Chapter 231

Chapter 231
Elsa

"Drake!" The word tore from my throat before I could stop it. I lunged forward, panic surging through me, catching him before he hit the floor. His weight nearly took me down with him, but I managed to guide him back to the couch, his head lolling against my shoulder.

"I don't feel well," he mumbled against my neck, his lips burning where they touched my skin.

Despite myself, I felt a pang of genuine worry. His breathing was too shallow, his skin too hot. "Shit, shit, shit," I muttered, easing him down onto the couch, trying to arrange his long limbs comfortably.

"You're going to be okay," I found myself saying, brushing damp hair from his forehead, my fingers lingering longer than they should. "Just rest for a minute. I'll get you some water."

As I stood to move away, Drake caught my hand again, pressing a kiss to my palm that sent heat spiraling through me that had nothing to do with his fever.

"Stay," he whispered, and damn me to hell, I did.

I sat beside him, letting him rest his head in my lap while I texted Olivia to bring some fever reducers. My fingers unconsciously stroked through his hair, falling into an old habit I thought I'd broken.

Drake's breathing eventually evened out as he fell into a fitful sleep. I noticed then that his clothes were completely soaked through, clinging to his muscular frame like a second skin.

After a moment's hesitation, I carefully extricated myself from under him and reached for my phone, my hand shaking slightly. If he wasn't going to take care of himself, I'd have to do it for him—but on my terms this time. No more letting him manipulate me.

"Hello, emergency services? I need an ambulance at the Crescent Moon Hotel, room 718." My voice trembled despite my efforts to steady it. "Yes, it's urgent. High fever, possibly delirium."

Twenty minutes later, two paramedics were loading a semi-conscious Drake onto a stretcher. He mumbled protests, his hand reaching for me, eyes finding mine with a mixture of betrayal and need that twisted my gut. I stepped back deliberately, wrapping my arms around myself, keeping my distance.

"Are you family?" one of the paramedics asked me.

"No," I said firmly, digging my nails into my palms, ignoring the hurt that flashed across Drake's face. "I don't know him. I just found him like this in my room. He must have the wrong room."

I slipped the paramedic some cash, my fingers trembling slightly. "Please just take him to get help. He's not my fucking responsibility."

After they left, I leaned against the closed door, sliding down to sit on the floor, exhaling slowly. The room felt eerily empty without Drake's overwhelming presence. I buried my face in my hands, cursing softly. After a moment, I dragged myself up and headed for the bathroom, deciding a hot bath might help wash away the lingering scent of him that clung to my skin like a persistent memory.

I was just about to undress, fingers fumbling with my shirt buttons, when I heard a faint knock at the door. My heart sank like a stone. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," I muttered, my stomach knotting with a mixture of dread and something far more dangerous. Somehow, I knew exactly who it was before I even looked through the peephole.

Sure enough, there was Drake, half-naked and looking infuriatingly smug despite his feverish state, lounging on the floor.

"You really thought you could get rid of me that easily?" he drawled, eyes closed but with a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

I stormed over to him, slapping at his chest and shoulders in frustrated rage, my hands connecting with his burning skin again and again. "Try to use your weakness to manipulate me again, you fucking asshole, and see what happens!"

Drake caught my wrists effortlessly, eyes still closed, that damn smile widening as he held me in place. "Try to throw me out again," he murmured, pulling me down beside him with surprising strength, "and see what happens."

I stared down at Drake's flushed face, my fingers drumming anxiously against my thigh. His eyes were half-closed, his breathing ragged as sweat dampened his forehead. The moonlight filtering through the curtains cast shadows across his sharp features, softening them in a way that made my chest tighten uncomfortably.

"Just get in the damn bed," Drake rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.

I crossed my arms tightly, digging my nails into my biceps and fighting the urge to brush the damp hair from his forehead. "You're on the floor because you fucking deserve to be on the floor," I snapped, though my tone lacked conviction. "I'm not sharing a bed with you, asshole."

Drake shifted, wincing as he tried to find a comfortable position on the carpet. His usual commanding presence was diminished by fever, making him seem almost... human.

"Baby," he murmured, the pet name making my stomach flip despite my anger, "I really feel like shit. If I die, who's going to like you the way I do?"

I froze, my breath catching painfully in my throat as his words hit me like a physical blow. Like me? The audacity of this man never ceased to amaze me. I let out a harsh laugh, the sound brittle even to my own ears as I raked my trembling fingers through my hair.

"Like me? Is that what you think you do?" I asked, my voice rising with each word. "You don't like me, Drake. You like controlling me. You like fucking me. There's a goddamn difference."

"You don't get to say you like me," I continued, my anger building with each word as I jabbed my finger toward his prone form. "Not when you've been protecting Vera this whole time. Not when you parade her around while keeping me hidden for ten fucking years."

"Elsa—" Drake began, but I cut him off.

"No! You don't get to 'Elsa' me right now." My voice broke slightly as I kicked the nightstand, sending a water glass tumbling to the floor with a satisfying crash. "I'm so goddamn tired of your games, Drake. So fucking tired of believing there might be something real between us, only to watch you choose her every single time."