Chapter 3 Bite Me Once

I couldn't sleep. After three hours of tossing in my silk sheets, I gave up and went to my private study. The wall-mounted screens displayed multiple camera angles of Rowan's glass chamber. He slept soundly, one arm thrown above his head, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Even in sleep, he looked different. The Rowan I'd known had slept curled on his side, often reaching for me. This version lay on his back, body positioned as if ready to spring up at the slightest provocation.

I zoomed in on his face. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dampening the hair at his temples. His skin looked flushed even in the blue-tinted night vision footage.

"Vital signs for subject 1037," I commanded the system.

Numbers appeared on the screen. Temperature: 102.3°F. Pulse elevated. Respiration rapid.

He was ill. Likely a reaction to the neural sensor system—some people's bodies rejected the initial calibration process.

I debated calling the medical staff, then decided against it. This was an opportunity. Vulnerability created openings, and I needed to see beneath Rowan's carefully constructed armor.

In my bathroom, I gathered supplies: fever reducers, cooling patches, a digital thermometer. Then I changed from my nightgown into black pants and a simple blouse. No sense giving him the satisfaction of seeing me disheveled.

The east wing corridors were dimly lit at night. I passed two security guards who straightened as I approached.

"Ms. Rothschild," one nodded respectfully. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine. Continue your rounds," I replied, not slowing my pace.

At the glass chamber, I pressed my palm to the scanner. The door slid open with a soft hiss. Inside, the temperature was noticeably warmer than the corridor. Rowan had kicked off his blanket, his black shirt damp with sweat.

I approached cautiously, setting the medical supplies on the bedside table. His breathing had grown more labored, face contorted in discomfort.

"Rowan," I said softly, then louder when he didn't respond. "Rowan."

His eyes snapped open, instantly alert despite the fever. He moved to sit up, then grimaced, pressing a hand to his temple.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was rough, throat clearly dry.

"You're running a fever." I uncapped a bottle of water. "Here. Drink this."

He eyed the bottle suspiciously.

"It's not poisoned," I said dryly. "If I wanted to drug you, I'd use the ventilation system."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips as he took the water, drinking deeply.

"Open your mouth," I said, holding up the thermometer.

"No thanks. I'll take my chances with the fever."

"Don't be childish." I moved closer, my knee brushing against the edge of the bed. "It's a thermometer, not a torture device."

He relented, allowing me to place the thermometer under his tongue. When it beeped, I checked the reading: 102.8°F.

"You need medication," I said, opening the pill bottle. "Two of these should bring it down."

"Why do you care?" he asked, watching me shake the pills into my palm.

"Ten million dollars is a significant investment. I'm protecting my assets."

"Always the pragmatist." He took the pills, swallowing them with another sip of water. "Though I seem to recall you had a softer side. Once."

I ignored the comment, opening a cooling patch. "Lie back."

Surprisingly, he complied. I peeled the backing from the patch and leaned over him, carefully placing it on his forehead. His skin burned against my fingertips.

"Your hands are cold," he murmured, eyes half-closed.

"You're just overheated." I dampened a cloth with cool water and began wiping his neck, his collarbones.

"Playing nurse now, Cassia?"

"If that's what you need to tell yourself."

His hand suddenly caught my wrist as I reached to re-wet the cloth. His grip was firm despite his weakened state.

"Why are you really here in the middle of the night?" he asked, green eyes boring into mine. "Couldn't sleep? Or perhaps... you missed me?"

I tried to pull away. He held fast.

"Let go, Rowan."

"Not until you answer my question."

"I don't owe you answers," I snapped. "You're the one who disappeared for three years."

His grip loosened slightly. "So that's it. You're still angry about the wedding."

"Angry doesn't begin to cover it." I yanked my hand free. "You humiliated me. Made me a laughingstock in front of everyone who matters in this city."

"Poor Cassia," he said, voice taking on an edge despite his fever. "Had to face the social elite without her perfect accessory of a fiancé."

I stood abruptly. "You know nothing about what I went through."

"Then tell me," he challenged, pushing himself upright despite the obvious pain it caused him. "Tell me how devastated you were when your carefully laid plans fell apart."

"I searched for you," I said, the words escaping before I could stop them. "For months. Hired investigators. Called hospitals. Checked morgues."

Something flickered in his eyes – surprise, perhaps. "I didn't think you'd bother."

"Of course I bothered. I loved you." The admission hung in the air between us, an unwelcome ghost from the past.

