Page 33 of Donovan
I barely had time to process it before I realized Declan had stopped pacing.
He was close now. Too close. Leaning over me, his dark eyes searching my face, his touch gentle as he pressed the back of his hand to my forehead.
Checking for fever. Checking my vitals.
He looked worried. It shouldn’t have made my stomach flip the way it did but it did.
“How are you feeling, Donovan?” he asked, voice quieter than usual, softer.
There was something in it, something thick and heavy, something I wasn’t sure I was ready to name. My throat was dry.
My body ached like I had been hit by a truck and then run over for good measure.
But none of that mattered. Not when he was this close. Not when his presence was an anchor, keeping me from drifting back into the darkness.
I swallowed, forcing my voice to work. “Like shit,” I rasped.
Declan huffed out a quiet laugh. But it didn’t reach his eyes.
Something clenched in my chest at the sight. His expression was all wrong, too guarded, too tense and I hated it.
I wanted to see the cocky smirk, the exasperated eye roll, the amused shake of his head when I pissed him off but those things felt so far away now.
“Water,” I whispered after a few seconds, my tongue thick and useless in my mouth.
Declan blinked, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him, and then cursed.
“Right, sorry about that,” he muttered, pushing to his feet.
He hurried. Like he couldn’t stand the idea of me needing something and not getting it. The thought made warmth curl in my chest, spreading low in my belly.
I exhaled slowly, too aware of how much space he took up in the room.
Of the way my pulse reacted to him, how it quickened whenever he got too close, how it slowed whenever he stepped away.
I hated it. I hated that I noticed. Hated that even now, after everything, after the nightmares and the near-death experience, my body still reacted to him like this.
Like he was mine. A sharp, dull throb bloomed in my arm, dragging me back to reality.
Right. The rabid vampires in the woods. The attack. The pain.
Declan standing over me, fangs bared, body tense with something dangerous and wild. Acting all possessive and protective over me.
The memory sent a shiver through me. I sucked in a slow breath, because dang it. He had looked like a monster in that moment. A terrifying, bloodthirsty, beautiful monster.
And the worst part? I had liked it. No, I had loved it.
Because he was protecting me. Because he had stood between me and death, ready to rip apart anything that tried to take me away from him.
And maybe it was the fever, or the lingering haze of exhaustion, but the thought pleased me.
It made something deep inside me curl tight, my skin heating, my stomach twisting with something dangerous and heady.
Declan returned with the glass of water and I drank all of it, aware of his stare.
This was bad. I was too aware of him. Of the way his movements were sharper now, more predatory, yet still undeniably him.
Of the way his cool fingers lingered on mine when he handed me that glass of water, like he wasn’t sure if he should be touching me at all, yet couldn’t bring himself to pull away.
