38
Dominic’s words barely registered. My mind was a blur, spinning with fever and exhaustion, my body feeling as if it were aflame from the inside out. Everything seemed distant and disjointed, yet one image burned sharp and clear in my mind—the haunting vision of him, lifeless, floating in that lake. My heart thudded wildly, panic and illness intertwining as I fought to stay tethered to reality.
Dominic’s hands were on me, his grip firm but not harsh, like he was trying to ground me, to keep me from slipping away into the fever’s grip. His jaw was tight, his face a mask of grim determination that only deepened the knot in my chest.
Without saying another word, he moved swiftly. Before I could protest, he slipped an arm under my legs and the other around my back, lifting me off the bed as if I weighed nothing. His chest rose and fell rapidly against me, his breathing uneven, betraying the calm facade he was trying so hard to maintain.
I whimpered softly, my body trembling, every nerve hypersensitive from the fever. The warmth of his skin through his shirt felt foreign and overwhelming. My cheek brushed against his collarbone, and for a fleeting moment, I registered the familiar scent of him—cigarettes, leather, and something distinctly his—but even that felt faint, like everything else in the haze of my sickness.
“Dominic…” My voice was barely a whisper, a weak plea. I wasn’t even sure what I was asking for—help, reassurance, for him not to leave—but he didn’t slow down.
“You’re burning up,” he muttered, his voice strained, more to himself than to me. He carried me toward the door, each step purposeful and urgent. “We need to get you to a hospital. Now.”
“N-no,” I stammered, trying to lift my head, but my body betrayed me, heavy and uncooperative. “We can’t—”
“You’re going to get worse,” he snapped, cutting me off, but there was no anger in his voice—only fear. “I’m not risking—”
A deep rumble of thunder rolled through the air, silencing him. He froze mid-step, his head whipping toward the window. Lightning illuminated the room for a brief second, casting shadows across his face, and I saw the moment realization struck. His expression darkened, his brows furrowing as his jaw clenched.
“Damn it.” He cursed under his breath, turning back toward the bed. Carefully, he lowered me onto the mattress again, his movements far gentler than the sharp frustration on his face suggested. He pulled the duvet over me, tucking it around my trembling body, his eyes scanning me like he was trying to will the fever away through sheer force of will.
“Dominic,” I croaked, reaching for him weakly. My hand barely made it halfway before falling limply to my side. “What’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer right away. He just stood there, staring down at me, his breathing heavy and uneven. Finally, he ran a hand through his hair, the strands falling messily around his face. “You were fine just now. What the hell happened?” His voice was low, almost to himself, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice trembling as tears welled in my eyes. “I-I’m sick.” My chest ached as I tried to take a steady breath. “But we can’t go to the hospital, right?”
His silence was answer enough. After a long pause, he nodded grimly. “We can’t,” he said, his tone resigned, as if the words themselves tasted bitter. “Vaughn’s out there.” He ran his hand over his face again, his frustration palpable, before muttering, “Alaric said he’s combing the city.”
I stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. Vaughn. The name sent a fresh wave of fear coursing through me, making the fever’s grip feel even tighter. “Then… what do we do?” My voice cracked, barely above a whisper.
Dominic started pacing, his steps thudding softly against the wooden floor. He moved like a caged animal, glancing toward the window, then back at me, his hands twitching like they didn’t know what to do. For a moment, I thought he might punch something—lash out at the helplessness of the situation—but instead, he stopped abruptly, his shoulders squaring as if he’d made a decision.
“I’ll get someone,” he said, his tone sharp and decisive.
“Get someone?” I blinked at him, trying to make sense of his words. “What do you mean? Who?”
He hesitated, his gaze shifting as if weighing how much to tell me. Finally, he sighed, his voice dropping to a low growl. “A nurse.”
I frowned, confusion cutting through the fog of fever. “What? How are you going to—”
“I’ll kidnap one if I have to,” he snapped, his voice rising in frustration.
The room seemed to go silent, the storm outside momentarily forgotten. “What?” I gasped, trying to sit up despite my trembling limbs. “Dominic, no. You can’t—”
“I don’t have a choice!” His voice was loud now, raw with desperation. He stepped closer, his hands gripping the edge of the bed as he loomed over me. “You’re getting worse by the second. I can’t take you to a hospital. Vaughn will find us. Do you get that? He’ll *find us.*” His eyes burned with an intensity that made my breath hitch. “And I won’t let him touch you.”
“But—” I started, but he cut me off, his voice softening, though no less determined.
“I won’t sit here and do nothing, watching you like this. I *can’t.*” He reached out, brushing a strand of damp hair from my face. His touch lingered for a moment before he pulled away. “I’ll be back before you know it. Just… trust me.”
“Dominic, please,” I begged, my voice cracking. “What if something happens? What if—”
“Stop.” He crouched beside the bed, his hands cupping my face with a gentleness that made tears spill from my eyes. “I need you to trust me,” he repeated, his tone softer now but no less firm. “Stay here. Don’t move. I’ll come back. I promise.”
I wanted to argue, to plead with him not to go, but my voice failed me, and all I could do was watch helplessly as he grabbed his coat. He hesitated at the door, glancing back at me one last time. His expression was a storm of emotions—fear, anger, determination—but above all, there was something I hadn’t seen before: vulnerability.
And then he was gone, leaving me alone with the sound of the storm and the crushing weight of fear in his absence.
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