Chapter 68 Are You Pregnant?

Chapter 68 Are You Pregnant?
Sable POV

Later that night, after a long nap, I wake up feeling weird and when I looked at the numbers from the thermometer, I knew something was wrong.

I drop the plastic device onto the bathroom counter and brace my hands against the sink. I am shivering so violently that my teeth click
together, but my skin is radiating heat like a furnace. The mirror in front of me is completely fogged over with steam.

I turn the faucet to cold, cup the water in my hands, and splash it over my face but it doesn’t help as the water evaporates off my cheeks in seconds.

I haven't released the Hearthblood since the underground lab. The energy I summoned to heal Drazen and fight the operatives has been trapped inside my veins for nearly a week. Without a pureblood to discharge into, the
magic is turning stagnant and is literally boiling me from the inside out.

My knees buckle but thankfully I catch myself on the vanity, sliding down to the floor. I lay there for a while with my eyes shut when the bathroom door pushes open.

And Drazen steps inside. He takes one look at the fogged mirror, the discarded thermometer, and my trembling frame on the floor.

"Are you pregnant?" he asks and I almost stone him with the nearest object. What does he mean by that question when we haven't even gotten the chance to do it?

"Started this morning," I whisper. It takes immense effort just to form the words. "And no, I am not pregnant. I thought it was just stress. But my joints are locking up."

He drops beside me, pressing his bare palm against my forehead. The contrast of his cool, regulated skin against my burning head draws a sharp, involuntary gasp from my throat.

"You are at critical capacity," he says, sliding his arms under my knees and shoulders, lifting me effortlessly. "The energy is attacking your organs. You need a full transfer."

He carries me out of the bathroom and down the hallway, past the guest room where Sera is asleep and pushes the door to the master bedroom open then sets me down on the mattress.

He steps back and unbuttons his shirt, pulling it off his shoulders and tossing it onto a chair. His chest and abdomen are crisscrossed with faint, silvery scars, reminding me of our recent encounter.

"Take off your clothes," he instructs.

I stare at him through the hazy, suffocating fog of the fever. "What?"

"The transfer requires maximum surface area contact to pull the heat out of your core," he says, pulling the duvet back to expose the cotton sheets. "If we restrict it to just your hands, the flow might tear your veins. We need
skin-to-skin. Now, Sable."

The paramedic in me recognizes the urgency in his tone while the woman in me is very aware that we are completely alone in this room, and he is staring at me with an intensity that has absolutely nothing to do with medicine.

My fingers are clumsy, shaking badly as I reach for my shirt, pulling it over my head, and letting it drop to the floor. I step out of the remaining clothes, leaving me in just a simple black sports bra and underwear.

I am so hot my vision is swimming, but I still feel his gaze tracking down my body.

He sits on the center of the mattress and holds his hand out. As I climb onto the bed, he guides me down, positioning me over him. I straddle his hips, my bare thighs bracketing his torso, and collapse forward against his chest.

The relief hits almost immediately.

It is like plunging into a freezing river. I let out a ragged moan, burying my face in the crook of his neck.

His large hands trace my back, spreading wide to cover as much as possible. He slides one palm up to the nape of my neck, tangling his fingers in my hair, while the other rests heavily at the base of my spine. He presses me completely against him so there isn’t a single inch of space left between our bodies.

"Breathe," he murmurs against my temple.

I follow his instruction, inhaling his scent. For the first ten minutes, we don't move. I simply exist in the dark, letting the agonising fever drain away.

But as the pain subsides, the medical necessity of our position rapidly shifts into something entirely different.

My core temperature drops to a manageable level, leaving behind a hyper-sensitive, electric awareness of exactly where we are. The hard ridges of his abdominal muscles press against my stomach. The steady, heavy thud of his
heart beats directly against my own.

I shift myself slightly to relieve a cramp in my leg and the friction from my thighs sliding against his hips produces an immediate, undeniable reaction beneath me.

His breath catches, his grip on my spine tightens, his fingers digging into my skin.

I freeze. "Shit. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to..." I try to stand.

"Don't move," he groans, his voice harsh and strained. "If you move right now, I am going to lose my mind."

So I stay perfectly still. The silence in the bedroom amplifies the heavy, uneven sound of our breathing.

"I'm terrified," I confess quietly, the vulnerability slipping out before I can stop it. "Not of the fever. Of what the blood is doing to me. Every
time I tap into it, I feel the human part of me getting smaller."

His thumb traces a slow, hypnotic circle between my shoulder blades. "You are evolving. The human part of you is just adapting to carry a different version of you."

"What if I adapt so much I forget how to be me?" I lift my head, looking down at his face. "What if I become just like Carvek, or Maret?"

He reaches up, tracing my lower lip with his thumb.

"You won't," he says. "Because you still feel guilt. You still care about the sick defectors. My council looks at humans and sees insects. You look at them and see patients."

His hand slides to the back of my neck, his thumb resting over my pulse.

"I have lived for nine hundred years," he whispers, his golden eyes burning into mine. "I have watched empires crumble. I have never met anything like you."

The sincerity in his voice destroys the last of my defenses.

I don't think about the rebellion. I don't think about Chloe or the Hunters. I lower my head, bridging the final gap, and press my mouth to his.

He meets me halfway, his hands sliding down from my back pulling me down hard against him. The kiss is deep, wet, and entirely consuming. The remaining Hearthblood inside me flares, but it isn't a fever anymore. It is pure, barely concentrated lust.

I rock my hips forward and he lets out a guttural, inhuman sound. He rolls us over in one swift, dominant motion, pressing my back
into the mattress and pinning my wrists above my head.

He trails kisses down my jaw, moving to the slope of my neck as I arch up into him, my breathing completely shattered. He bites lightly at my collarbone, his knee sliding between my thighs to pry my legs further apart.

We are right on the edge. One more shift, one more touch, and the point of no return is gone.

Then he suddenly stops burying his face in the pillow next to my head. His entire body is hard with the effort it takes not to take what I am freely offering.

"Drazen? What's wrong?" I whisper, my voice thick with confusion and desire.

He slowly releases my wrists before pushing himself up on his forearms, looking down
at me. The hunger in his eyes is devastating, but he doesn't let it out.

"The fever is broken," he says, his voice a ragged rasp as he slips out.

Leaving me to lie there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, my body humming with agonizing,
unresolved tension while the King who just saved my life forces himself to keep his hands to himself.