“Delia?”

A low voice seeped through the darkness. It nudged at Delia’s senses, urging her to wake. To listen. She fought the intrusion. She was so tired. Oh, so very tired and uncomfortable.

“Delia, are you okay?”

The voice was insistent. Smoky and intimate. The timbre was familiar, yet out of place. She pushed through the thick layers of drowsiness and tried to think.

It was just so hot. She kicked at the sheets tangled around her legs. Her pillow lay on the floor, and the comforter sat in a lump on the mattress beside her. Even the brush of the heavy fabric against her skin was too much. She pushed it away, trying to find some relief.

“Hey. Come on. Look at me.”

“Hot.” So hot. The heat was consuming her.

The mattress shifted, and the back of a hand gently touched her forehead. “Ah hell. You’re burning up.”

Delia squirmed restlessly and looked up at the man who’d appeared so suddenly in her bedroom. He hovered over her, big and dark. Shadows hid his features, but moonlight lit the hand that still brushed against her face. In the recesses of her mind, she knew she should be frightened—or at least surprised—but his presence comforted her. She didn’t want to be alone. Not while the fires of hell were ravaging her from the inside out.

But why was he here?

He shouldn’t be here. Or should he? She vaguely remembered a promise to check on her.

It took too much energy to think. She pushed her hair away from her face and off her shoulder. Even it felt too oppressive. Her arm dropped to her side, and her hand bumped against a hard thigh.

The man. He was sitting close.

How had he gotten in again? Hadn’t she locked the door?

She couldn’t remember. Didn’t care.

She closed her eyes and started to drift away.

Callused fingertips patted her cheek. “No, no. Stay with me. Open those pretty green eyes.”

The firm tone made her obey. She rolled her head toward the voice and forced her eyelids open a slit. A light from the hallway shimmered around the silhouette of the man’s body. He moved so the light no longer glared in her eyes, and she could see him better.

Dark hair. Dark eyes. Concern knotting his brow.

He’d come.

Relief made her sag against the mattress. He’d know how to fight this. He always knew how to take charge.

“Make it better,” she begged.