Page 50 of Precious Hazard (Perfectly Imperfect #11)

The alley is dark, and the buildings on either side of me are closing in. Every window is blacked out. Every shadow is cold and threatening. The moon is no help as I continue searching for—

I come to a sudden stop. Where am I? And why is it so fucking cold? My teeth are chattering.

Pulling my jacket tighter around me, I let my eyes glide over the unfamiliar neighborhood. How the fuck did I end up here? I don’t remember. I’m…

I’m searching for someone.

Yes. I’m searching for someone I lost.

Who? Who is it I can’t find?

Asya?

Yes, she must be the one I’m searching for. My baby sister disappeared.

I peer left down the street, then to the right. No one is there. Doesn’t matter. I resume my run. That’s what I have to do. Keep going. Keep searching for someone important to me. Someone who is mine. I need to find them. To protect what’s mine. To watch over them like a damn hawk.

A lone street lamp comes into view. Far down the block, just before the intersection. A silhouette. A lone woman, standing right under the light.

“Asya?” I call out.

“I’m fine, Arturo,” the woman responds in Asya‘s voice.

A sigh of relief escapes me. She is fine. Yes. Happily married to that damn Russian.

“I was looking for you,” I say.

My sister smiles. I can’t really see it because she’s too far away, but I’m certain it’s true. “It’s not me you’re searching for.”

She’s right. I’ve been trying to find someone else. But who?

“You already found her. The one you’ve been looking for all along. You just haven’t realized it, yet.”

“Found who?” I step closer. “Tell me!”

“Salvation comes in many forms, Arturo.”

“Salvation?” I reel back while despair overwhelms me. “I’m incapable of saving anyone, sis. I couldn’t save you! I searched and searched, but in the end, someone else ended up rescuing you. I failed. Failed both my sisters. Almost lost Sienna, too, because of my mistakes. I won’t fail anyone else.”

The cold wind blows, sending dust and debris into my face. The temperature must have dropped even further.

My sister cants her head, watching me like she finds my words amusing.

“She is not the one who needs saving.” Soft words drift toward me. “It’s you.”

Me? What do I need to be saved from?

“From yourself, Arturo.”

The streetlight fades, casting the alley into darkness, the silhouette of my sister dissolving into thin air. Only her words are left behind. Carried by the freezing wind. Echoing off the walls. Ringing inside my head like a piercing Klaxon.

“Arturo!… Arturo!… Arturo!”

“Arturo!” I yell, shaking his shoulders. “Wake up!”

Sweat is clinging to his scorching-hot skin as he thrashes from side to side. I’ve been trying to wake him up for several minutes. This isn’t normal, and I’m starting to freak the hell out. I shake him again, harder this time, while trying to ignore the panic that’s threatening to overwhelm me.

Finally, his body stills. His eyelids slowly flutter open. Thank God!

“You must have had a night—”

Wait. Something isn’t right. He’s looking at me, but his eyes are unfocused. I take his face between my hands. Beneath my palms, he’s burning up.

Fever.

“It’s… cold. So cold here,” he drawls while tremors rack his body. His gaze is aimed in my general direction, but it’s as if he’s looking through me.

“Arturo?” I shake him. Lightly this time. “Look at me.”

An odd, barely-there smile pulls at his lips. “Sure. I always enjoy looking at you, gattina . Even when you’re throwing canapés at me.”

I gape at him. Crazy man. “You have a fever.”

“Mm-hmm… Can I have a kiss, too? That wild kind where you bite my tongue?” His lips form into a pout. The movement is slow as if he’s tempting me to take him up on his offer.

He’s delirious. And definitely running a fever. A bad one, it seems.

“Great,” I mutter to myself.

What do I do? How does one deal with such a high temperature? Drago has never been sick, not with any serious illness. And I’ve only ever had sore throats and the stomach flu. What the fuck do I do?

I was prepared to deal with many unpleasant things when I came to live in this house, but not this.

Not this gut-wrenching fear that’s settled in me as I watch my husband with no idea how to help him.

Hell, give me another long lecture or a shouting match on my utter ineptitude at being a proper wife, I’d rather endure that. Not this.

Not this.

Scrambling down from the bed, I run to find my purse. Sienna will know how to take care of her brother. As soon as my fingers wrap around the phone, I hit her number.

She answers on the seventh ring.

“It’s two in the morning, Tara. What—”

“Arturo is sick,” I say as I climb back into the bed beside him. “He’s burning up. And he’s babbling nonsense. What do I do?”

“What’s his temp?”

“I… I don’t know. I don’t know where the thermometer is. But his skin is hot to the touch. And the gibberish he’s spewing makes him sound like his damn brain is fried.”

