The fever broke yesterday, and she's so much better. God, she had me scared. I swear, if the fever hadn't broken in a few more hours, I would've packed her up in the jeep and tried to make it down to that doctor Lally knows. He, well, he understands about us Bellewoods. If he'd wanted to put her in the hospital... That would have been awkward.

Thankfully it didn't come to that, but it was close. I knew there was going to be trouble when she ran out into the snow. Poor thing went a little crazy, and I guess she's entitled. It's a big life change. We're all trying to make it as easy as possible for her, show her how much she's wanted and accepted. Except James, that asshole.

I wish I'd taken a minute to put my foot up his ass when it happened, but I didn't have time. I had to attend to Scribe. Now... hell. You can't put your finger on anything. I mean, I know he upset her deliberately. We all know that. But when you actually look at what he said...

I don't know. I don't want to upset Justine if I can help it: she has enough to deal with, having such a fucker for a husband. He sure does make pretty babies, though.

She was covered with snow when I got her calmed down and picked her up off the ground. I could feel her shaking in my arms, an all over tremble. I got her inside as fast as I could, got the cold, wet clothes off her, rubbed her down to get the blood flowing. Her hands and feet were so red, but red is better than white--white means frostbite.

She was shaking so hard that she couldn't really stand up. I wrapped her in a cover, got next to the fire, and just held her. She shook for a long time. I apologized about James. I hate apologizing for other people--another reason to be pissed with him. Then she told me she didn't love me.

Well, I won't say it didn't hurt--it did. I already love her. I mean, I was halfway there before I dragged her out of the bank, seeing how willing she was to sacrifice herself for her kin. And the way she keeps meeting me head on...

I can do this. She's gonna love me, because she's not a hating sort of person.

I thought it was going to be all right. She'd stopped shaking, she was talking sense. But when I came back from Ron's with the over-the- counter stuff I found her rolled up in a ball under the quilts, shivering. Her eyes were too bright, and she asked me to turn up the heater.

I did. The room got warm, then a little hot, but she stayed under the quilt and I could see occasional jerks and tremors. Then there was the coughing. Almost from the start it was deep, racking, phlegmy. It wasn't long before that sweet southern drawl was hardly noticable through the rasp.

I gave her the medicine and hoped she'd shake it off, but later she didn't want to eat. I couldn't get her to take more than a few mouthfuls, even feeding her. After a little, she just looked at me tiredly and said, "Jerry, are you really that anxious to make me vomit?" So I knew it was sick, and not stubborn, and I let her be. I didn't try with anything but soup after that. She managed to keep it down. Mostly.

She almost fell, bolting to the bathroom that first time. She retched on her knees for a long while. I held her head, wiped her face, gave her water to rinse out her mouth. She looked so miserable and humiliated that I stuck to juices, and a few crackers when she could manage it.

The rolling up in a ball worried me, especially with her congestion, so I started to make her stretch out instead. That woman can complain more ways without actually speaking than you'd think possible. I felt like a mean old hardass, not letting her curl up, but it had to be. That way it was too easy for her to give up and pull away from the world. I had to keep her with me, mentally and emotionally.

I've had to go out a time or two, to get more wood. I'm burning through a lot, keeping her warm. I'll have to go take down another tree before too long, but I don't mind. You do things for the people you love.

I couldn't leave her alone, not in the state she was in. Ron would have gone for me, but he recognized this as something I needed to do for her. So either he, or Lally would watch over her for the little while it took.

James offered to stay with her once.

I have to wonder how big a fool he thinks me. I wouldn't put her in his care if she were strong, healthy, and in her right mind. I have my own ideas about what Mr. James used to get up to before he married Justine, and I'm not too fond of how he's treated her since. He was all concerned and solicitous when he came over with Ron, bringing more medicine.

He bent over her, scolding her for being so reckless, telling her she had to behave for me. She watched him with dull eyes, then closed them, ignoring him. When I mentioned the wood, he looked up quickly. He put his hand in her tangled hair, combing out the curls, and it was all I could do to keep from jerking him away. I didn't, because it might have hurt her. Instead, I said, with heavy emphasis, "James, that's a good way to catch something." Then he made the offer to stay with her, and I turned him down. He looked disappointed.

I didn't try to have any sexual contact with her the last few days. It wasn't easy. I managed by touching her as little as possible. It was hardest at night, when I lay beside her. She didn't really sleep much. I wonder if she knows how little I slept, too, lying there, with her trembling constantly beside me? She was so hot, like she'd scorch anyone who came in contact with her bare skin. And I couldn't help thinking...

She'd been so hot that one time I took her, a sweet, slick, clutching satin furnace. What would she be like with the fever? How much hotter was it possible for a woman to get?

I pushed that thought aside quickly, knowing how selfish... shit, how sick it was. When she kept trying to bow up into a little curl, I had to touch her. I ended up having to force her legs down and half lie on her to keep them down. I felt that fever heat bake into me, and still she shivered like she was in an arctic breeze.

