Which means I need to warm her up myself.
My upper lip curls. The thought of sharing a bed with her—let alonetouching her—makes my skin crawl. However, her hatred for it might make it worth it.
Anything that makes her miserable makes me feel damn good.
“S-stop c-calling me th-that,” she slurs.
“How about Ms. D’Amour?”
“F-f-fuck yo-ou.”
I grin. “Is that what you want? For me to fuck you?”
“I’d r-rather fr-freeze to d-d-death.”
Except by the time I circle around to stand before her, one look at her face confirms she’s far past the point of freezing, now going into shock. She’s on the verge of nodding off, her eyes half lidded, and she’s no longer shivering nearly as badly as she was a few minutes ago.
Fuck.
Adrenaline surges through my bloodstream, and all thought snuffs from my brain. I move on pure instinct when I drop to a crouch and unzip her coat. She swats at my hand, but it’s sloppy and weak.
“I’m not R-Regina,” she mutters as I practically rip the coat down her arms. It takes a few extra seconds to decipher what she said, but when I do, I frown.
“What?”
She groans when I move on to her feet and tug off her heeled leather boots and socks. She’s still in her fancy attire from work, so her clothing has done nothing to protect her from the snow.
“You c-called me darling. I-I’m not Regina.”
I shake my head and grab for the bottom of her shirt, not having the mental capacity to deal with whatever the hell she’s trying to say. She’s slurring more than stuttering now, and I don’t have time to decode her fucking point.
“Arms up,” I clip, attempting to pull up her black, long-sleeved shirt, the gauzy material sliding off with ease. But even in hypothermic shock, she tries to push at my hands and curl her body inward.
“God fucking dammit, Reverie. Don’t make me tear your fucking clothes off,” I growl, my patience wearing thin.
She mumbles something but ultimately allows me to yank the damp material over her head, though not without whining about it. I don’t process the expanse of gray-blue skin on display, or how frigid and clammy it feels, even when I reach around and unclip her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Instinctively, she covers herself, though not very well.
Pointedly ignoring her chest, I move on to her black jeans, quickly unfastening them before grabbing the waistband on either side of her hips and roughly jerking them down. She squeaks and topples backward, unable to even catch herself.
“Lift up,” I snap.
Sloppily, she lifts her hips, giving me just enough room to tug them down past her ass. They’re soaking wet and adhered to her skin, making it difficult to peel them off her legs. By the time I wrangle them off, she’s laying down completely, her eyes glazed over.
I don’t even bother being nice about her panties and just give them one firm tug, ripping them from her body and evoking another whimper from her throat.
Then, I stand and march over to my closet, where I keep extra blankets, and grab one before hurrying back to her. She’s heavy and limp as I grab her hands and pull her into an upright position. She groans, and I make quick work of tightly wrapping the blanket around her shoulders.
I don’t think about what I’m doing as I scoop her into my arms and climb onto my bed. I switch off the lamp, plunging us into darkness before putting my back to the wall and her back to me as I pull her against my chest. She’s maybe around five-six, which is significantly smaller than my six-five height, but she feels even smaller pressed up against me, the bed far too big.
Her hair is soaking into my arm and the sheets, and like an infectious disease, the frost clinging to her sinks into my pores. While I’m used to plunging my body into a pool filled with ice for training, it’s only made me hate the cold more.
It’s fitting she’s the reason ice is corroding my veins.
She slurs something, but I’m too focused on ensuring she’s completely bundled inside the blanket to care. For good measure, I tug her into my arms before covering us both with my comforter.
I have no idea how much time passes while I concentrate on the feeling of the steady rise and fall of her chest against my arm, though it's enough for her violent tremors to calm. All the while, I keep my stare locked on the back of her head, my brain empty and operating on instinct alone.
Eventually, she shifts against me as if she’s stirring from a deep slumber. I lift my head to see her better right as her eyes creak open.Moonlight spears through the blinds on the backside of the room, the beams casting across her face just right, illuminating the caution and panic subtly twisting her features. Awareness must sink in, and her body stiffens to solid stone. The shift of emotion on her face is like a bomb detonating at the bottom of a dam. Now that she’s no longer on the brink of death, my contempt comes bursting back in, flooding my chest until my upper lip curls with distaste.