He studied me for a long moment. "Did you? Or did you love the idea of me? The perfect partner for the perfect Rothschild heiress."

"You don't get to question how I felt," I said coldly. "Not after what you did."

Rowan reached for the water bottle again, but his hand trembled so violently that he nearly dropped it. I caught it reflexively, our fingers brushing.

"Here," I said, holding it to his lips.

He drank, eyes never leaving mine. When he finished, a droplet remained on his lower lip. Without thinking, I reached up to wipe it away.

His hand shot up, capturing my finger between his teeth.

The bite wasn't hard enough to break skin, but firm enough to send shock waves through my body. His eyes held mine, challenging, defiant even in his weakened state.

"Still taking liberties that aren't yours," I said, voice steadier than I felt.

He released my finger but caught my wrist, pulling me closer until I could feel his fevered breath on my face.

"Where will you bite next?" I asked, surprising myself with the breathless quality of my voice. "My throat... or my heart?"

Something dangerous flickered in his eyes. In one fluid motion, he twisted, pulling me down onto the bed and reversing our positions until he loomed above me, my back pressed against the cool glass wall beside the bed.

"You always did like to play with fire, Cassia," he murmured, one hand pinning both my wrists above my head.

Heat that had nothing to do with his fever radiated between us. I should have activated the neural shock system with my bracelet, but my body refused to comply with what my mind knew was prudent.

"This isn't like you," I whispered as his face lowered toward mine.

His lips brushed my ear. "Maybe the man you loved is already dead."

Then his mouth was on mine, hot and demanding. Nothing like the measured, controlled kisses we'd shared years ago. This was primal, angry – a clash more than a kiss. My body responded instantly, arching against him even as my mind screamed warnings.

His free hand tangled in my hair, pulling just enough to make me gasp. He took advantage of my parted lips, deepening the kiss until I could taste the fever on his tongue, feel the rage and desperation pouring off him in waves.

I bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

He pulled back slightly, surprise flashing across his features before darkening into something more dangerous. A drop of crimson welled on his lip, and I felt a perverse satisfaction at having marked him.

"Still fighting what you want," he murmured, releasing my wrists to trace a finger down my cheek, my throat.

I should have pushed him away. Instead, I watched, transfixed, as he lowered his head again – not to my lips this time, but to my neck. His mouth burned against my skin, teeth grazing the sensitive spot where my pulse hammered wildly.

His hand slid lower, finding the hem of my blouse, fingers skimming beneath to touch bare skin. The contact was electric, awakening sensations I'd buried for three years.

Then his body suddenly went rigid. His grip on me tightened painfully before he pulled away, eyes unfocused.

"Rowan?"

He didn't respond, swaying slightly before collapsing back onto the bed, body convulsing.

"Rowan!" I scrambled upright, reaching for him.

His eyes rolled back, limbs jerking uncontrollably. The fever had spiked – seizure territory.

I slammed my hand against the emergency call button on the wall. "Medical to glass chamber immediately!"

As I waited for help, I pressed the cooling patch back to his forehead, murmuring words I wasn't even conscious of. His seizure subsided, leaving him limp and breathing shallowly.

"Don't you dare die on me," I ordered, fingers checking his pulse. "Not before I get my answers."

His eyes fluttered open briefly, gaze unfocused. "Lab..." he mumbled. "Don't... send me back... to the lab."

I froze. "What lab, Rowan? What are you talking about?"

But his eyes closed again as the medical team burst in, pushing me aside to attend to him.

I stood back, watching them work, his delirious words echoing in my mind. A lab? What had happened to him in those missing years?

Dr. Chen, my private physician, approached after stabilizing him. "The fever's coming down, but I've administered a stronger antipyretic. He should rest comfortably now."

"What caused this?"

"Hard to say without more tests. Could be a reaction to the neural interface, or possibly withdrawal from something in his system prior to the auction."

I nodded, still watching Rowan's now-peaceful form. "Run a full toxicology screen. I want to know everything that's in his bloodstream, past and present."

"Yes, Ms. Rothschild. Would you like me to have him moved to the medical wing?"

"No," I said firmly. "He stays here. Double the monitoring and have a nurse check him hourly."

As the medical team cleared out, I remained, studying Rowan's face. In sleep, with the fever's flush still coloring his cheeks, he looked almost like the man I'd known. Almost.

I touched my fingers to my lips, still feeling the heat of his kiss, the metallic tang of his blood.

Whatever game we were playing, the rules had just changed.