“Yeah, alright. I’ve seen that before. It happened when his fever spiked above a hundred and four.”

“A hundred and four?” I choke out as my stomach tumbles to my feet.

“Yeah. You need to bring it down. Fast. Get him into the shower. Lukewarm water, though. Not cold.”

“How? He’s twice my size, Sienna. And he’s barely coherent, ” I cry out. “Would meds help? He’s been carrying a bottle of ibuprofen with him for days, popping that shit like fucking candy. I could try to find it.”

“It won’t be fast enough. The pills, I mean. They’ll take too long to work. At least get some wet towels and cover him from head to toe. I’ll call Ilaria and ask her to come see him. Best not to give him any meds until then.”

“Ilaria?”

“The don’s mother.”

“Ajello has a mother?” I thought that man was spawned. By something dark and unnatural.

“I know, it’s hard to believe. But she’s a nice lady and a great doctor, so don’t worry. I’m gonna hang up now and call her. Keep me posted on how things go, alright?”

“Sure. Wet towels. Ilaria. Keep you posted.” I press my palm to Arturo’s scalding forehead. “Tell her to hurry.”

I toss the phone away and rush into the bathroom to get the towels.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m staring at the pile of half-dry towels next to the bed. I’ve been changing them almost as fast as I place them, but it hasn’t done anything. Arturo’s skin feels just as hot as before. Maybe even hotter. Fuck.

“Arturo.” I push the strands of his soaked hair off his face. “We need to get you into the shower.”

He blinks, slowly. His still dazed-looking eyes finally meet mine. “Mm-hmm… Love showering with you. Will you let me eat your pussy again?”

“No!” My cheeks warm. I can feel myself getting red all over. “You have a fever, and we need to bring it down.”

“So no pussy? I’m not going then.”

“I wasn’t asking.” I grab his wrists and pull, trying to get him up and out of bed. “A little help here, please.”

“Nope. No pussy, no help.” He drops back onto the pillow.

Jesus! “Okay. Fine. Whatever you want.” He can’t even sit up, much less go down on me.

With effort, I manage to get him on his feet, but both of us almost end up on the floor when he loses his balance. Catching him just in time, I swing his arm around my neck, and supporting him by his waist, lead him toward the bathroom.

“I love your smell,” Arturo says, burying his nose in my hair.

“Um… thank you.”

“I haven’t let Greta change my sheets since you spent the night in my bed. They smell like you, and I wanna keep them like that forever.”

“That’s gross.”

“ Noooo . But if you don’t like, I can get new ones,” he says, straightening out. “But only if you move in. Into my bedroom, my bed. If you always sleep with me. On top of me. I loved that. Love many things about you, actually.”

“I think you might be losing it. Watch your step!”

“Oh, bossy! I like that, too. But you know what I absolutely adore?” He chuckles. “Neck snuggles.”

“The what?”

“This!” He grabs me around the waist and lifts me, squeezing me to him so that my face gets crushed into the hollow between his shoulder and neck. “Yeah, just like that.”

“Are you nuts? Put me down or both our asses will be on the floor.”

“Mm-hmm… that’ll be fun, too.” He lowers me to the ground, swaying.

Shit. I wrap my arms around him, keeping him upright. “Come on. Just a few more steps.”

The last five feet to the bathroom feel like fifty. We shuffle the entire way. Once I finally get him into the stall, I prop him against the wall and turn on the shower.

“This might feel cold to you with how high your fever is. But I promise, the water is actually lukewarm.” I extend my hand toward him. “Come on, Arturo.”

A crooked grin spreads across his face. “I’d tread icy waters or walk through the fires of hell for you, wildcat.” Locking his fingers around mine, he pulls me to him and steps under the cascading stream.

It’s only been a few hours since we were in this exact position, with water sluicing over us.

Yet, nothing seems quite the same. The look in Arturo’s eyes is missing the dangerous edge that’s usually there.

Right now, the way he’s staring at me is unlike any other time he’s looked at me before.

His eyes are soft. Unguarded. That fever and delirium must really be messing with his head.

A pang of longing hits me dead in the chest. What would it be like to have Arturo DeVille look at me like this always?

“You came into the freezing shower for me,” he whispers, stroking my cheek with the back of his hand.

“It’s not freezing.” I lift onto my tiptoes and brush his lips with mine. Even they seem softer somehow. Maybe it’s the water trailing over both our faces. ”Just seems that way to you.”

“And you said my name”—his fingers caress along my jaw—“several times.”

“I was under duress. It slipped.”

His other hand slides to my back, stroking the length of my spine under my wet T-shirt. It’s the only piece of clothing on me. My husband, though, isn’t wearing anything. And still, our touching doesn’t feel sexual.