds, and it was bad. I know because I watched Sasha’s face while she and Bran worked on it. He had to make her stop taking on some of the pain because she was nearly as white as you were. That’s not even getting to your face, your eye socket, the torn muscles, the shock of being shocked, and all the rest.”

“I know all this.”

“Then know this.” She gave him a solid punch in his good arm. “Bran and Sasha saved your life. Without them, nothing the rest of us could’ve done would’ve pulled you out. The life was just pouring out of you, Sawyer. I don’t have to be an empath to feel it because I could see it. You saved Annika, and they saved you.”

Frowning, he punched her back. “I’m being a bitch.”

“Yeah, and you got a pass for a day, nearly dying in a heroic manner and all that. Now it’s time to suck it up.”

“Okay.” Oddly, the verbal slap knocked away the self-pity. But he continued to frown as he looked at the glass in his hand. “What the hell is this, and where’s my beer?”

“You’re limited to one a day until.”

“I feel my bitch coming on again.”

“Just drink it, Sally. It’s something Bran and Sasha made up. Healing and energy booster.”

“It doesn’t look like what they gave me before.”

“New and improved. Take your medicine, cowboy.”

What the hell. He took a drink. “It’s good.” And drank again. “It’s really good.”

“I—with their consent—put a half jigger of tequila in it.”

“Best pal ever.” This time, he gave her a bump with his good shoulder. “How goes the research?”

“Slow. I have to say Doyle’s damn good at the translating, but he doesn’t have the patience to dig or know when to stop and regroup. We’ve had some words on that.”

“What! You and Doyle argued? Observe my shocked face.”

She rolled her eyes at his comic expression. “He started it.”

“That’s what they all say.”

Idly, she kicked her feet, splashing up lazy drops of water. “The thing is, this break—you being in recovery—it’s good for all of us. We needed it. Sasha and I had words about that. Nonargumentative, agreeable words. It’s given Bran time to resupply, and her a little time to paint. Physically, Annika needed a break, too. They didn’t just hurt her, they took the shine off her.”

Rage, cold and keen, shot through his belly. “I know it. If they weren’t dead . . .”

“Yeah, I’m with you. But the shine’s coming back—I swear nothing dulls Anni for long. Doyle and I, we got off easy, but—”

“Wait. You got shot. I forgot. Jesus, Riley, you got hit down there.”

She turned to show him the healing wound on her arm—barely a scratch now. “Bran’s balm. Only grazed me—though I’ll tell you it hurt like a mother. But figure this. Grazed my arm, hit your shoulder.”

“They weren’t trying to kill us. Brain’s still working.”

“Panic and debilitate,” she concurred. “Capture might have been the goal, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t make us bleed some. Would’ve ruined a good wet suit, too, but Bran fixed that as well. He’s handy. Couldn’t fix yours because we don’t know what the hell they did with it. But I’ve got one lined up for you when we go out again.”

“I repeat, best pal ever. Speaking of mothers, what the hell’s she doing, the mother of lies?”

“Well, we took her down hard in Corfu.”

“Kicked her bitch-goddess ass.”

“Every square inch.” Riley paused long enough for a fist bump. “Then she pulls in Malmon. That was good strategy, gotta give it to her. Let him do the dirty, sweaty work, and she bags the stars along with a demon love slave.”

“And still.” He hefted his glass. “Another swing and a miss.”

“Yeah, both times her plans go—I was going to say up in smoke, but let’s be accurate. Up in light. The thing is, Malmon wasn’t on his game.”

“It hurts to agree, since I’m currently sidelined thanks to that fucker, but no, he wasn’t on his game. Want to know why I figure?”