He didn’t even sound sarcastic as he answered, “Superior genetics. Go back to sleep.”
I tried to laugh, but it just hurt.
He made a tight, tight, tight noise in his throat as those dark purple eyes moved over me again, the corners of his mouth going flat. “Your fever is worse,” he said. “Get better.”
“I can’t…” Why was I so out of breath? “Just get better.”
“Wrong. Make it happen.”
Even snorting hurt.
“Stop it.”
I sniffled some more.
“Get better,” he insisted in that familiar, rich voice.
I groaned some more and rolled onto my side again, still on his leg. On his thigh.
“Gracie…”
I closed my eyes.
My fever was getting worse—or was already there. I could feel how hard my body was fighting. How even my spine hurt. My throat felt like I’d swallowed a couple hundred rocks with no water.
I burned up while I slept.
I remembered reading about how some people had vivid, crazy dreams when they had a fever. I didn’t dream of shit. I slept and I slept, fitful and restless, remembering every turn and roll, and forcing my brain back to sleep because my head couldn’t handle how bad it hurt and needed the escape.
And in one of those rare times that I did wake up, my back on fire, I found myself in a seated position.
Sort of.
I was shivering, and I frowned at how dry my throat was. And it was that distraction that had me noticing that I wasn’t just sitting up, my back was propped up against something that wasn’t the wall. What…？
There was a thigh on either side of me, two big feet planted flat on the floor. It was on those raised knees that a wrist was propped up on each of them. It was the full-looking forearms covered in a familiar, gray-colored material that had me blinking. They were connected to sturdy elbows and full, strong biceps bracketing my shoulders.
I was wrapped up in the hoodie. Buzzing bare skin was touching parts of me.
Oh.
Scrunching up my face, I licked my lips and tried to tilt my head back and to the side.
He didn’t make it easy for me either, not moving at all. It wasn’t until the back of my head touched what had to be his shoulder, my cheek to his bare chest, that I finally got a good look at the face above and behind me.
Like I didn’t already have every inch of it memorized.
Smooth, healthy cheeks. A mouth with two full, dark pink lips. Brilliant purple eyes that flashed from beneath dark eyebrows.
I blew out a breath slowly, confused and miserable.
Then, tucking in my chin and dropping my eyes, I took in the definite fullness at the shoulder in my view.
At the bicep muscles that had been personal pillows.
The thigh at my hip seemed to bulge at the seams of the sweatpants he had on. He’d put my head on it. More than once, I was pretty positive.
Tipping my head, my eyes stung, and those dark eyelashes dropped, and the man who looked an awful lot like The Defender, but better, scowled.
“What are you crying for?” He frowned.
I felt one little tear slide down my cheek a moment before I whispered, “Am I… dead?”
His snicker caught me off guard. “You’re not fucking dead.”
His chest was almost warm, and my skin tingled just a little bit where it touched his. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” The handsome face hovering above me dipped, and his nostrils flared before he frowned. It looked like someone had lit a flashlight beneath his skin, making him damn near practically glow with health or power, or maybe even both. “Your fever is still high but not high enough for you to be delusional.”
I reached up with an arm that felt too heavy and touched his cheek lightly, taking in the firmness.
He felt real.
I couldn’t help it. I was too focused on the perfect planes and the magical muscles. And there was the fever. And that’s what I was going to blame for moving my finger to touch the corner of his mouth as I whispered, “You really are pretty.”
“And you’re sick and could use mouthwash,” the grump replied.
It was so mean, but I still snorted weakly, and the familiar-unfamiliar face scowled down at me even more.
“Stop it.”
“You keep saying that like I have a choice,” I croaked.
The thigh on my right pressed closer to my hip.
“Why are you still here?” I asked before I could stop myself and really think about what I was pointing out to him. “Can’t you leave already?”
Those purple eyes bore into me, and his brows dropped on his high forehead. “Yeah.”
So then why?
And again, he must have been able to tell what was on my mind because he blinked, and his tone went totally exasperated. “You want me to leave you?”
My neck felt too weak to shake my head. “No.” I swallowed, regretting waking up. “But I’m surprised you didn’t. This isn’t your business.”
His expression darkened. “I don’t go back on my word.”
I closed my eyes and leaned even more against him, totally fucking wiped out. “I wouldn’t want to be here without you.” I swallowed, flicking my finger against the soft material of the hoodie. “It makes me feel better that we’re both miserable.”
His chest made a strange motion against my cheek. “You like me being miserable?” he asked, his voice funny.
I liked him talking to me, even if it was sarcasm that came out of his mouth half the time. I still didn’t get why he was doing any of this—I didn’t—but I appreciated it. So much more than he’d ever understand.
I tried to nod, and his chest did that same thing again that damn near felt like a hiccup. “I would be so scared here alone, but I don’t want them to get you.”
“They won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because there’s no one in the facility but a couple guards, and they don’t have any plans to come over here,” he said, almost quietly. “They’re waiting for someone to arrive. There was a problem with a shipment. The woman is gone too.”
I tried to think about that. “How… do you know? Super hearing?”
“And vision.”
I huffed, even though I wasn’t surprised. It took me a second to get my throat in shape to keep talking. “Were your hearing and vision messed up while you were injured?”
“Yes.”
That explained a lot, yet at the same time only left me with more questions about why there had been something seriously wrong with him in so many different ways. “That’s why… you’re still here?” I asked instead.
“You’re too sick to move,” he said, like that explained everything. “I’m not going to risk it when we have time.”
How much time though?
As if he could read my mind, he said, “They come in shifts between this facility and others spread out over a couple hundred miles. Those guards are hired help to protect the family, not to chop off a finger or two. We’ve got some time left. That missing shipment is worth a lot of money.”
I hadn’t been the only one concerned about me losing a digit. That was nice. Scary but nice. “But… you can’t wait too long because then you won’t be able to get out.”