Gavriel laid her down on the infirmary bed with the care of a man placing something fragile on a shelf.
Serena was off it in two seconds.
"I'm soaking wet." She was already standing, water pooling on the stone floor around her boots, the bed linens darkened in a Serena-shaped silhouette. "Oh shoot."
"Serena." Gavriel looked at the bed. Looked at her. Looked at the bed again. "It's a sheet. It's a sheet on a mattress. In an infirmary. Where people come to bleed. You think a little lake water is what's going to ruin the ambiance?"
She didn't sit back down.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You just made me carry you through a portal like a drowned cat and your concern is the thread count. I want you to hear that out loud."
Alaric walked in. His eyes swept Serena head to toe in under a second, the clinical intake of a man whose brain sorted patients by severity the way other people sorted laundry.
