“Then tell me.”
The answer was weak, but it was conscious.
Rhen held her gaze while every instinct he possessed urged him to close the remaining distance.
He did not.
“Not until you can say it again without the fever speaking for you.”
Her hand remained extended between them.
Rhen finally closed his fingers around it, giving her the anchor she had requested without taking anything else.
Chapter 45
The fever did not break all at once; it receded through her in slow, reluctant waves, leaving exhaustion where the agony had been and a deep ache beneath her skin that seemed to answer every breath Rhen took.
He remained seated beside her, one hand closed around hers, although he had long since stopped pretending that he held it only to anchor her through the transition.
The connection between them had changed.
It no longer struck like a hook beneath his ribs or pulled with the violent urgency of her turning. It had settled deeper, becoming a constant awareness threaded through his blood, as though her presence had found a place inside him that had been waiting before either of them understood why.
Rhen distrusted it with every instinct he possessed.
He did not release her.
Her eyes opened gradually, heavy with exhaustion but no longer lost to fever. She looked first at their joined hands and then at his face.
“You stayed.”
Her voice was roughened by pain, but the words were clear.
“You drank my blood and nearly tore apart my chamber,” Rhen said. “Leaving you unattended would have been careless.”
Something faint moved through her expression, not quite amusement but close enough to unsettle him.
“Of course.”
Rhen leaned forward, studying her pupils and the steadiness of her gaze.
“Tell me where you are. Again.”
“In your chamber.”
“Who am I?”
Her eyes remained on his.
“Rhen.”
“What happened to Cole?”
“I took the storm from him.” Her brow tightened as the memory returned. “He lived?”
“He lived.”
Relief moved visibly through her, softening the tension in her face.
