~SINCLAIR~
She began intense shivering in the middle of the night, but her skin was blazing to the touch. He kept at mopping the beads of sweat that kept forming, scared to death even though Alaric had promised no harm would come to her.
There was still a psychopath that resided in him, though. A psychopath that admitted to himself that he enjoyed washing and changing her. He loved holding her and brushing her hair from her face, that fool.
And in the wee hours of the morning when her fever reached its peak, she sought him. He was her mate, and her subconscious immediately wanted comfort from her other half. She wrapped her hands round his neck and snuggled closer and let out a little mewl that was part satisfaction, part ecstasy and Sin, f*ck, Sin wanted to live in this moment all the days of his life.
He finally ran out of towels to clean her with. He had to drop her on the table to scrounge the place for a towels he could wring out. She refused to let him drop her, and he definitely shouldn't have felt the intense pleasure he did at her sickness-induced petulance.
At least, he could pretend she actually wanted him to hold and protect her. He could pretend to be the perfect mate she wanted.
"I'm yours. I'm coming back for you," he whispered at her nape. Somehow, the words seemed to comfort her, and she released him.
He quickly searched the room, finding the towels stacked neatly in a top cupboard. He took two and returned to her.
She must have sensed his presence, for she returned to him immediately, those tiny sounds escaping again.
"Sinclair," she groaned against his neck as her eyes came open. "I need you."
Time froze.
"I'm right here," he replied with a voice gone hoarse. "You have me."
This answer seemed to satisfy her, although she didn't leave his neck alone. He stayed still as she bit into it, marking him again and again and again in that same spot till he was blind with the pleasure of it.
"Where are we?" She asked, when she was done treating his neck like a chew toy. She clearly didn't realize what she'd just done. If she did, she wouldn't be asking him questions like these, expecting him to reply coherently.
"Apothecary."
She frowned. "My apothecary?"
"Yes. Alaric was here so he could use your salves."
"Hm." She was back at his neck again, this time closer to his throat. She was gentle now, licking and suckling and soothing the sting of her bites. He didn't know which of her actions he loved more.
And he didn't know if he should stop her. But then she said, "My turn," and tried to push his head down to her own neck. Yes, he definitely should stop her now.
Sin briefly wondered whether somehow, the powers that had possessed her earlier were still in control of her body. Because surely, it couldn't truly be his Vannie doing this to him.
"My Queen," he took his hair out of her grip. "You should go to sleep now."
She gave him a fierce scowl. "You don't want me?"
Ah, h*ll. Surely she couldn't mean that question, could she? He dropped a kiss on her forehead and tried to rock her back to sleep. "Shh. We'll talk about this in the morn."
"But it's not a big deal," she argued, her words slurring together. "We're mates. Mates mark each other all the time. Like this." Her teeth were in his neck again, digging deep enough for him to know that this was punishment for rejecting her.
Would she continue if she knew how much he loved the pain? If she knew how pleasure came rushing at the knowledge that he was giving her this — giving his body up for whatever she wanted to do with it?
That he was thinking about the other ways she could use his body and was getting hard because of it? He moaned low, a warning she thankfully heeded, and continued rocking her.
She let out a sigh, which somehow, managed to sound more seductive than melancholy. "Everyone will see all these marks on your neck. Don't you want them to see a corresponding one on mine?"
He growled. "I don't care what people see. They already know you belong to me."
"Prove it," she said, a mean, taunting smile on her lips. "Bite me. Show me I'm yours."
He closed his eyes. Subconscious Vannie was damn near irresistible, and he was this close to doing what she wanted. That was all he wanted to do; give her everything she asked. He'd sell his soul at an auction for her, and this side of her knew it. She was looking at him like she knew everyone of his secrets, and she wanted to use them against him in the most delicious way possible.
"Vannylla. You're not yourself."
"Do you want me to beg? Fine. Please, please, Sinclair. Please—"
He jumped out of the bed, mouth watering and body aching. A sudden urge to laugh nearly overtook him. Maybe if he laughed, the fact that his greatest wish coming true at the worst possible time would seem less decapitating.
"I could do it. But you'll hate me when you wake up tomorrow, so what's the point?"
She stared at him through hooded eyes for a long minute. "I could never hate you," she said, and as though the last few minutes were an illusion, promptly fell back asleep.
How badly he wanted for that to be the truth.