Chapter 7: What Was in the Cup

I had brought the thermos with me.

I couldn't have said why.

I had pulled it from my brother's cabinet while I was packing and wrapped it in a pillowcase, and for two days it had ridden at the bottom of my bag.

After Imogen left, I went back to the guest cabin and took it out and sat on the edge of the bed with it in my hands.

Gilbert will have a Brennan by spring.

I unscrewed the lid.

A film of tea had dried in the bottom, brown and glossy.

I put my nose to it.

Chamomile.

And under the chamomile, so faint I would never have caught it before this week, something bitter and green.

I knew that smell.

It was in the back of my head somewhere, in a kitchen with a window over a sink and my mother's hands working.

My mother had taught me about plants before she taught me to ride a bike.

I stood up too fast.

The thermos was steel on the outside and glass on the inside, and it slipped.

It hit the cabin's stone hearth, and the liner burst.

"No," I said, and went to my knees and started picking up the pieces.

I wanted the residue.

I didn't think about the glass.

I felt it go into my palm, clean and hot, and I looked down and saw blood run into the creases of my hand.

"Della?"

Dalton was in the doorway.

He must have heard the crash from across the yard.

He took in the shards, the thermos, and my hand, and his whole body changed.

His eyes went gold, and a low sound came out of his chest that wasn't quite a growl.

It was only a second.

Then he shut it down, and his face was almost blank.

"Don't move," he said. "Let me see."

My palm was bleeding badly, but it wasn't deep.

Keep reading free with an account. Start Claimed After Divorce by My Brother's Best Friend from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.