The River (Book 3 of The Claiming Series)

Chapter Thirteen

The house has become too stuffy for my failing body to tolerate. Eli opens a window in the bedroom, drawing the beautiful white sheer curtains aside.

"There," he says in a quiet tone. "Better?"

I nod into the pillow.

Night has finally fallen, which means I can sleep. Which means tomorrow we'll find out if the antibiotic is going to do its job. I might be better.

Or.

The lights don't work, so we're getting around in nearly pitch darkness. Only the stars and moon from outside give any form of light—if they can find their way into our little room.

Eli's found a pair of men's pajama pants that surprisingly fit him perfectly, and an old T-shirt with grass stains on it. He put them on in the bathroom.

"Hey, Mave," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed, "do you want me to sleep in here with you?"

I nod vigorously.

"On the floor or in the bed?"

"Bed," I say without a second though. "Just in case I stop breathing," I add.

He rolls his eyes. "You're not going to die! We've kept you hydrated beyond belief, and you have medicine and clean wounds."

I shrug.

Then smile weakly. "Just don't leave me."

I don't want to die alone.

He nods.

He climbs into the bed on the other side. I'm still facing the window, away from Eli, when I feel his strong arms come around my stomach and pull me to him.

And then I realize.

This is the first night we're spending together.

Alone.

While I'm conscious.

"You're burning up," Eli murmurs into my hair. He kisses the back of my head.

"I wonder why," I say.

"Smart."

"I know."

He kisses me again.

I've never known so much affection before. It built rather quickly, and I'm starting to realize why.

Eli's been with other girls before. He knows how to hold, caress, kiss, everything.

Well, gosh, I hope not everything, everything.

Then again, what difference would it make except that I'm the inexperienced, pathetic loser.

Eli was my first kiss when we were kids.

My only kiss.

Yeah, I had spoken to other guys before, nearly dated a couple, but they never went anywhere. I was so intensely focused on dance, I didn't have time for a boyfriend anyway.

All the more, I love being treated the way Eli treats me.

But I can't help but wonder how he treated his past girlfriends.

If he held them this way. Kissed them this way.

He didn't love them—he said that.

But did he tell them he did?

I shift in his arms to face him like we were earlier. This time, our heads are on soft, dusty pillows, and we're nestled far under the covers of the king-sized bed.