I press my cheek against the hollow of his neck, burying my face against his cold, clammy skin.
"Thayer," I whisper, my breath ghosting over his collarbone. "I'm here. Please, stay with me. You promised me I would never sleep alone again. You can't break that promise."
I squeeze my eyes shut, using every ounce of my willpower to stop my own shivering, trying desperately to transfer whatever meager body heat I have left into his failing system.
Time ceases to exist. There is only the darkness, the howling wind, and the terrifyingly slow, shallow rhythm of his heartbeat against my chest.
Minutes bleed into hours. My muscles cramp, locking into painful, rigid knots against the hard floorboards. The cold completely seeps into my marrow, numbing my fingers and toes, but I refuse to pull away. I press myself harder against him, completely enveloping him in my desperate, terrified embrace.
Slowly, agonizingly, the terrifying chill radiating from his skin begins to change.
The freezing clamminess gives way to a faint, creeping warmth. The violent tremors wracking his massive frame begin to subside. His breathing, previously a jagged, rattling struggle, slowly evens out, deepening into a heavy, rhythmic cadence that moves my body with every inhale.
My heart leaps against my ribs. It's working.
But as his core temperature stabilizes, the fever sets in.
The faint warmth rapidly escalates into a burning, unnatural heat. His skin turns flush, radiating a furnace-like intensity that sears straight through the thin white lace of my bra and underwear. A sheen of hot sweat breaks out across his forehead and chest, mixing with the dried blood and ash.
He shifts violently beneath me, a low, agonizing groan tearing from his throat.
"Shh," I soothe, my hand sliding up to cup the side of his jaw, my thumb stroking his hot, stubble-roughened cheek. "It's okay. You're safe."
He doesn't hear me. He is completely lost in the delirious, burning fog of the fever and the blood loss.
His head tosses back against the floorboards, his jaw clenching tight. "No," he mutters, the word a dark, broken rasp. "Don't... touch her. Kill them. Kill them all."
The sheer, unrestrained violence in his subconscious mind is terrifying, but it is entirely directed at protecting me. Even as he burns alive on the floor of a rotting cabin, his brain is entirely consumed by the singular directive of my survival.
"I'm right here," I whisper, pressing my lips to the burning skin of his shoulder. "No one is touching me."
Suddenly, his uninjured right arm sweeps out in a blind, frantic arc. His heavy forearm collides with my waist, his massive hand instantly splaying wide across the bare curve of my hip.
He grips me with a bone-crushing intensity, pulling my half-naked body completely on top of him.
I gasp, the breath completely knocked out of my lungs as I sprawl across the hard, muscular expanse of his chest. My bare legs tangle intimately with his, the soft, sensitive center of my body pressing flush against the heavy ridge of his arousal resting beneath his dark boxer briefs.
"Mine," he breathes, his voice a guttural, feral vibration that rumbles directly into my chest. His eyes are still tightly closed, completely trapped in the delirium, but his physical response is absolute.
His hand slides frantically up the bare skin of my back, his long, calloused fingers tracing the delicate line of my spine before tangling violently in the dark, messy waves of my hair. He holds my head in place, his hot, feverish breath washing over my lips.
"Sybil," he groans, my name sounding like a prayer and a curse tearing from his throat.
"I'm here," I answer, the words trembling, completely breathless.
The sheer physical friction of our bodies—the contrast of his burning, feverish skin against mine, the terrifying, intoxicating weight of his hands completely dominating me in the dark—ignites a dark, violent fire in my blood.
The cognitive dissonance completely shatters the last remaining barriers in my mind.
I should push him away. I should be repulsed by the monster who manipulated my father into putting a hit on my head. But the vulnerability of his delirium, the absolute, undeniable proof that I am the only thing anchoring him to the earth, is a psychological aphrodisiac I cannot fight.
I slide my hands up the heavy, hot muscles of his chest, my fingers tracing the edges of his dark Syndicate tattoos. I lean down, my mouth hovering mere millimeters from his.
I don't wait for him to wake up. I don't wait for permission.
I press my lips directly against his burning, feverish mouth.
It is not the violent, aggressively dominant kiss he forced upon me in the bunker. It is a desperate, seeking pressure, a raw, undeniable admission of my own twisted, terrifying devotion. I open my mouth over his, tasting the salt of his sweat, thelingering phantom tang of blood, and the dark, intoxicating essence of his breath.
