“I already have.”
Reese took it. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing.” He headed to the back where the betas had gone.
Reese read the title.
It wasn’t a genre he preferred, but he didn’t have the luxury of being choosey.
At least it gave him something to concentrate on so he wouldn’t think about betas and their stamina.
He opened the book and read the first paragraph, once, twice…
Fuck.
Reese rubbed his face, knocking his glasses loose. They tumbled away, and in his attempt to catch them, he flicked them off to the side.
Seung caught them by an earpiece. “You might need these.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He put them back on. The blur surrounding him was slow to sharpen. “Think I need a new prescription.” He lowered them down his nose and reread the first line. When he got to the end, he couldn’t even remember the words. “Or maybe I’m just getting senile.”
Seung cocked her mouth to the side. “It’s normal.”
“No, no. I’m pretty sure senility at forty-one isn’t normal.”
“You’re not going senile.” Her expression softened.
“I can’t even remember what I read, and I read that damn paragraph…” Now he couldn’t remember how many times. “Maybe I should get a CT.”
“Dr. Dante…”
“I could have hit my head the other day. Harrington had a doctor look me over. She said if I experienced any dizziness or nausea, to let her know. This isn’t either of those, but it’s still abnormal. And I did hit my head when, Paul, you know… Could have damaged something. Depending on the injury, a month or more to manifest symptoms wouldn’t be impossible. There’s also high blood pressure. It could have been the catalyst. I’ve never had high blood pressure, but the last few days have been really stressful….”
“Dr. Dante.”
“I mean, the stress alone could be the cause. Sleep deprivation. I’ve slept, but not very—”
“Dr. Dante.” Seung took his hand again and made it impossible not to look at her. “You’re not senile, you don’t need a brain scan, you’re stressed, and I don’t doubt you haven’t slept well, but those are not the issue.”
The scar on Reese’s shoulder pulsed. “You forgot high blood pressure and brain damage.”
“That too.”
“Stroke.” The ache bit deeper, and Reese grit his teeth.
“No.” Seung slid her gaze to his shoulder.
Reese reflexively rolled it, trying to convince the muscle to relax and the nerves to quit firing false signals.
“Paul was Mah,” Seung said. “Johnathan and his men are Mah.”
“Yeah, you’ve made that perfectly clear.”
“The bite on your shoulder knows that.”
Reese laughed. “Wounds aren’t capable of thought. It’s a bunch of scar tissue and bone calluses. It’s not like—”
“It’s a simplified explanation.”