Surprised, I glanced up at him.
The son of a bitch blinked.
“You’re… annoying,” I whispered. Rude.
His gaze ran over my face for what felt like a long time. The muscles at his cheeks flexed, and even his throat bobbed. He didn’t exactly sound happy about it, but he still said it. “I owe you my life, Gracie.”
I shivered. He didn’t. He really didn’t, but I couldn’t get the words out.
Those eyes glowed for a second. “I take it seriously.” He sounded like it. “You could have told them who I was, and that might have made them stop what they did to you.” He took a deep breath that I felt more than heard. “You tried to protect me.”
All I could do was look at him.
“We’re going to get out of here,” he claimed, sounding for once exactly how I’d imagined The Defender talking—serious and powerful with just a hint of arrogance. “I promise.”
What a promise that was.
I nodded, my chest feeling heavy, my soul too. But I wanted to believe him. I really did. Part of me didn’t, but I wanted to. So I nodded again, my head against his chest. That nice, not warm but not cool, yet very comfortable chest. “Thank you.”
He grunted.
“Want to know a secret?” I whispered.
I felt his “hmm” more than heard it.
“I used my underwear as toilet paper in the other room and hid it. I hope they throw up when they find it.”
Alexander—The Defender’s—chest puffed again, and I could tell his chin dropped to look at me.
I smiled, and the last thing I remembered hearing was his slow, slow heartbeat in my ear.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
I sensedmy body being moved once or twice in the time that came afterward, and I definitely felt my cheek and head resting on what felt like a leg or something else hard but more comfortable than the floor. Warmish liquid was fed into my mouth in streams, and I was pretty sure I heard a voice coaxing me to swallow each time.
More than once, I felt something that wasn’t exactly cool being brushed across my face, but it still felt so nice. Soft, mushy food was slipped into my mouth, that same voice urging me to chew, to swallow again.
I had a weird memory that almost felt like a dream of sitting on what felt like a toilet seat and being told to pee. I was pretty positive I did it too. That was what being delusional must be like.
I was hot. I was cold. Hot, cold, hot, cold. It was a never-ending flip-flop of misery.
But at some point, while my brain was at its fuzziest, hurting so bad I wasn’t sure how I could still think, while total darkness enveloped my consciousness, while I felt like I cried and could have sworn I felt a hand wipe my face, all of a sudden, the shitty-ness lessened. The worst of the shivering tapered off, and eventually my brain didn’t hurt so bad. And when I finally opened my eyes, weak and still with the remnants of a headache straight from Satan, I was surprised to realize that my side was plastered against a body.
Not just a body, I found. Alexander’s chest again. I spotted the flat plane of his stomach first. Then the hint of a muscular arm.
I was on his lap. Not between his thighs, but onhim.
The side of my face was sealed up against his chest.
He smelled spicy and dark, and for a brief moment, I wondered how bad I had to smell. I hadn’t put deodorant on in… I didn’t even know how long it had been since we’d gotten here. I’d sweated. I hadn’t showered. My skin was grimy and oily, and now that I thought about it, my head itched like hell. Then there was everything else wrong with me.
But I was on top of him.
Lifting my head was hard, and speaking was too. Tilting it, I met the smooth skin on his neck and cheeks and pushed the words out, ignoring the dryness and the burn in my throat as I said, “Did I die?”
“No.” His head dropped into my view, eyes on me. “Your fever is lower,” he said in almost a whisper. “You still sound like the Cookie Monster.”
“I know.”
