“What are you doing?” I whispered, my voice hoarse as hell. Just when I’d thought I couldn’t possibly feel worse, my body said check this shit out.
And I was checking it out. I was checking it out big-time.
The superbeing rolled his eyes. “Trying to cool you down. What does it look like?”
If I’d been worried he’d been body snatched, I could live at peace now.
“I don’t know. It isn’t every day I wake up to someone in my face.” Honestly though, for one microsecond, I’d thought he was planning on playing tonsil hockey in revenge.
The gorgeous man still hovering over me huffed. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”
When he put it like that, I felt like a jerk. “Thank you.” I winced at how much my swallow burned. “I’m not trying to be ungrateful. I just feel so shitty, and you surprised me.” I sniffled. “You keep surprising me.” That was the understatement of the century.
That perfect face went a little funny.
I tried to smile at him, but my cheeks felt like they’d been pinched to hell. “Thank you,” I repeated, “for trying to help me.”
He blinked. His gaze moved from my eyes to my chin and lingered on my shirt. On the shirt I’d given him, the one with Hello Kitty on it. Then, just as slowly, those purple eyes swept their way back up, and I don’t think I imagined that his voice got a little quieter as he said, totally serious, “I’ve never taken care of anything.”
Oh.
“I’ve never been around anyone this sick,” he admitted just as low.
But here he was.
Moving my hand from where I’d had it on my stomach, I set it between my breasts. The shirt was damp. I was sticky.
“You’re still running a fever.” The Defender kept staring at me with those intense, incredible eyes. “Is this the right thing to do to bring it down?”
“Mm-hmm,” I answered with a wince.
A notch formed between two thick, dark eyebrows. “How do you feel?”
I tried to laugh and automatically regretted it. “Like shit.”
The Defender sighed and got up, walking… normal.
He’d gotten up effortlessly, no huffing, no puffing, no struggling at all. I kept watching as he headed to the sink and turned it on. I was only a little surprised when he turned around, hands cupped together, and made his way back, pausing right beside me. He raised an eyebrow, and somehow, I knew exactly what he wanted.
I opened my mouth, and he poured the small amount of water into it.
I licked my lips, my mouth so damn dry.
He blinked, and I watched his lips go tight before he bent over and…
“What are you doing?” I croaked just as he slipped an arm under my knees and another across my shoulder blades, lifting me effortlessly. “Don’t hurt your back!”
The Defender didn’t look at me as he said, “It’s fine now.”
It was?
He walked us over to the sink, the side of my body pressed against the front of his, and slowly lowered me to my feet, keeping an arm around my lower back as he turned the tap on with his other hand. “Drink,” he ordered. “I’ve got you.”
He… did?
I coughed and ducked down, sticking my mouth right beside the sink. I ignored the way my heart started beating faster at the idea of that water touching more than just my mouth and how bad my legs were shaking. I drank as much as I could, until my throat hurt even more than it already did.
I’d kill for some honey. For something warm and soothing. To be back home, in my bed.
A cough shot through me, and my ribs ached in response.
A wet hand rubbed over my forehead and the back of my neck as I dragged a ragged, painful breath in. Tilting my head, I peered up at him. His features were smooth, and he was staring again, being so, so watchful, like he really was weighing some part of my soul in his invisible scales, seeing if I was worthy or not.
I wasn’t sure I was, but I’d like to hope so.
And that’s when he picked me up, pressing me against him and his buzzing skin and the presence I was getting used to. So, so easily.
“You’re sure?” I whispered. “Your back is okay?” I checked, taking in the immaculate line of his jaw.
“It’s fine.”
For some damn reason I didn’t understand, I said, “You can call me Gracie,” ignoring just how strange it felt to say my name out loud to another person after so long.
His glance was so quick I almost missed it. “Gracie,” he actually said.
A sinking sensation suddenly socked me in the gut, and I flinched up at him. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Because I don’t want to smell your rotting corpse.”
My whole body jerked. “Am I dying? Is that why you’re finally talking to me?” I just about shrieked, or tried to.
It didn’t feel like I was. Dying, I meant. Wouldn’t my stomach hurt if I was on my deathbed? I felt like shit, but I couldn’t be dying. I couldn’t…
The way he looked at me made me instantly stop panicking. “No. You’re not dying. Your heartbeat is normal; you don’t smell poisoned. You… smell like you haven’t showered in days.” He made a noise in his throat. “You smell ill.”
Uh, rude. And maybe I felt like hell and smelled like it, but not bad enough to keep my trap shut. “You haven’t showered either,” I reminded him, each syllable costing me but totally worth it.
He huffed. “I don’t sweat the way you do.”
Maybe he had a point there.
Then he added, “It’s fine. I’ve smelled worse.”
He’d smelled worse. Oh, I would have laughed if I had the energy. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? Because it does a little,” I admitted.
He sighed and carried me back toward the wall. “I thought people stopped talking when they don’t feel well,” he said under his breath.
Someone wasn’t just trying to be nice; he was back to being sarcastic too. “I’m not sick enough, I guess,” I said under my breath right back, letting out a tiny, dry laugh that cost me a fortune of discomfort. Oh boy. It wasn’t going to be the cartel that got me; it was going to be pneumonia or whatever this shit was. That would be my luck.
He grunted as he set me down so, so gently, surprising me for about the millionth time by that point. Maybe he was going to make up for all the lack of surprises I’d missed out on over my life by keeping my circle so small. I eyed him as I leaned back against the wall, closing one eye as my head throbbed worse. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
The Defender balanced on the balls of his feet. His grouchy face there, totally focused on me. “I’m fine.”
I hoped he was. I sighed. “You’re sure I’m not dying?”
“Unless you die from talking too much, no.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re tough. You’ll be fine.”
It wouldn’t sink in until way later that he’d said I was tough. That he thought that about me. All I managed to do was swallow. “I hope you’re right. I’ve got a lot left I’d like to do someday.” I sniffled. “I haven’t even learned how to swim yet,” I told him for some fucking reason, probably because after this shit, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to stick my face under water ever again, much less swim.