Taming the Bitch (COMPLETED)

Chapter XXX - Stolen Kisses

The first thing she hears as consciousness pulls her back from the fever-drenched dark is a voice—low, warm, frayed with worry.

"How do you feel...?"

Her lashes flutter open. The bed shifts slightly as Vincent adjusts himself, leaning over her. His arms ache from holding her against his chest the entire night, but he hardly even notices the strain. She had trembled in her sleep, murmured incoherent pleas, pressed herself desperately closer as though begging him to shield her from every ounce of pain.

"Hmmm...?" He hums softly when her gaze—dilated, unfocused—meets his impossibly blue eyes. She groans, frowning. His arm, still tucked beneath her neck, pulls her gently toward him again, and he strokes her back in slow, calming circles.

"Can you sit, baby? You've got to eat..." he murmurs against her burning temple. Her fever is still far too high; it gnaws at his nerves until he feels physically sick from worry. He wants—desperately—to scoop her up and run straight to the hospital.

"W-wa...er..." Her body slackens against him as she struggles to speak.

"Hm?" Vincent carefully nudges her upright, brushing her short hair back behind her ear.

"W-wa..." She swallows with difficulty. "T-er..." Her voice is husky, parched.

"My baby wants water...?" he murmurs with a soft smile, tapping her small, pointed nose. She nods weakly.

Instead of giving her the glass immediately, he presses a brief kiss to her lips before easing her back down against the pillows.

"I'll fetch you some," he says, kissing her forehead before standing.

Gabrielle frowns, wanting to snap at him for stealing kisses when she can barely lift her head—but she hasn't the strength even to glare properly. Her body feels boneless, fragile, as though she's been reduced to warm jelly overnight; her muscles ache deeply, her bones feel hollow and brittle. All she can do is lie there and wait.

"Here's your water..." Vincent returns, offering the glass—only to pull it away mischievously just as she reaches for it. The weak little hand mid-air makes a soft whine rise from her throat.

Before she can protest, he leans down and captures her lips in a slow, loving kiss.

"V-Vince...!" she manages, breath trembling. He only laughs quietly and steals another.

"They say kisses are the best medicine," he teases with a wink.

She rolls her eyes, or she tries to. Her throat feels like sandpaper. And this bloody man is exploiting her weakness.

"W—oah—teh—" She tries again, only to flinch and cough—harshly, painfully—her hand flying to her temple.

That sobers him immediately. Vincent sits her up with gentle urgency and holds the glass firmly to her lips.

"Easy... slow sips, Bella."

She drinks, trembling. When she finishes, he sets the glass aside, his hand rubbing soothingly between her shoulder blades.

"You need to be in the hospital, Bella..." he says quietly.

She exhales sharply—annoyed, exhausted, terrified—and looks up at him, flinching as another pulse of pain radiates behind her eyes. She fights the urge to tear at her hair.

Vincent keeps an arm tightly around her waist. "I can't keep watching you like this," he says, voice tightening. "Let me take you in, baby..."

"J-just... sh-shut up, Vince..." she mutters, irritation bleeding through her weakness.