Sweetheart, we need to talk. If you can wake up now, please try. I don’t know how much time we have. Wake up.”The hand on her shoulder was not the one she needed it to be. Now, there was an odd and confusing concept. Roxy turned over with a snarl. “Why do people keep asking me to do that?” She sat up. “Okay, I’m awake. Do I want to be? No.” She peered past Martin’s shoulder to take in the strange yet familiar room. “Nice bit of barbaric splendor we have here. Man needs a housekeeper, though. Is the coffee still hot?” She noticed that she was wrapped in leather, and briefly wondered why. Then she remembered—healings and conversations and everything—and wished she was still blissfully incoherent, the way Sagouran Fever usually made her. And why wasn’t she? By rights she should be dead after what the bad-tempered redhead had put her through.“Poison.”“What?” Martin asked, and handed her a steaming cup of coffee.“Thanks.” She gulped it down, and then gobbled down the plate of rare steak he passed to her.
