“She made a vow with me,” she said, causing his eyes to snap back open. “She will not kill him.”
Chapter 27
“Miss Gelsey said you weren’t feeling well.”
“Miss?” Maeve questioned, straining to open her eyes and look at Reeve, where he stood in her doorway. She hadn’t heard him knock. Or come in. She rolled over in her bed, putting her back to him.“What are you, twelve?”
She closed her eyes, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.
“You were missed this morning and at lunch, so I figured you were dying if it meant you were breaking our agreement.” A pause, then, “You do look like hell.”
Maeve didn’t even have the energy to scowl at him. His boots clicked across the floor until he was beside her bed.
“Don’t touch me,” she said, putting all her energy into inching across the bed, away from his outstretched arm.
“How else will I know if you have a fever?” he asked calmly.
“A what?” she snapped.
Reeve’s arm dropped to his side as he muttered. “I didn’t even think of that.”
“Think of what?” she groaned. “It’s always riddles and half-stated information with you.”
He was too close. The fire radiating from his body made her ill.
“You have a cold,” he said solemnly.
“A cold?”
At last, that fire-filled hand pressed against her forehead. The heat was so unbearable, she jerked away from him at once.
“You’re burning up,” he muttered.
“I’mburning up?” she asked incredulously. “You’re a walking furnace.”
Reeve made a contemplative sound. “Your Magic was protecting you from minor illness.”
“Minor?” she sighed, each breath feeling like it wasn’t enough.
He grabbed the decanter of water on the bedside table and poured a glass. He offered it to her. The command, or suggestion, she wasn’t sure which, was silent, but she didn’t have it in her to argue.
She took the glass in shaking hands and sipped the water.
She held the cool glass to her cheek and sighed. “How long is this illness going to last?”
“A day or two,” he answered. “You need rest.”
Rest was impossible. Not with the aches running through her body. When she did manage to land a moment of unconscious slumber, there was nothing peaceful about it. Her body fluctuated from freezing to cold. Her throat burned with each swallow.
Maeve waited for Reeve to offer his assistance, but it never came. She sighed.
“Could you possibly help me sleep?” she relented, rolling towards him.
Reeve smiled, his tongue lifting beneath one of his canines. “Oh,” he said with a purr. “She’s desperate.”
“Never mind,” she muttered, placing the glass of water back on her side table.
Reeve laughed, and it was the last sound she heard before a soft blanket of Magic consumed her, drawing her eyes closed and settling her mind into nothing.
