Chapter 4: Fever

By midnight I was on fire.

I lay on top of the quilt in my slip with the east window open to the cold.

It made no difference.

The heat started low in my belly and spread out until my skin hurt under the sheet.

My hands shook.

I could still feel the shape of his fingers on my elbow from the beach.

My body had not stopped thinking about it since.

Wynn had left a tray at dinner, with soup and a note in blocky capital letters.

THE FEVER IS NORMAL. IT PASSES. DRINK WATER. DO NOT BE A HERO.

I had drunk the water.

I was being a hero anyway.

At one in the morning I gave up and got to my feet.

The floor tilted.

I put one hand on the dresser and waited for it to stop.

Then I crossed the room, because I needed the cold hallway.

I opened the door.

Ronan was sitting on the floor of the hall.

He had his back against the opposite wall and his knees drawn up and his head tipped back.

His eyes were closed.

His shirt was open at the throat, and he was breathing slowly and carefully.

I stood in the doorway in my slip with my hair stuck to my neck.

He opened his eyes.

For a second his face went completely bare.

I saw hunger on it, and something much worse underneath.

Then he shut it down so fast I almost missed it.

"Go back to bed, Calla."

His voice was rough.

"How long have you been sitting there?"

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