I reach for him again, and this time he doesn’t have the strength to push me away. I support his weight, feeling how hot his skin is even through his shirt.
“You’re burning up,” I say.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine! You’re clearly struggling, and you won’t even let me—”
“I don’t want you to watch me die!” The words explode out of him, raw and desperate. He finally looks at me, and his eyes are wet. “I don’t want you to lose me a second time, Anne. I don’t want you to have to go through that again.”
The confession hangs between us, devastating in its honesty.
“Once was enough,” he continues, his voice dry.
“You think pushing me away protects me?” My voice shakes. “You think knowing you’re suffering alone is somehow better?”
“Yes.” The word is simple. Final. “It’s the only choice I have left that might save you from more pain.”
“That’s not your choice to make!”
“Yes it is.” He turns away from me, but he’s shaking too hard to hold himself upright. “You’re the most important thing to me, Anne. I can’t bear to see you in pain because of me.”
I stare at him, this stubborn, broken man who is still trying to protect me even as he’s dying. And it feels like my chest cracks open.
“You’re right; I already lost you once,” I say quietly. “That’s why I can’t leave you alone.”
“Anne—”
“No.” I cut him off. “You don’t get to decide this. You don’t get to push me away because you think it’s noble or protective or whatever you’ve convinced yourself this is.”
He slumps against the toilet, too exhausted to argue anymore.
“I’m here,” I say firmly. “Whether you like it or not. Whether you think you deserve it or not. I’m here.”
He looks at me for a long moment, a raw and vulnerable quality in his expression.
“Fine,” he whispers finally.
I grab the cool washcloth and press it to his forehead. His hand comes up to cover mine, holding it there.
“Thank you,” he breathes.
I don’t respond. But I stay there, monitoring his fever, watching for any sign that the medicine is working or that the poison is winning.
I look at my watch. Seven more hours until the next dose.
Seven hours that suddenly feel like an eternity.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Kain
When I wake up the next morning, I no longer feel like I’m dying. My vision is clear, and strength pulses in my muscles.
It worked. Darius’s experimental medicine worked.
I sit up and am immediately met with the smell of breakfast. I turn my head to look and can see Anne in the kitchen, wearing pajamas. Bacon is sizzling on the stove. Blurred memories flash in my head of her holding my head while I vomited and wiping my forehead with a wet cloth. Of her administering the medicine every eight hours, and of the last coherent thing I said to her: that I didn’t want her to see me die.
Softness fills my heart as I watch her plate the bacon. How could I not love her? So strong in the face of all this chaos. Taking care of me despite how much I’ve hurt her. I truly don’t deserve my mate.