She tried not to. I could see her fighting the urge to seek heat in the most primative way. Then yesterday evening she couldn't resist any more. She was drifting with the fever, I know that. God, I wish I didn't know that. I wish I could believe it was for me.

I was sitting by her so that I would be sure not to miss any need. I was reading from a law text, looking to pick up any scrap of information that might come in handy. The Bellewoods haven't often gone in for formal education, but we have a long tradition of self teaching.

I wasn't getting much, because I was too aware of her. I saw the tiny, furtive movement out of the corner of my eye, and warned her. She moved quicker than she had since her snow bath, jerking down into that compact bundle, refuseing to be moved.

I let her have her way for a minute or two, checking her temperature. As I waited, I heard the tiny clicks of her teeth against the glass, and I watched carefully. I'd had to pull the thermometer early yesterday. Her teeth were chattering so bad, I was afraid she'd bite it in two.

It was almost a hundred and three when I removed the thermometer. Less, but not enough. It had been stuck there for too long. If it didn't break soon...

She'd tucked her head again, and I laid my hand on her neck. She threw her head back, arching up into my touch like an affection starved cat.

I tried to get her to stretch out again. The look she gave me... it should have told me. But I swear, I wasn't expecting it. I thought I was just going to make her lay like she was supposed to, so she could breathe.

I got under the covers with her. She was turned on her side toward me. I took her arms, pulling her body up. With a knee I pushed her legs out straight, then hung a leg over her to hold them there. We lay like that for awhile. I started to sweat. The room was warm, I could have walked around naked comfortably. With the quilts, it was sweltering. But she still shivered.

Then she lifted her hands and settled them on my arms. And she pulled at me. I was very still, waiting for the shove back when she realized what she had done. Instead she moved again, squirming, pulling me toward her, pulling herself closer. I felt the soft weight of her breasts against my chest, and started to get hard. Oh, damn, I was gonna end up with a case of blue balls, because I knew this wasn't going anywhere. Still, I stopped holding her arms, and just ran my hands up and down them, waiting to see what she did.

What she did was give a shivery little wiggle that made the blood pump directly to my cock, and push her face into the crook of my neck, and rub it there. I felt her hot, moist breath, and the soft dryness of her lips, and the almost not there brush of her eyelashes. She wanted to be held, that was obvious. So I gathered her close, wrapping my arms around her. Immediately she pushed her legs between mine, hooking them around my bottom leg, and pulled till our torsos were plastered together, and her crotch bumped mine.

I couldn't help but groan. I still hadn't given her back her panties, and I was going commando beneath the thin shorts, in concession to the warm room. And I could feel her.

"Girl, are you in your right mind? Do you know what you're doin'?" I wanted to be with her somehow, so bad. But I couldn't take advantage of her state.

But God help me, she moved. She turned on her back, those sick, weak arms still strong enough to roll me half on top of her, and I knew I was lost. She wanted that, damn it. Some part of her wanted me.

She might have been in a fever, but she felt cold, and I could help her with that. I could give her my heat.

So I started to touch her, and she moved to my touch, arching and pressing into it. Each touch seemed to soothe her a little more. I kneaded and massaged gently, working out the tenseness. Then I pushed her legs apart and lay in the cradle of her thighs, where I was meant to be.

I started to rock against her slowly, softly. I was hard and aching , my flesh desperately wanted to be freed, to seek out the embrace of her body. But I didn't. Not that time.

She was lost somewhere. She moved beneath me, putting her arms around me, undulating. I wanted to make contact somehow, so I spoke to her constantly. I wanted her to be aware of me. "Scribe, baby, does this help? Do you feel better?" I kissed her, tasting peppermint and medicine, but mostly just Scribe.

And I just kept moving, because I couldn't stop if my soul was at stake.

Then she looked up into my face, met my eyes, and I knew. Don't ask me how. Her pupils had been dilated by the medicine for some time, but then I knew that she was having an orgasm. I wondered at myself, wondered if maybe I was a monster.

Then her hands tightened on me, and she made that sound.

And I was there before I knew I was even close. I felt the hot gush and pushed some more, and then it was over, and I came in my pants. I never did that before. Not even when I was fourteen and a breeze could get me horny.

I just lay on top of her for a few minutes. And I swear... I felt the fever break. I had been sweating, she had been dry. Then, suddenly, I felt a thin film of moisture on her arms, legs, throat. I got off her, and checked her forehead. Damp too.

I took her temperature while she lay there, somehow looser, relaxed, more at peace. When I read the thermometer, the mercury barely touched one hundred. It was going down.

For the first time I felt safe enough to leave her long enough to take a shower. I washed off the sweat and the semen that matted my thigh.

When I got back out, she was sleeping. For once, it wasn't restless, or drugged. I crawled in beside her naked, and again spooned up against her, feeling the normal heat. I closed my eyes and said the first prayer of thanks I had in years, and went to sleep.