Chloe woke with a clear head on day four or five, maybe. She wasn't sure; all she knew was that it was one of those days. It didn't matter anyway. The important thing was her fever had broken, and she could hold a small, short conversation with Derek now.

"How're you feeling?" he asked, running a hand gently along her side, as he stared at her. The piercing quality of his eyes made her nervous—and wet, like always—but right now she was too tired to even think about sex.

"Tired," she said, her voice raw, and winced as her throat protested. The Gatorade hadn't helped the scratchiness from screaming her head off. "I could sleep for a million years."

His mouth thinned. "I'm sorry for all of this," he apologized, voice thick, like the words were clogging in his throat. The anguish in his tone made her stare.

Why was he apologizing?

"It's not your fault." His jaw clenched, his cheek hollowing. "No, Derek, seriously. Liam and Ramon would've done a lot worse than just Turn me. We both know that. Yeah, it sucks, but I'll survive."

His darkened gaze barely lifted. Telling her hadn't heard a single word she said.

The sting of rejection—of being ignored—cracked through her, and she leaned back, putting a little distance between them. Her moderate mood dipped. Alpha doesn't believe. Bad Omega. Alpha—

"It's just—" A deep inhale that puffed out his big, burly chest. A twinge of arousal raced through her, but she ignored it. "I should've protected you more. You shouldn't have to go through this because I didn't." He exhaled, a gust of breath.

"I'm alive and that's what matters."

She examined his tense expression. His eyes had thinned with self-loathing. His mouth was pinched, his thick brows furrowed. His shoulders were tight, his flexed biceps twitching. Like always, his anger was at himself.

He shook his head resolutely. "This shouldn't have happened at all."

Alpha's angry. You displeased him. You—

The growl in his words made her scoot back and clench her hands in the fabric of her nest. Everything was damp, a mix of him and her, tangled together, and it soothed her wailing hindbrain.

She resisted the overwhelming urge to shrink up and gave him a glare. "You know what, Derek? Liam would've assaulted me or raped me or killed me." He winced. "This isn't about you and your wounded werewolf masculinity. This isn't about you. It's about me. I'm the one he bit, but do you see me pointing fingers and fucking blaming you? No. The only person doing that is you." Much to her horror, her eyes burned with the sting of angry tears. She wiped at them quickly with the heels of her palms. "So fucking get over yourself."

It was still and silent, so quiet she couldn't even hear his breathing. He was frozen, his head bowed. What? Had no one ever told him the whole brooding routine got old? The longer he was still, the more concerned she got. Had she short-circuited him? Did his wolf go haywire?

As she leaned forward to nudge him, he shot forward, cupped the back of her neck, and yanked her into a soft, sweet, and heart-wrenchingly tender kiss.

"I'm sorry," he whispered before kissing her again. "I'm sorry." He pecked her again before catching her hips and dragging her so she was sprawled across his chest, their legs threaded together. She could feel the steady, quick thump of his racing heart. He dropped a kiss on her hairline and sniffed once, twice, and then took a big-ass inhale.

"Did you just—"

"Yes." No hesitation then. "I just think about what if you didn't accept the Change? What if it—and then what if I hadn't gotten to you in time?" He was shaking, she realized, trembling.

She sat up and rested her forehead against his. "I'm here." She grabbed his hand and pressed it to her chest, letting him feel her rabbiting heartbeat. The smell of him—alpha and one hundred percent Derek—filled her nose. "I'm here, Derek, and I'm alive."

"Alive," he echoed and hummed in affirmation as he traced her temple with his nose, rubbing. Just like a real wolf. "Alive." He kissed her once, soft, sweet. "Alive." He kissed her again, deeper, hungrier, harder. His tongue pushed into her mouth, and she mewled brokenly as her fingers scratched across his skin.

"Derek."

He pulled back with a loud, resounding, wet smack, revealing pupil-blown eyes that gazed at her with predator intent. A shiver ran down the length of her back.

"Too sore."

"It's okay." Another peck, soft and sweet like a cloud. Like being welcomed home. "I'll run a bath. Does that sound good?" He stroked along her leg, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Her eyes closed at the sensation, a blossom of warmth making itself known behind her ribcage, between bone and thumping heart.

"Sounds good."

He slid out from beneath her but not before kissing her yet again, and she listened to the sound of his bare feet sticking on the waxed hardwood. The bathroom door creaked open, and he started humming quietly. The rattle of the pipes, water sputtering out into the bottom of the tub, but otherwise, silence.

Chloe laid boneless in the mattress, snorting the mix of her scent and Derek's like it was a juicy steak cooking. She was at peace, even if he was a giant idiot that worried too much about things out of his control. But she was content, bathing in his scent, her body sore and achy, the kegs of her fever lingering, just enough to make her sticky and moderately uncomfortable.

His soft crooning filled the quiet and she recognized it. Memories and Dreams from the video game Sally Face. He'd binge-played it last weekend with Simon. The song was nice.

"Chloe?"

She cracked an eye open to find Derek kneeling beside her, his eyes soft.

"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up." He leaned over her and pulled her into his arms, lifting her. As she leaned her head against his shoulder, she felt the sway of him walking to the bathroom. "Can you—do you need help?"

"Don't go," she said as he lowered her into the hot water. The warmth shoved aside the kegs of drowsiness, and she blinked hard.

"Are you—"

"Please." She caught his wrist and smoothed her thumb over the knob of bone. "Don't go. Stay. Join me." He was so still, she was concerned she'd broken him. And then he moved, slowly, as though anticipating her to backpedal on her invitation, and soon he was in the tub across from her.

"How're you feeling?" He watched her with heavy-lidded, keen eyes. Looking for signs of the delirium, she supposed.

"I feel like myself, just tired," she admitted and yawned. "At least I have my alpha here." The words escaped before she could stop them and she peered up him, gauging his reaction.

He let out a soft rumble, body tensing for a second, before he leaned forward and pulling her into the space between his tree-trunk thighs. Water sloshed around her hips as she laughed, not curbing the desire to purr quietly and rub cheeks with him.

"That's a cat, Chloe, not a wolf," he said but his smile told her everything.

"Whatever."