My fingers tighten around the phone 84

Aria’s POV
I drifted in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of a deep male voice somewhere in the distance. My mind tried to
slip back into the abyss of sleep, but some primal alertness forced me awake. There shouldn’t be a man’s voice in my
home—it should only be Lucas and me sleeping. My fingers instinctively searched the bed beside me, seeking my son’s
small body, but found only cold, empty sheets. Panic struck me like lightning, and I bolted upright, scanning the room for
Lucas. A wave of dizziness hit me, but I fought through the nausea, shakily crawling out of bed and using furniture and
walls to propel myself forward.
“Lucas!” I called out, my voice so hoarse it was barely audible. I struggled to reach the bedroom doorway.
“And then what?” I heard Lucas ask excitedly, and some of my panic subsided. My son was still in the apartment.
“Then,” the familiar voice paused, “we put the lid on and let it cook all the way through.”
“Wow! Mommy does it really fast, but this took forever and ever. Like ten forevers.” Lucas sighed dramatically. I leaned
against the wall, shuffling toward the kitchen.
“That’s because your mom is amazing. She’s the best at everything she does.” Ethan’s voice was gentle and reassuring,
giving me strength to keep moving. I tried to take another step, but my legs suddenly gave out, and I crashed to the floor
with a heavy thud. My stomach cramped violently, gray spots danced across my vision, and acid burned the back of my
throat. I thought I heard Ethan ask, “Did you hear something?”
I curled into myself, breathing shakily through my nose, trying to overcome the wave of nausea. A bone-deep chill
suddenly overtook me, making my body tremble uncontrollably. I hadn’t been this sick in a long time, almost as bad as
when I was pregnant with Lucas. As a werewolf who had lost her wolf, my immune system was worse than a human’s, and
every illness took twice as long to recover from.
My stomach lurched again with a fresh wave of chills, and I barely registered the pressure on my arm until warmth
seeped into my skin, stopping my trembling. I forced my eyes open to see two identical pairs of concerned green eyes
staring down at me.
“What are you doing up?” Ethan asked softly, gently brushing the hair from my face. “Can you hear me?”
“Mommy?” Lucas asked in the same gentle tone Ethan had used, and my heart swelled at my son’s tenderness while
simultaneously aching with guilt that I couldn’t care for him while sick. I opened my mouth to reassure them that I was
fine, but only bile came up.
“Lucas, go get that bowl I showed you,” Ethan instructed, propping me against the wall. Lucas quickly returned with a
bowl, placing it beside me just in time to catch another round of vomit.
“That’s it, get it all out. You’ll feel better,” Ethan soothed, drawing gentle circles on my back. “Lucas, can you go to your
room for a bit? I need to take care of your mom.”
“Is she gonna be okay?” Lucas’s voice was filled with worry, and I nearly broke down from guilt again. How long had I
been unconscious?
“Yes,” Ethan said firmly, placing a gentle hand on Lucas’s shoulder. “I need to clean your mom up and get her back to
bed. So please go watch some cartoons in your room, okay?”
Through half-closed, blurry eyes, I watched Lucas walk to his bedroom and close the door. I wanted to tell him to leave it
open, but my stomach contracted again, and I dry-heaved for several minutes. When my body finally calmed, Ethan lifted
me up, and I naturally wrapped my arms around his neck. He held me tightly, patiently explaining each step: “Alright. I’m
going to clean you up with a shower. Then get you back to bed while I clean up the hallway and take care of Lucas.”
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“I’m sorry,” I whispered, “I’m really sorry.”
Ethan chuckled softly, saying as he moved, “You don’t need to apologize for being sick.”
“Sorry for messing up your clothes.” I rested my head on his shoulder, my face against his neck, breathing in his scent.
That natural forest smell ignited a fire in my belly. Now that my stomach was empty and my mind was clearing, I could
feel Ethan’s warmth spreading across my fever-heated skin.
“It’s just a bit of vomit. Nothing a shower won’t fix.” Ethan flipped on the light, and I realized we’d reached the bathroom. He set me down on the small counter, and I leaned against the cool mirror, looking down at my vomit-covered clothes. I
remembered Lucas throwing up earlier, and I’d been too exhausted to care about changing clothes. I’d only made sure he
had soup, crackers, and water bottles before we curled up together on my bed. Thinking of how I must smell, I wrinkled
my nose. The mirror suddenly fogged, and I realized the whooshing sound wasn’t in my head. It was the shower running.
Ethan stood before me, gently tilting my chin up so our eyes met. “Can you shower by yourself?”
I nodded, wobbling to my feet and using the wall for support. “I’m perfectly capable of—”
My legs gave out beneath me again, and I tumbled toward the floor. Ethan’s strong arms circled my waist, catching me.
The sudden contact sent an electric current through my fever-heated skin. His chest pressed firmly against my back, solid
and warm, as he pulled me against him. I could feel every contour of his muscular torso through my thin, soiled clothes.
“Damn it,” he muttered, his breath hot against my ear, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine that had nothing to
do with my fever. His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “I’ll help you. I’m going to take off these vomit-covered clothes
and get you into the shower.”
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I didn’t protest as he carefully removed my clothes. His touch both ignited my skin and cooled it at the same time. Ethan’s
strong arms anchored me to the world, preventing my mind from sinking into the feverish void this flu had created. He
set my naked body back on the counter. He looked down at me, and I saw that hunger I’d seen before flash in his eyes,
but he quickly shook the heat from his mind.
Ethan stepped back, stripping down to his boxers before lifting me and helping me into the shower. The hot water felt wonderful on my skin, the steam clearing some of the fog from my mind. Ethan steadied me but kept one hand on my
hip for support. He guided me back under the stream with a gentle tilt of his head. Then, one-handed, he worked his
fingers through my hair, untangling knots and probably cleaning out vomit residue. I couldn’t tell if it was mine or Lucas’s,
but it didn’t really matter.
Ethan leaned forward to reach something, and I felt his arousal press against my backside. I gasped, and his hand,
holding a bottle of shampoo, froze mid-air as he looked at me. I realized he was just reaching for the shampoo, not
trying to grind against me. My gaze dropped to his chest, making me blush, before meeting his eyes again. His cheeks were slightly flushed as he muttered, “Ignore that. I’m not coming onto you, just can’t help responding to your damn
beauty.”
I chuckled at this. “Even covered in vomit?”
“Exactly my kink,” Ethan joked, making a disgusted face. I laughed so hard I doubled over, my face pressing into Ethan’s
chest. My brain was waving red flags, reminding me he wasn’t mine, but my heart needed him here. He had cared for
Lucas when I couldn’t, and his ministrations were making me feel much better.
“I’m still mad at you,” I whispered when I could finally breathe again. I spoke the words into his skin, and for a moment, I
thought he hadn’t heard, but I could feel his heartbeat quicken under my fingertips.
“I know,” he said solemnly. Then he continued washing my hair and body. His touch was so gentle that I found myself
drifting off again. Ethan made that deep, rumbling laugh that made my knees weak: “If you pass out on me, I’m going to
have to carry you to bed like a princess.”
My eyelids were too heavy to open, so I whispered into his chest, “Please, I swear I will be a princess only today.”
Ethan turned off the water and wrapped me in a large, fluffy towel. Then he lifted me like the princess I’d agreed to be,
cradling my head against his chest. As I drifted off to sleep again, I heard him say, “No, you can be a princess forever.”