Page 20 of You Give Me Fever

"How many humans do you think I've met, Clara? How many thousands? And you suppose I behave this way with all of them?"

"You might, Bluebeard!" She said, trying and failing to take back her hand. "I don't know you from Adam!"

Shiver rolled his eyes. “Well, supposing I introduce you to him, would you give me a chance then? If you don't like me, you certainly won't like him!"

"I —" Clara took in a breath to make an argument and let it out, deflating. "I do like you."

Shiver watched her, his heart, his life, and his very memories of humanity all hanging on her words.

"Yes?" He asked. "Yes, and?"

Clara bit at her lips, looking out at the rain.

"What are we going to do, the two of us? Get married? Have children?"

Shiver felt ice beginning to form in his chest, cracking and splintering as it took hold. The way she said it made it sound like a ridiculous notion, and yet the thought of calling her his wife made him ache in a way he had never before ached.

He wanted to say, But I love you.

But this is different.

But I can feel things now, things in my heart and in my lungs and in my skin—and I was so sure that wasn't possible, Clara, centuries sure, I'd never even had any concept that I might have once been a person, and now —-

Instead, Shiver just watched her as her expression melted from sad to sleepy, those long dark eyelashes sweeping slowly over her pale cheeks.

He hurt just looking at her. Everything hurt, from his heart to his stomach to the tips of his fingers, the same fingers where he could feel ridges beginning to form, fingerprints where once there was only smoke. It all hurt, and it was glorious. He would not give this up for any soul in the world, and when he died—which would surely be soon if her health improved—he would still believe himself to be the luckiest of all men, having loved her even so briefly.

"Time to get you back to bed, my beauty," he rumbled, gathering her up into his arms without bothering to clear away the dishes.

Chapter

Nine

YOU NEVER GIVE THE ORCHIDS I SEND A GLANCE, NO, YOU LIKE CACTUS PLANTS

"I could get used to being carried around like an invalid," Clara said against Shiver's chest as he crested the stairs.

“Well, see that you don't," he said. "The instant you're in good health, it'll be right back to hard labor and bringing me iced drinks."

She gave a sleepy laugh, burrowing deeper into him.

"It's a deal. I'll see if I can get my mitts on some giggle water."

Shiver had to laugh too, even though he hadn't the foggiest clue what she meant.

He peeled back her covers and laid her down on the bed, trying for once not to stare as the half-sheer bit of nothing she wore for a robe slid up one creamy thigh.

"Get some rest," he said, fully intending to leave, but that thigh was right there, out for the whole world to see, and he had the sudden urge to make absolutely sure she rested.

He slipped the tie of her robe free and peeled back one side to reveal her to him, the milky flashes of lightning making her glow. Trailing his fingertips down from her neck, over the swell of a pink-tipped breast, across the soft plane of her stomach, he took his time, relishing the silk of her skin along his newly formed fingerprints.

Clara shifted and made a sleepy little sound, either of complaint or enjoyment; it was difficult to tell. Shiver parted her thighs and nearly groaned himself as he watched the gem between them appear.

"Shiver, what…"

"Shh, ignore me, just rest," he said, stroking her petals open. "I need to make sure you'll sleep through the night."

Clara squirmed, her face getting hotter as she tried to close her legs for the sake of modesty, but she felt one of his long tendrils holding her open as his fingers stroked and probed.