Touch Me ✔

Chapter Nineteen

The fever in body wasn't going away. It was as if that fire within me was manifesting into a physical entity, heating my blood at a time when I couldn't fight it away. Even as the wound on my chest began healing more and more, the heat only increased. It was as though the flames were the essence of my magic, demanding compensation for its efforts. But I didn't know what it wanted.

Whatever it was, a new pain was beginning to rise within me. It was similar to being hungry, except it tinged my skin with needles as well. I tightened my grip on the sheets around me, whimpering helplessly. I felt like I was being slow-roasted and if I stayed over the flame for too long, I'd become burned remains.

A cool cloth was being pressed against my forehead, but it didn't offer me relief. Oliver was there, his presence even more tangled and messy than before. When I opened my eyes briefly, I could see the pressure he was under because of me.

Oliver hadn't stayed with me this long when I had been his before. Even now, he was restraining himself from touching me. He was being something he wasn't used to being: careful. He didn't trust himself and he never had before. But as my eyes found his form, I knew this would be a problem.

I needed him to touch me. My skin was singed with need. My instinct was demanding his touch. This was the compensation I desired. It was as if I truly did feed off of the warming glow that was in their touch. The longer I went without it, the more I felt the fire within me would swallow me before snuffing out entirely.

"Oliver," I whimpered, my voice like sandpaper rubbing together.

"It's okay. I'm here," He answered softly, holding the cool cloth against my skin with concern. "I wish I could just heal you with my blood." The words sent information through my thoughts briefly. Vampire blood, much like witch blood, had healing qualities. Only blood from a vampire was more potent than witches, probably because a vampire would be much less likely to share that ability. But because they were previously witches, vampire blood never worked on witches. Even in that aspect, the witches rejected those that have been exiled.

"I need you," I whispered helplessly, trying to call his touch to me.

"I'll take care of you," Oliver responded, dabbing at my face determinedly. When he moved to dip the cloth into a bowl of iced water, I reached up and stopped him. My hand clasped weakly around his wrist, the touch of his flesh against mine lighting up on my skin dully. Oliver stiffened, refusing to move for a moment.

"I need you," I repeated weakly, "Please touch me."

Oliver abruptly pulled away, standing a few steps away from me. I let my hand fall beside me, wincing as the flames licked at me with angry neglect. Oliver watched me for a moment, his hands tightened into fists. I closed my eyes in pain, looking away so that he wouldn't be subjected to it.

Oliver walked around to the other side of the bed, pulling off his shirt in one swift moment. Then he crawled onto the bed next to me, reaching out to abruptly pull me against him. The sudden heat of his touch over the length of my body was like a jolt of lightning through me. I whimpered, momentarily overwhelmed, but he didn't pull away.

After the initial shock, I relaxed under the warmth that had drastically changed from pain to content pleasure. I shifted against Oliver, causing him to stiffen further, but I continued until every surface of my flesh I could manage was touching him. And then I snuggled my face into his chest comfortably, sighing with relief.